Chapter 113

Amphitruon.Zeus' Couchmate,—who of mortals knows not me,Argive Amphitruon whom Alkaios siredOf old, as Perseus him, I—Herakles?My home, this Thebai where the earth-born spikeOf Sown-ones burgeoned: Ares saved from theseA handful of their seed that stocks to-dayWith children's children Thebai, Kadmos built.Of these had Kreon birth, Menoikeus' child,King of the country,—Kreon that becameThe father of this woman, Megara,Whom, when time was, Kadmeians one and allPealed praise to, marriage-songs with fluted help,While to my dwelling that grand HeraklesBore her, his bride. But, leaving Thebes—where IAbode perforce—this Megara and thoseHer kinsmen, the desire possessed my sonRather to dwell in Argos, that walled work,Kuklopian city, which I fly, myself,Because I slew Elektruon. Seeking soTo ease away my hardships and once moreInhabit his own land, for my returnHeavy the price he pays Eurustheus there—The letting in of light on this choked world!Either he promised, vanquished by the goadOf Heré, or because fate willed it thus.The other labors—why, he toiled them through;But for this last one—down by Tainaros,Its mouth, to Haides' realm descended heTo drag into the light the three-shaped houndOf Hell: whence Herakles returns no more.Now, there 's an old-world tale, Kadmeians have,How Dirké's husband was a Lukos once,Holding the seven-towered city here in swayBefore they ruled the land, white-steeded pair,The twins Amphion, Zethos, born to Zeus.This Lukos' son,—named like his father too,No born Kadmeian but Euboia's gift,—Comes and kills Kreon, lords it o'er the land,Falling upon our town sedition-sick.To us, akin to Kreon, just that bondBecomes the worst of evils, seemingly;For, since my son in the earth's abysms,This man of valor, Lukos, lord and king,Seeks now to slay these sons of Herakles,And slay his wife as well,—by murder thusThinking to stamp out murder,—slay too me,(If me 't is fit you count among men still,—Useless old age,) and all for fear lest these,Grown men one day, exact due punishmentOf bloodshed and their mother's father's fate.I therefore, since he leaves me in these domes,The children's household guardian,—left, when earth'sDark dread he underwent, that son of mine,—I, with their mother, lest his boys should die,Sit at this altar of the savior ZeusWhich, glory of triumphant spear, he raisedConquering—my nobly-born!—the Minuai.Here do we guard our station, destituteOf all things, drink, food, raiment, on bare groundCouched side by side: sealed out of house and homeSit we in a resourcelessness of help.Our friends—why, some are no true friends, I see!The rest, that are true, want the means to aid.So operates in man adversity:Whereof may never anybody—no,Though half of him should really wish me well,—Happen to taste! a friend-test faultless, that!Megara.Old man, who erst did raze the Taphian town,Illustriously, the army-leader, thou,Of speared Kadmeians—how gods play men false!I, now, missed nowise fortune in my sire,Who, for his wealth, was boasted mighty once,Having supreme rule,—for the love of whichLeap the long lances forth at favored breasts,—And having children too: and me he gaveThy son, his house with that of HeraklesUniting by the far-famed marriage-bed.And now these things are dead and flown away.While thou and I await our death, old man,These Herakleian boys too, whom—my chicks—I save beneath my wings like brooding bird.But one or other falls to questioning."O mother," cries he, "where in all the worldIs father gone to? What 's he doing? whenWill he come back?" At fault through tender years,They seek their sire. For me, I put them off,Telling them stories; at each creak of doors,All wonder "Does he come?"—and all a-footMake for the fall before the parent knee.Now then, what hope, what method of escapeFacilitatest thou?—for, thee, old man,I look to,—since we may not leave by stealthThe limits of the land, and guards, more strongThan we, are at the outlets: nor in friendsRemain to us the hopes of safety more.Therefore, whatever thy decision be.Impart it for the common good of all!Lest now should prove the proper time to die,Though, being weak, we spin it out and live.Amph.Daughter, it scarce is easy, do one's best,To blurt out counsel, things at such a pass.Meg.You want some sorrow more, or so love life?Amph.I both enjoy life, and love hopes beside.Meg.And I; but hope against hope—no, old man!Amph.In these delayings of an ill lurks cure.Meg.But bitter is the meantime, and it bites.Amph.Oh, there may be a run before the windFrom out these present ills, for me and thee,Daughter, and yet may come my son, thy spouse!But hush! and from the children take awayTheir founts aflow with tears, and talk them calm,Steal them by stories—sad theft, all the same!For, human troubles—they grow weary too;Neither the wind-blasts always have their strength,Nor happy men keep happy to the end:Since all things change—their natures part in twain;And that man's bravest therefore, who hopes on,Hopes ever: to despair is coward-like.Choros.These domes that overroof,This long-used couch, I come to, having madeA staff my prop, that song may put to proofThe swan-like power, age-whitened,—poet's aidOf sobbed-forth dirges—words that stand aloofFrom action now: such am I—just a shadeWith night for all its face, a mere night-dream—And words that tremble too: howe'er they seem,Devoted words, I deem.O of a father ye unfathered ones,O thou old man, and thou whose groaning stuns—Unhappy mother—only us above,Nor reaches him below in Haides' realm, thy love!—(Faint not too soon, urge forward foot and limbWay-weary, nor lose courage—as some horseYoked to the car whose weight recoils on himJust at the rock-ridge that concludes his course!Take by the hand, the peplos, any oneWhose foothold fails him, printless and fordone!Aged, assist along me aged too,Who,—mate with thee in toils when life was new,And shields and spears first made acquaintanceship,—Stood by thyself and proved no bastard-slipOf fatherland when loftiest glory grew.)—See now, how like the sire'sEach eyeball fiercely fires!What though ill-fortune have not left his race?Neither is gone the grand paternal grace!Hellas! O what—what combatants, destroyedIn these, wilt thou one day seek—seek, and find all void!Pause! for I see the ruler of this land,Lukos, now passing through the palace-gate.Lukos.The Herakleian couple—father, wife—If needs I must, I question: "must" forsooth?Being your master—all I please, I ask.To what time do you seek to spin out life?What hope, what help see, so as not to die?Is it you trust the sire of these, that 's sunkIn Haides, will return? How past the pitch,Suppose you have to die, you pile the woe—Thou, casting, Hellas through, thy empty vauntsAs though Zeus helped thee to a god for son;And thou, that thou wast styled our best man's wife!Where was the awful in his work wound up,If he did quell and quench the marshy snakeOr the Nemeian monster whom he snaredAnd—says, by throttlings of his arm, he slew?With these do you outwrestle me? Such featsShall save from death the sons of HeraklesWho got praise, being naught, for braveryIn wild-beast-battle, otherwise a blank?No man to throw on left arm buckler's weight,Not he, nor get in spear's reach! bow he bore—True coward's-weapon: shoot first and then fly!No bow-and-arrow proves a man is brave,But who keeps rank,—stands, one unwinking stareAs, ploughing up, the darts come,—brave is he.My action has no impudence, old man!Providence, rather: for I own I slewKreon, this woman's sire, and have his seat.Nowise I wish, then, to leave, these grown up,Avengers on me, payment for my deeds.Amph.As to the part of Zeus in his own child,Let Zeus defend that! As to mine, 't is meThe care concerns to show by argumentThe folly of this fellow,—Herakles,Whom I stand up for! since to hear thee styled—Cowardly—that is unendurable.First then, the infamous (for I accountAmongst the words denied to human speech,Timidity ascribed thee, Herakles!)This I must put from thee, with gods in proof.Zeus' thunder I appeal to, those four steedsWhereof he also was the charioteerWhen, having shut down the earth's Giant-growth—(Never shaft flew but found and fitted flank)—Triumph he sang in common with the gods.The Kentaur-race, four-footed insolence—Go ask at Pholoé, vilest thou of kings,Whomthey would pick out and pronounce best man,If not my son, "the seeming-brave," say'st thou!But Dirphus, thy Abantid mother-town,Question her, and she would not praise, I think!For there 's no spot, where having done some good,Thy country thou might'st call to witness worth.Now, that allwise invention, archer's-gear,Thou blamest: hear my teaching and grow sage!A man in armor is his armor's slave,And, mixed with rank and file that want to run,He dies because his neighbors have lost heart.Then, should he break his spear, no way remainsOf warding death off,—gone that body-guard,His one and only; while, whatever folkHave the true bow-hand,—here 's the one main good,—Though he have sent ten thousand shafts abroad,Others remain wherewith the archer savesHis limbs and life, too,—stands afar and wardsAway from flesh the foe that vainly staresHurt by the viewless arrow, while himselfOffers no full front to those opposite,But keeps in thorough cover: there 's the pointThat 's capital in combat—damage foe,Yet keep a safe skin—foe not out of reachAs you are! Thus my words contrast with thine,And such, in judging facts, our difference.These children, now, why dost thou seek to slay?What have they done thee? In a single pointI count thee wise—if, being base thyself,Thou dread'st the progeny of nobleness.Yet this bears hard upon us, all the same,If we must die—because of fear in thee—A death 't were fit thou suffer at our hands,Thy betters, did Zeus rightly judge us all.If therefore thou art bent on sceptre-sway,Thyself, here—suffer us to leave the land,Fugitives! nothing do by violence,Or violence thyself shalt undergoWhen the gods' gale may chance to change for thee!Alas, O land of Kadmos,—for 't is theeI mean to close with, dealing out the dueRevilement,—in such sort dost thou defendHerakles and his children? HeraklesWho, coming, one to all the world, againstThe Minuai, fought them and left Thebes an eyeUnblinded henceforth to front freedom with!Neither do I praise Hellas, nor shall brookEver to keep in silence that I countTowards my son, craven of cravens—herWhom it behooved go bring the young ones hereFire, spears, arms—in exchange for seas made safe,And cleansings of the land, his labor's price.But fire, spears, arms,—O children, neither ThebesNor Hellas has them for you! 'T is myself,A feeble friend, ye look to: nothing nowBut a tongue's murmur, for the strength is goneWe had once, and with age are limbs a-shakeAnd force a-flicker! Were I only young,Still with the mastery o'er bone and thew,Grasping first spear that came, the yellow locksOf this insulter would I bloody so—Should send him skipping o'er the Atlantic boundsOut of my arm's reach through poltroonery!Cho.Have not the really good folk starting-pointsFor speech to purpose,—though rare talkers they?Luk.Say thou against us words thou towerest with!I, for thy words, will deal thee blows, their due.Go, some to Helikon, to ParnasosSome, and the clefts there! Bid the woodmen fellOak-trunks, and, when the same are brought insideThe city, pile the altar round with logs,Then fire it, burn the bodies of them all,That they may learn thereby, no dead man rulesThe land here, but 't is I, by acts like these!As for you, old sirs, who are set againstMy judgments, you shall groan for—not aloneThe Herakleian children, but the fateOf your own house beside, when faring illBy any chance: and you shall recollectSlaves are you of a tyranny that 's mine!Cho.O progeny of earth,—whom Ares sowedWhen he laid waste the dragon's greedy jaw—Will ye not lift the staves, right-hand supports,And bloody this man's irreligious head?Who, being no Kadmeian, rules,—the wretch,—Our easy youth: an interloper too!But not of me, at least, shalt thou enjoyThy lordship ever; nor my labor's fruit—Hand worked so hard for—have! A curse with thee,Whence thou didst come, there go and tyrannize!For never while I live shalt thou destroyThe Herakleian children: not so deepHides he below ground, leaving thee their lord!But we bear both of you in mind,—that thou,The land's destroyer, dost possess the land,While he who saved it, loses every right.Iplay the busybody—for I serveMy dead friends when they need friends' service most?O right-hand, how thou yearnest to snatch spearAnd serve indeed! in weakness dies the wish,Or I had stayed thee calling me a slave,And nobly drawn my breath at home in ThebesWhere thou exultest!—city that's insane,Sick through sedition and bad government,Else never had she gained for master—thee!Meg.Old friends, I praise you: since a righteous wrathFor friend's sake well becomes a friend. But no!On our account in anger with your lord,Suffer no injury! Hear my advice,Amphitruon, if I seem to speak aright.Oh, yes, I love my children! how not loveWhat I brought forth, what toiled for? and to die—Sad I esteem too; still, the fated wayWho stiffens him against, that man I countPoor creature; us, who are of other mood,Since we must die, behooves us meet our deathNot burnt to cinders, giving foes the laugh—To me, worse ill than dying, that! we oweOur houses many a brave deed, now to pay.Thee, indeed, gloriously men estimateFor spear-work, so that unendurableWere it that thou shouldst die a death of shame.And for my glorious husband, where wants heA witness that he would not save his boysIf touched in their good fame thereby? since birthBears ill with baseness done for children's sake,My husband needs must be my pattern here.See now thy hope—how much I count thereon!Thou thinkest that thy son will come to light:And, of the dead, who came from Haides back?But we with talk this man might mollify:Never! Of all foes, fly the foolish one!Wise, well-bred people, make concession to!Sooner you meet respect by speaking soft.Already it was in my mind—perchanceWe might beg off these children's banishment;But even that is sad, involving themIn safety, ay—and piteous poverty!Since the host's visage for the flying friendHas, only one day, the sweet look, 'tis said.Dare with us death, which waits thee, dared or no!We call on thine ancestral worth, old man!For who out-labors what the gods appointShows energy, but energy gone mad.Since what must—none e'er makes what must not be!Cho.Had any one, while yet my arms were strong,Been scorning thee, he easily had ceased.But we are naught, now; thine henceforth to see—Amphitruon, how to push aside these fates!Amph.Nor cowardice nor a desire of lifeStops me from dying: but I seek to saveMy son his children. Vain! I set my heart,It seems, upon impossibility.See, it is ready for the sword, this throatTo pierce, divide, dash down from precipice!But one grace grant us, king, we supplicate!Slay me and this unhappy one beforeThe children, lest we see them—impious sight!—Gasping the soul forth, calling all the whileOn mother and on father's father! Else,Do as thy heart inclines thee! No resourceHave we from death, and we resign ourselves.Meg.And I too supplicate: add grace to grace,And, though but one man, doubly serve us both!Let me bestow adornment of the deadUpon these children! Throw the palace wide!For now we are shut out. Thence these shall shareAt least so much of wealth was once their sire's!Luk.These things shall be. Withdraw the bolts, I bidMy servants! Enter and adorn yourselves!I grudge no peploi; but when these ye windAbout your bodies,—that adornment done,—Then I shall come and give you to the grave.Meg.O children, follow this unhappy foot,Your mother's, into your ancestral home,Where others have the power, are lords in truth,Although the empty name is left us yet!Amph.O Zeus, in vain I had thee marriage-mate,In vain I called thee father of my child!Thou wast less friendly far than thou didst seem.I, the mere man, o'ermatch in virtue theeThe mighty god: for I have not betrayedThe Herakleian children,—whereas thouHadst wit enough to come clandestinelyInto the chamber, take what no man gave,Another's place; and when it comes to helpThy loved ones, there thou lackest wit indeed!Thou art some stupid god or born unjust.Cho.Even a dirge, can Phoibos suitIn song to music jubilantFor all its sorrow: making shootHis golden plectron o'er the lute,Melodious ministrant.And I, too, am of mind to raise,Despite the imminence of doom,A song of joy, outpour my praiseTo him—what is it rumor says?—Whether—now buried in the ghostly gloomBelow ground—he was child of Zeus indeed,Or mere Amphitruon's mortal seed—To him I weave the wreath of song, his labor's meed.For, is my hero perished in the feat?The virtues of brave toils, in death complete,These save the dead in song,—their glory-garland meet!First, then, he made the woodOf Zeus a solitude,Slaying its lion-tenant; and he spreadThe tawniness behind—his yellow headEnmuffled by the brute's, backed by that grin of dread.The mountain-roving savage Kentaur-raceHe strewed with deadly bow about their place,Slaying with wingèd shafts: Peneios knew,Beauteously-eddying, and the long tracts tooOf pasture trampled fruitless, and as wellThose desolated haunts Mount Pelion under,And, grassy up to Homolé, each dellWhence, having filled their hands with pine-tree plunder,Horse-like was wont to prance from, and subdueThe land of Thessaly, that bestial crew.The golden-headed spot-back'd stag he slew,That robber of the rustics: glorifiedTherewith the goddess who in hunter's prideSlaughters the game along Oinoé's side.And, yoked abreast, he brought the chariot-breedTo pace submissive to the bit, each steedThat in the bloody cribs of DiomedeChamped and, unbridled, hurried down that goreFor grain, exultant the dread feast before—Of man's flesh: hideous feeders they of yore!All as he crossed the Hebros' silver-flowAccomplished he such labor, toiling soFor Mukenaian tyrant; ay, and more—He crossed the Melian shoreAnd, by the sources of Amauros, shotTo death that strangers'-pestKuknos, who dwelt in Amphanaia: notOf fame for good to guest!And next, to the melodious maids he came,Inside the Hesperian court-yard: hand must aimAt plucking gold fruit from the appled leaves,Now he had killed the dragon, backed like flame,Who guards the unapproachable he weavesHimself all round, one spire about the same.And into those sea-troughs of ocean divedThe hero, and for mortals calm contrived,Whatever oars should follow in his wake.And under heaven's mid-seat his hands thrust he,At home with Atlas: and, for valor's sake,Held the gods up their star-faced mansionry.Also, the rider-host of AmazonsAbout Maiotis many-streamed, he wentTo conquer through the billowy Euxin once,Having collected what an armamentOf friends from Hellas, all on conquest bentOf that gold-garnished cloak, dread girdle-chase!So Hellas gained the girl's barbarian graceAnd at Mukenai saves the trophy still—Go wonder there, who will!And the ten-thousand-headed houndOf many a murder, the Lernaian snakeHe burned out, head by head, and cast aroundHis darts a poison thence,—darts soon to slakeTheir rage in that three-bodied herdsman's goreOf Erutheia. Many a running moreHe made for triumph and felicity,And, last of toils, to Haides, never dryOf tears, he sailed: and there he, luckless, endsHis life completely, nor returns again.The house and home are desolate of friends,And where the children's life-path leads them, plainI see,—no step retraceable, no godAvailing, and no law to help the lost!The oar of Charon marks their period,Waits to end all. Thy hands, these roofs accost!—To thee, though absent, look their uttermost!But if in youth and strength I flourished still,Still shook the spear in fight, did power match willIn these Kadmeian co-mates of my age,They would,—and I,—when warfare was to wage,Stand by these children; but I am bereftOf youth now, lone of that good genius left!But hist, desist! for here come these,—Draped as the dead go, under and over,—Children long since—now hard to discover—Of the once so potent Herakles!And the loved wife dragging, in one tetherAbout her feet, the boys together;And the hero's aged sire comes last!Unhappy that I am! Of tears which rise,—How am I all unable to hold fast,Longer, the aged fountains of these eyes!Meg.Be it so! Who is priest, who butcher hereOf these ill-fated ones, or stops the breathOf me, the miserable? Ready, see,The sacrifice—to lead where Haides lives!O children, we are led—no lovely teamOf corpses—age, youth, motherhood, all mixed!O sad fate of myself and these my sonsWhom with these eyes I look at, this last time!I, indeed, bore you: but for enemiesI brought you up to be a laughing-stock,Matter for merriment, destruction-stuff!Woe's me!Strangely indeed my hopes have struck me downFrom what I used to hope about you once—The expectation from your father's talk!For thee, now, thy dead sire dealt Argos to:Thou wast to have Eurustheus' house one day,And rule Pelasgia where the fine fruits grow;And, for a stole of state, he wrapped aboutThy head with that the lion-monster bore,That which himself went wearing armor-wise.And thou wast King of Thebes—such chariots there!Those plains I had for portion—all for thee,As thou hadst coaxed them out of who gave birthTo thee, his boy: and into thy right handHe thrust the guardian-club of Daidalos,—Poor guardian proves the gift that plays thee false!And upon thee he promised to bestowOichalia—what, with those far-shooting shafts,He ravaged once; and so, since three you were,With threefold kingdoms did he build you upTo very towers, your father,—proud enough,Prognosticating, from your manlinessIn boyhood, what the manhood's self would be.For my part, I was picking out for youBrides, suiting each with his alliance—thisFrom Athens, this from Sparté, this from Thebes—Whence, suited—as stern-cables steady ship—You might have hold on life gods bless. All gone!Fortune turns round and gives us—you, the FatesInstead of brides—me, tears for nuptial baths,Unhappy in my hoping! And the sireOf your sire—he prepares the marriage-feastBefitting Haides who plays father now—Bitter relationship! Oh me! which first—Which last of you shall I to bosom fold?To whom shall I fit close, his mouth to mine?Of whom shall I lay hold and ne'er let go?How would I gather, like the brown-winged bee,The groans from all, and, gathered into one,Give them you back again, a crowded tear!Dearest, if any voice be heard of menDungeoned in Haides, thee—to thee I speak!Here is thy father dying, and thy boys!And I too perish, famed as fortunateBy mortals once, through thee! Assist them! Come!But come! though just a shade, appear to me!For, coming, thy ghost-grandeur would suffice,Such cowards are they in thy presence, theseWho kill thy children now thy back is turned!Amph.Ay, daughter, bid the powers below assist!But I will rather, raising hand to heaven,Call thee to help, O Zeus, if thy intentBe, to these children, helpful anyway,Since soon thou wilt be valueless enough!And yet thou hast been called and called; in vainI labor: for we needs must die, it seems.Well, aged brothers—life's a little thing!Such as it is, then, pass life pleasantlyFrom day to night, nor once grieve all the while!Since Time concerns him not about our hopes,—To save them,—but his own work done, flies off.Witness myself, looked up to among men,Doing noteworthy deeds: when here comes fateLifts me away, like feather skyward borne,In one day! Riches then and glory,—whomThese are found constant to, I know not. Friends,Farewell! the man who loved you all so much,Now, this last time, my mates, ye look upon!Meg.Ha!O father, do I see my dearest? Speak!Amph.No more than thou canst, daughter—dumb like thee!Meg.Is this he whom we heard was under ground?Amph.Unless at least some dream in day we see!Meg.What do I say? what dreams insanely view?This is no other than thy son, old sire!Here, children! hang to these paternal robes,Quick, haste, hold hard on him, since here's your trueZeus that can save—and every whit as well!Herakles.Oh, hail, my palace, my hearth's propula,—How glad I see thee as I come to light!Ha, what means this? My children I beholdBefore the house in garments of the grave,Chapleted, and, amid a crowd of men,My very wife—my father weeping too,Whatever the misfortune! Come, best takeMy station nearer these and learn it all!Wife, what new sorrow has approached our home?Meg.O dearest! light flashed on thy father now!Art thou come? art thou saved and dost thou fallOn friends in their supreme extremity?Her.How say'st thou? Father! what's the trouble here?Meg.Undone are we!—but thou, old man, forgiveIf first I snatch what thou shouldst say to him!For somehow womanhood wakes pity more.Here are my children killed and I undone!Her.Apollon, with what preludes speech begins!Meg.Dead are my brothers and old father too.Her.How say'st thou?—doing what?—by spear-stroke whence?Meg.Lukos destroyed them—the land's noble king!Her.Met them in arms? or through the land's disease?Meg.Sedition: and he sways seven-gated Thebes.Her.Why then came fear on the old man and thee?Meg.He meant to kill thy father, me, our boys.Her.How say'st thou? Fearing what from orphanage?Meg.Lest they should some day pay back Kreon's death.Her.And why trick out the boys corpse-fashion thus?Meg.These wraps of death we have already donned.Her.And you had died through violence? Woe's me!Meg.Left bare of friends: and thou wast dead, we heard.Her.And whence came on you this faintheartedness?Meg.The heralds of Eurustheus brought the news.Her.And why was it you left my house and hearth?Meg.Forced thence: thy father—from his very couch!Her.And no shame at insulting the old man?Meg.Shame, truly! no near neighborsheand Shame!Her.And so much, in my absence, lacked I friends?Meg.Friends,—are there any to a luckless man?Her.The Minuai-war I waged,—they spat forth these?Meg.Friendless—again I tell thee—is ill-luck.Her.Will not you cast these hell-wraps from your hairAnd look on light again, and with your eyesTaste the sweet change from nether dark to day?While I—for now there needs my handiwork—First I shall go, demolish the abodesOf these new lordships; next hew off the headAccurst and toss it for the dogs to trail.Then, such of the Kadmeians as I findWere craven though they owed me gratitude,—Some I intend to handle with this clubRenowned for conquest; and with wingèd shaftsScatter the others, fill Ismenos fullWith bloody corpses,—Dirké's flow so whiteShall be incarnadined. For, whom, I pray,Behooves me rather help than wife and childAnd aged father? Farewell, "Labors" mine!Vainly I wrought them: my true work lay here!My business is to die defending these,—If for their father's sake they meant to die.Or how shall we call brave the battling itWith snake and lion, as Eurustheus bade,If yet I must not labor death awayFrom my own children? "Conquering Herakles"Folk will not call me as they used, I think!The right thing is for parents to assistChildren, old age, the partner of the couch.Amph.True, son! thy duty is—be friend to friendsAnd foe to foes: yet—no more haste than needs!Her.Why, father, what is over-hasty here?Amph.Many a pauper—seeming to be rich,As the word goes—the king calls partisan.Such made a riot, ruined Thebes to robTheir neighbor: for, what good they had at homeWas spent and gone,—flew off through idleness.You came to trouble Thebes, they saw: since seen,Beware lest, raising foes, a multitude,You stumble where you apprehend no harm.

Amphitruon.Zeus' Couchmate,—who of mortals knows not me,

Argive Amphitruon whom Alkaios sired

Of old, as Perseus him, I—Herakles?

My home, this Thebai where the earth-born spike

Of Sown-ones burgeoned: Ares saved from these

A handful of their seed that stocks to-day

With children's children Thebai, Kadmos built.

Of these had Kreon birth, Menoikeus' child,

King of the country,—Kreon that became

The father of this woman, Megara,

Whom, when time was, Kadmeians one and all

Pealed praise to, marriage-songs with fluted help,

While to my dwelling that grand Herakles

Bore her, his bride. But, leaving Thebes—where I

Abode perforce—this Megara and those

Her kinsmen, the desire possessed my son

Rather to dwell in Argos, that walled work,

Kuklopian city, which I fly, myself,

Because I slew Elektruon. Seeking so

To ease away my hardships and once more

Inhabit his own land, for my return

Heavy the price he pays Eurustheus there—

The letting in of light on this choked world!

Either he promised, vanquished by the goad

Of Heré, or because fate willed it thus.

The other labors—why, he toiled them through;

But for this last one—down by Tainaros,

Its mouth, to Haides' realm descended he

To drag into the light the three-shaped hound

Of Hell: whence Herakles returns no more.

Now, there 's an old-world tale, Kadmeians have,

How Dirké's husband was a Lukos once,

Holding the seven-towered city here in sway

Before they ruled the land, white-steeded pair,

The twins Amphion, Zethos, born to Zeus.

This Lukos' son,—named like his father too,

No born Kadmeian but Euboia's gift,—

Comes and kills Kreon, lords it o'er the land,

Falling upon our town sedition-sick.

To us, akin to Kreon, just that bond

Becomes the worst of evils, seemingly;

For, since my son in the earth's abysms,

This man of valor, Lukos, lord and king,

Seeks now to slay these sons of Herakles,

And slay his wife as well,—by murder thus

Thinking to stamp out murder,—slay too me,

(If me 't is fit you count among men still,—

Useless old age,) and all for fear lest these,

Grown men one day, exact due punishment

Of bloodshed and their mother's father's fate.

I therefore, since he leaves me in these domes,

The children's household guardian,—left, when earth's

Dark dread he underwent, that son of mine,—

I, with their mother, lest his boys should die,

Sit at this altar of the savior Zeus

Which, glory of triumphant spear, he raised

Conquering—my nobly-born!—the Minuai.

Here do we guard our station, destitute

Of all things, drink, food, raiment, on bare ground

Couched side by side: sealed out of house and home

Sit we in a resourcelessness of help.

Our friends—why, some are no true friends, I see!

The rest, that are true, want the means to aid.

So operates in man adversity:

Whereof may never anybody—no,

Though half of him should really wish me well,—

Happen to taste! a friend-test faultless, that!

Megara.Old man, who erst did raze the Taphian town,Illustriously, the army-leader, thou,Of speared Kadmeians—how gods play men false!I, now, missed nowise fortune in my sire,Who, for his wealth, was boasted mighty once,Having supreme rule,—for the love of whichLeap the long lances forth at favored breasts,—And having children too: and me he gaveThy son, his house with that of HeraklesUniting by the far-famed marriage-bed.And now these things are dead and flown away.While thou and I await our death, old man,These Herakleian boys too, whom—my chicks—I save beneath my wings like brooding bird.But one or other falls to questioning."O mother," cries he, "where in all the worldIs father gone to? What 's he doing? whenWill he come back?" At fault through tender years,They seek their sire. For me, I put them off,Telling them stories; at each creak of doors,All wonder "Does he come?"—and all a-footMake for the fall before the parent knee.Now then, what hope, what method of escapeFacilitatest thou?—for, thee, old man,I look to,—since we may not leave by stealthThe limits of the land, and guards, more strongThan we, are at the outlets: nor in friendsRemain to us the hopes of safety more.Therefore, whatever thy decision be.Impart it for the common good of all!Lest now should prove the proper time to die,Though, being weak, we spin it out and live.

Megara.Old man, who erst did raze the Taphian town,

Illustriously, the army-leader, thou,

Of speared Kadmeians—how gods play men false!

I, now, missed nowise fortune in my sire,

Who, for his wealth, was boasted mighty once,

Having supreme rule,—for the love of which

Leap the long lances forth at favored breasts,—

And having children too: and me he gave

Thy son, his house with that of Herakles

Uniting by the far-famed marriage-bed.

And now these things are dead and flown away.

While thou and I await our death, old man,

These Herakleian boys too, whom—my chicks—

I save beneath my wings like brooding bird.

But one or other falls to questioning.

"O mother," cries he, "where in all the world

Is father gone to? What 's he doing? when

Will he come back?" At fault through tender years,

They seek their sire. For me, I put them off,

Telling them stories; at each creak of doors,

All wonder "Does he come?"—and all a-foot

Make for the fall before the parent knee.

Now then, what hope, what method of escape

Facilitatest thou?—for, thee, old man,

I look to,—since we may not leave by stealth

The limits of the land, and guards, more strong

Than we, are at the outlets: nor in friends

Remain to us the hopes of safety more.

Therefore, whatever thy decision be.

Impart it for the common good of all!

Lest now should prove the proper time to die,

Though, being weak, we spin it out and live.

Amph.Daughter, it scarce is easy, do one's best,To blurt out counsel, things at such a pass.

Amph.Daughter, it scarce is easy, do one's best,

To blurt out counsel, things at such a pass.

Meg.You want some sorrow more, or so love life?

Amph.I both enjoy life, and love hopes beside.

Meg.And I; but hope against hope—no, old man!

Amph.In these delayings of an ill lurks cure.

Meg.But bitter is the meantime, and it bites.

Amph.Oh, there may be a run before the windFrom out these present ills, for me and thee,Daughter, and yet may come my son, thy spouse!But hush! and from the children take awayTheir founts aflow with tears, and talk them calm,Steal them by stories—sad theft, all the same!For, human troubles—they grow weary too;Neither the wind-blasts always have their strength,Nor happy men keep happy to the end:Since all things change—their natures part in twain;And that man's bravest therefore, who hopes on,Hopes ever: to despair is coward-like.

Amph.Oh, there may be a run before the wind

From out these present ills, for me and thee,

Daughter, and yet may come my son, thy spouse!

But hush! and from the children take away

Their founts aflow with tears, and talk them calm,

Steal them by stories—sad theft, all the same!

For, human troubles—they grow weary too;

Neither the wind-blasts always have their strength,

Nor happy men keep happy to the end:

Since all things change—their natures part in twain;

And that man's bravest therefore, who hopes on,

Hopes ever: to despair is coward-like.

Choros.These domes that overroof,This long-used couch, I come to, having madeA staff my prop, that song may put to proofThe swan-like power, age-whitened,—poet's aidOf sobbed-forth dirges—words that stand aloofFrom action now: such am I—just a shadeWith night for all its face, a mere night-dream—And words that tremble too: howe'er they seem,Devoted words, I deem.

Choros.These domes that overroof,

This long-used couch, I come to, having made

A staff my prop, that song may put to proof

The swan-like power, age-whitened,—poet's aid

Of sobbed-forth dirges—words that stand aloof

From action now: such am I—just a shade

With night for all its face, a mere night-dream—

And words that tremble too: howe'er they seem,

Devoted words, I deem.

O of a father ye unfathered ones,O thou old man, and thou whose groaning stuns—Unhappy mother—only us above,Nor reaches him below in Haides' realm, thy love!—(Faint not too soon, urge forward foot and limbWay-weary, nor lose courage—as some horseYoked to the car whose weight recoils on himJust at the rock-ridge that concludes his course!Take by the hand, the peplos, any oneWhose foothold fails him, printless and fordone!Aged, assist along me aged too,Who,—mate with thee in toils when life was new,And shields and spears first made acquaintanceship,—Stood by thyself and proved no bastard-slipOf fatherland when loftiest glory grew.)—See now, how like the sire'sEach eyeball fiercely fires!What though ill-fortune have not left his race?Neither is gone the grand paternal grace!Hellas! O what—what combatants, destroyedIn these, wilt thou one day seek—seek, and find all void!

O of a father ye unfathered ones,

O thou old man, and thou whose groaning stuns—

Unhappy mother—only us above,

Nor reaches him below in Haides' realm, thy love!

—(Faint not too soon, urge forward foot and limb

Way-weary, nor lose courage—as some horse

Yoked to the car whose weight recoils on him

Just at the rock-ridge that concludes his course!

Take by the hand, the peplos, any one

Whose foothold fails him, printless and fordone!

Aged, assist along me aged too,

Who,—mate with thee in toils when life was new,

And shields and spears first made acquaintanceship,—

Stood by thyself and proved no bastard-slip

Of fatherland when loftiest glory grew.)—

See now, how like the sire's

Each eyeball fiercely fires!

What though ill-fortune have not left his race?

Neither is gone the grand paternal grace!

Hellas! O what—what combatants, destroyed

In these, wilt thou one day seek—seek, and find all void!

Pause! for I see the ruler of this land,Lukos, now passing through the palace-gate.

Pause! for I see the ruler of this land,

Lukos, now passing through the palace-gate.

Lukos.The Herakleian couple—father, wife—If needs I must, I question: "must" forsooth?Being your master—all I please, I ask.To what time do you seek to spin out life?What hope, what help see, so as not to die?Is it you trust the sire of these, that 's sunkIn Haides, will return? How past the pitch,Suppose you have to die, you pile the woe—Thou, casting, Hellas through, thy empty vauntsAs though Zeus helped thee to a god for son;And thou, that thou wast styled our best man's wife!Where was the awful in his work wound up,If he did quell and quench the marshy snakeOr the Nemeian monster whom he snaredAnd—says, by throttlings of his arm, he slew?With these do you outwrestle me? Such featsShall save from death the sons of HeraklesWho got praise, being naught, for braveryIn wild-beast-battle, otherwise a blank?No man to throw on left arm buckler's weight,Not he, nor get in spear's reach! bow he bore—True coward's-weapon: shoot first and then fly!No bow-and-arrow proves a man is brave,But who keeps rank,—stands, one unwinking stareAs, ploughing up, the darts come,—brave is he.My action has no impudence, old man!Providence, rather: for I own I slewKreon, this woman's sire, and have his seat.Nowise I wish, then, to leave, these grown up,Avengers on me, payment for my deeds.

Lukos.The Herakleian couple—father, wife—

If needs I must, I question: "must" forsooth?

Being your master—all I please, I ask.

To what time do you seek to spin out life?

What hope, what help see, so as not to die?

Is it you trust the sire of these, that 's sunk

In Haides, will return? How past the pitch,

Suppose you have to die, you pile the woe—

Thou, casting, Hellas through, thy empty vaunts

As though Zeus helped thee to a god for son;

And thou, that thou wast styled our best man's wife!

Where was the awful in his work wound up,

If he did quell and quench the marshy snake

Or the Nemeian monster whom he snared

And—says, by throttlings of his arm, he slew?

With these do you outwrestle me? Such feats

Shall save from death the sons of Herakles

Who got praise, being naught, for bravery

In wild-beast-battle, otherwise a blank?

No man to throw on left arm buckler's weight,

Not he, nor get in spear's reach! bow he bore—

True coward's-weapon: shoot first and then fly!

No bow-and-arrow proves a man is brave,

But who keeps rank,—stands, one unwinking stare

As, ploughing up, the darts come,—brave is he.

My action has no impudence, old man!

Providence, rather: for I own I slew

Kreon, this woman's sire, and have his seat.

Nowise I wish, then, to leave, these grown up,

Avengers on me, payment for my deeds.

Amph.As to the part of Zeus in his own child,Let Zeus defend that! As to mine, 't is meThe care concerns to show by argumentThe folly of this fellow,—Herakles,Whom I stand up for! since to hear thee styled—Cowardly—that is unendurable.First then, the infamous (for I accountAmongst the words denied to human speech,Timidity ascribed thee, Herakles!)This I must put from thee, with gods in proof.Zeus' thunder I appeal to, those four steedsWhereof he also was the charioteerWhen, having shut down the earth's Giant-growth—(Never shaft flew but found and fitted flank)—Triumph he sang in common with the gods.The Kentaur-race, four-footed insolence—Go ask at Pholoé, vilest thou of kings,Whomthey would pick out and pronounce best man,If not my son, "the seeming-brave," say'st thou!But Dirphus, thy Abantid mother-town,Question her, and she would not praise, I think!For there 's no spot, where having done some good,Thy country thou might'st call to witness worth.Now, that allwise invention, archer's-gear,Thou blamest: hear my teaching and grow sage!A man in armor is his armor's slave,And, mixed with rank and file that want to run,He dies because his neighbors have lost heart.Then, should he break his spear, no way remainsOf warding death off,—gone that body-guard,His one and only; while, whatever folkHave the true bow-hand,—here 's the one main good,—Though he have sent ten thousand shafts abroad,Others remain wherewith the archer savesHis limbs and life, too,—stands afar and wardsAway from flesh the foe that vainly staresHurt by the viewless arrow, while himselfOffers no full front to those opposite,But keeps in thorough cover: there 's the pointThat 's capital in combat—damage foe,Yet keep a safe skin—foe not out of reachAs you are! Thus my words contrast with thine,And such, in judging facts, our difference.These children, now, why dost thou seek to slay?What have they done thee? In a single pointI count thee wise—if, being base thyself,Thou dread'st the progeny of nobleness.Yet this bears hard upon us, all the same,If we must die—because of fear in thee—A death 't were fit thou suffer at our hands,Thy betters, did Zeus rightly judge us all.If therefore thou art bent on sceptre-sway,Thyself, here—suffer us to leave the land,Fugitives! nothing do by violence,Or violence thyself shalt undergoWhen the gods' gale may chance to change for thee!Alas, O land of Kadmos,—for 't is theeI mean to close with, dealing out the dueRevilement,—in such sort dost thou defendHerakles and his children? HeraklesWho, coming, one to all the world, againstThe Minuai, fought them and left Thebes an eyeUnblinded henceforth to front freedom with!Neither do I praise Hellas, nor shall brookEver to keep in silence that I countTowards my son, craven of cravens—herWhom it behooved go bring the young ones hereFire, spears, arms—in exchange for seas made safe,And cleansings of the land, his labor's price.But fire, spears, arms,—O children, neither ThebesNor Hellas has them for you! 'T is myself,A feeble friend, ye look to: nothing nowBut a tongue's murmur, for the strength is goneWe had once, and with age are limbs a-shakeAnd force a-flicker! Were I only young,Still with the mastery o'er bone and thew,Grasping first spear that came, the yellow locksOf this insulter would I bloody so—Should send him skipping o'er the Atlantic boundsOut of my arm's reach through poltroonery!

Amph.As to the part of Zeus in his own child,

Let Zeus defend that! As to mine, 't is me

The care concerns to show by argument

The folly of this fellow,—Herakles,

Whom I stand up for! since to hear thee styled—

Cowardly—that is unendurable.

First then, the infamous (for I account

Amongst the words denied to human speech,

Timidity ascribed thee, Herakles!)

This I must put from thee, with gods in proof.

Zeus' thunder I appeal to, those four steeds

Whereof he also was the charioteer

When, having shut down the earth's Giant-growth—

(Never shaft flew but found and fitted flank)—

Triumph he sang in common with the gods.

The Kentaur-race, four-footed insolence—

Go ask at Pholoé, vilest thou of kings,

Whomthey would pick out and pronounce best man,

If not my son, "the seeming-brave," say'st thou!

But Dirphus, thy Abantid mother-town,

Question her, and she would not praise, I think!

For there 's no spot, where having done some good,

Thy country thou might'st call to witness worth.

Now, that allwise invention, archer's-gear,

Thou blamest: hear my teaching and grow sage!

A man in armor is his armor's slave,

And, mixed with rank and file that want to run,

He dies because his neighbors have lost heart.

Then, should he break his spear, no way remains

Of warding death off,—gone that body-guard,

His one and only; while, whatever folk

Have the true bow-hand,—here 's the one main good,—

Though he have sent ten thousand shafts abroad,

Others remain wherewith the archer saves

His limbs and life, too,—stands afar and wards

Away from flesh the foe that vainly stares

Hurt by the viewless arrow, while himself

Offers no full front to those opposite,

But keeps in thorough cover: there 's the point

That 's capital in combat—damage foe,

Yet keep a safe skin—foe not out of reach

As you are! Thus my words contrast with thine,

And such, in judging facts, our difference.

These children, now, why dost thou seek to slay?

What have they done thee? In a single point

I count thee wise—if, being base thyself,

Thou dread'st the progeny of nobleness.

Yet this bears hard upon us, all the same,

If we must die—because of fear in thee—

A death 't were fit thou suffer at our hands,

Thy betters, did Zeus rightly judge us all.

If therefore thou art bent on sceptre-sway,

Thyself, here—suffer us to leave the land,

Fugitives! nothing do by violence,

Or violence thyself shalt undergo

When the gods' gale may chance to change for thee!

Alas, O land of Kadmos,—for 't is thee

I mean to close with, dealing out the due

Revilement,—in such sort dost thou defend

Herakles and his children? Herakles

Who, coming, one to all the world, against

The Minuai, fought them and left Thebes an eye

Unblinded henceforth to front freedom with!

Neither do I praise Hellas, nor shall brook

Ever to keep in silence that I count

Towards my son, craven of cravens—her

Whom it behooved go bring the young ones here

Fire, spears, arms—in exchange for seas made safe,

And cleansings of the land, his labor's price.

But fire, spears, arms,—O children, neither Thebes

Nor Hellas has them for you! 'T is myself,

A feeble friend, ye look to: nothing now

But a tongue's murmur, for the strength is gone

We had once, and with age are limbs a-shake

And force a-flicker! Were I only young,

Still with the mastery o'er bone and thew,

Grasping first spear that came, the yellow locks

Of this insulter would I bloody so—

Should send him skipping o'er the Atlantic bounds

Out of my arm's reach through poltroonery!

Cho.Have not the really good folk starting-pointsFor speech to purpose,—though rare talkers they?

Cho.Have not the really good folk starting-points

For speech to purpose,—though rare talkers they?

Luk.Say thou against us words thou towerest with!I, for thy words, will deal thee blows, their due.Go, some to Helikon, to ParnasosSome, and the clefts there! Bid the woodmen fellOak-trunks, and, when the same are brought insideThe city, pile the altar round with logs,Then fire it, burn the bodies of them all,That they may learn thereby, no dead man rulesThe land here, but 't is I, by acts like these!As for you, old sirs, who are set againstMy judgments, you shall groan for—not aloneThe Herakleian children, but the fateOf your own house beside, when faring illBy any chance: and you shall recollectSlaves are you of a tyranny that 's mine!

Luk.Say thou against us words thou towerest with!

I, for thy words, will deal thee blows, their due.

Go, some to Helikon, to Parnasos

Some, and the clefts there! Bid the woodmen fell

Oak-trunks, and, when the same are brought inside

The city, pile the altar round with logs,

Then fire it, burn the bodies of them all,

That they may learn thereby, no dead man rules

The land here, but 't is I, by acts like these!

As for you, old sirs, who are set against

My judgments, you shall groan for—not alone

The Herakleian children, but the fate

Of your own house beside, when faring ill

By any chance: and you shall recollect

Slaves are you of a tyranny that 's mine!

Cho.O progeny of earth,—whom Ares sowedWhen he laid waste the dragon's greedy jaw—Will ye not lift the staves, right-hand supports,And bloody this man's irreligious head?Who, being no Kadmeian, rules,—the wretch,—Our easy youth: an interloper too!But not of me, at least, shalt thou enjoyThy lordship ever; nor my labor's fruit—Hand worked so hard for—have! A curse with thee,Whence thou didst come, there go and tyrannize!For never while I live shalt thou destroyThe Herakleian children: not so deepHides he below ground, leaving thee their lord!But we bear both of you in mind,—that thou,The land's destroyer, dost possess the land,While he who saved it, loses every right.Iplay the busybody—for I serveMy dead friends when they need friends' service most?O right-hand, how thou yearnest to snatch spearAnd serve indeed! in weakness dies the wish,Or I had stayed thee calling me a slave,And nobly drawn my breath at home in ThebesWhere thou exultest!—city that's insane,Sick through sedition and bad government,Else never had she gained for master—thee!

Cho.O progeny of earth,—whom Ares sowed

When he laid waste the dragon's greedy jaw—

Will ye not lift the staves, right-hand supports,

And bloody this man's irreligious head?

Who, being no Kadmeian, rules,—the wretch,—

Our easy youth: an interloper too!

But not of me, at least, shalt thou enjoy

Thy lordship ever; nor my labor's fruit—

Hand worked so hard for—have! A curse with thee,

Whence thou didst come, there go and tyrannize!

For never while I live shalt thou destroy

The Herakleian children: not so deep

Hides he below ground, leaving thee their lord!

But we bear both of you in mind,—that thou,

The land's destroyer, dost possess the land,

While he who saved it, loses every right.

Iplay the busybody—for I serve

My dead friends when they need friends' service most?

O right-hand, how thou yearnest to snatch spear

And serve indeed! in weakness dies the wish,

Or I had stayed thee calling me a slave,

And nobly drawn my breath at home in Thebes

Where thou exultest!—city that's insane,

Sick through sedition and bad government,

Else never had she gained for master—thee!

Meg.Old friends, I praise you: since a righteous wrathFor friend's sake well becomes a friend. But no!On our account in anger with your lord,Suffer no injury! Hear my advice,Amphitruon, if I seem to speak aright.Oh, yes, I love my children! how not loveWhat I brought forth, what toiled for? and to die—Sad I esteem too; still, the fated wayWho stiffens him against, that man I countPoor creature; us, who are of other mood,Since we must die, behooves us meet our deathNot burnt to cinders, giving foes the laugh—To me, worse ill than dying, that! we oweOur houses many a brave deed, now to pay.Thee, indeed, gloriously men estimateFor spear-work, so that unendurableWere it that thou shouldst die a death of shame.And for my glorious husband, where wants heA witness that he would not save his boysIf touched in their good fame thereby? since birthBears ill with baseness done for children's sake,My husband needs must be my pattern here.See now thy hope—how much I count thereon!Thou thinkest that thy son will come to light:And, of the dead, who came from Haides back?But we with talk this man might mollify:Never! Of all foes, fly the foolish one!Wise, well-bred people, make concession to!Sooner you meet respect by speaking soft.Already it was in my mind—perchanceWe might beg off these children's banishment;But even that is sad, involving themIn safety, ay—and piteous poverty!Since the host's visage for the flying friendHas, only one day, the sweet look, 'tis said.Dare with us death, which waits thee, dared or no!We call on thine ancestral worth, old man!For who out-labors what the gods appointShows energy, but energy gone mad.Since what must—none e'er makes what must not be!

Meg.Old friends, I praise you: since a righteous wrath

For friend's sake well becomes a friend. But no!

On our account in anger with your lord,

Suffer no injury! Hear my advice,

Amphitruon, if I seem to speak aright.

Oh, yes, I love my children! how not love

What I brought forth, what toiled for? and to die—

Sad I esteem too; still, the fated way

Who stiffens him against, that man I count

Poor creature; us, who are of other mood,

Since we must die, behooves us meet our death

Not burnt to cinders, giving foes the laugh—

To me, worse ill than dying, that! we owe

Our houses many a brave deed, now to pay.

Thee, indeed, gloriously men estimate

For spear-work, so that unendurable

Were it that thou shouldst die a death of shame.

And for my glorious husband, where wants he

A witness that he would not save his boys

If touched in their good fame thereby? since birth

Bears ill with baseness done for children's sake,

My husband needs must be my pattern here.

See now thy hope—how much I count thereon!

Thou thinkest that thy son will come to light:

And, of the dead, who came from Haides back?

But we with talk this man might mollify:

Never! Of all foes, fly the foolish one!

Wise, well-bred people, make concession to!

Sooner you meet respect by speaking soft.

Already it was in my mind—perchance

We might beg off these children's banishment;

But even that is sad, involving them

In safety, ay—and piteous poverty!

Since the host's visage for the flying friend

Has, only one day, the sweet look, 'tis said.

Dare with us death, which waits thee, dared or no!

We call on thine ancestral worth, old man!

For who out-labors what the gods appoint

Shows energy, but energy gone mad.

Since what must—none e'er makes what must not be!

Cho.Had any one, while yet my arms were strong,Been scorning thee, he easily had ceased.But we are naught, now; thine henceforth to see—Amphitruon, how to push aside these fates!

Cho.Had any one, while yet my arms were strong,

Been scorning thee, he easily had ceased.

But we are naught, now; thine henceforth to see—

Amphitruon, how to push aside these fates!

Amph.Nor cowardice nor a desire of lifeStops me from dying: but I seek to saveMy son his children. Vain! I set my heart,It seems, upon impossibility.See, it is ready for the sword, this throatTo pierce, divide, dash down from precipice!But one grace grant us, king, we supplicate!Slay me and this unhappy one beforeThe children, lest we see them—impious sight!—Gasping the soul forth, calling all the whileOn mother and on father's father! Else,Do as thy heart inclines thee! No resourceHave we from death, and we resign ourselves.

Amph.Nor cowardice nor a desire of life

Stops me from dying: but I seek to save

My son his children. Vain! I set my heart,

It seems, upon impossibility.

See, it is ready for the sword, this throat

To pierce, divide, dash down from precipice!

But one grace grant us, king, we supplicate!

Slay me and this unhappy one before

The children, lest we see them—impious sight!—

Gasping the soul forth, calling all the while

On mother and on father's father! Else,

Do as thy heart inclines thee! No resource

Have we from death, and we resign ourselves.

Meg.And I too supplicate: add grace to grace,And, though but one man, doubly serve us both!Let me bestow adornment of the deadUpon these children! Throw the palace wide!For now we are shut out. Thence these shall shareAt least so much of wealth was once their sire's!

Meg.And I too supplicate: add grace to grace,

And, though but one man, doubly serve us both!

Let me bestow adornment of the dead

Upon these children! Throw the palace wide!

For now we are shut out. Thence these shall share

At least so much of wealth was once their sire's!

Luk.These things shall be. Withdraw the bolts, I bidMy servants! Enter and adorn yourselves!I grudge no peploi; but when these ye windAbout your bodies,—that adornment done,—Then I shall come and give you to the grave.

Luk.These things shall be. Withdraw the bolts, I bid

My servants! Enter and adorn yourselves!

I grudge no peploi; but when these ye wind

About your bodies,—that adornment done,—

Then I shall come and give you to the grave.

Meg.O children, follow this unhappy foot,Your mother's, into your ancestral home,Where others have the power, are lords in truth,Although the empty name is left us yet!

Meg.O children, follow this unhappy foot,

Your mother's, into your ancestral home,

Where others have the power, are lords in truth,

Although the empty name is left us yet!

Amph.O Zeus, in vain I had thee marriage-mate,In vain I called thee father of my child!Thou wast less friendly far than thou didst seem.I, the mere man, o'ermatch in virtue theeThe mighty god: for I have not betrayedThe Herakleian children,—whereas thouHadst wit enough to come clandestinelyInto the chamber, take what no man gave,Another's place; and when it comes to helpThy loved ones, there thou lackest wit indeed!Thou art some stupid god or born unjust.

Amph.O Zeus, in vain I had thee marriage-mate,

In vain I called thee father of my child!

Thou wast less friendly far than thou didst seem.

I, the mere man, o'ermatch in virtue thee

The mighty god: for I have not betrayed

The Herakleian children,—whereas thou

Hadst wit enough to come clandestinely

Into the chamber, take what no man gave,

Another's place; and when it comes to help

Thy loved ones, there thou lackest wit indeed!

Thou art some stupid god or born unjust.

Cho.Even a dirge, can Phoibos suitIn song to music jubilantFor all its sorrow: making shootHis golden plectron o'er the lute,Melodious ministrant.And I, too, am of mind to raise,Despite the imminence of doom,A song of joy, outpour my praiseTo him—what is it rumor says?—Whether—now buried in the ghostly gloomBelow ground—he was child of Zeus indeed,Or mere Amphitruon's mortal seed—To him I weave the wreath of song, his labor's meed.For, is my hero perished in the feat?The virtues of brave toils, in death complete,These save the dead in song,—their glory-garland meet!

Cho.Even a dirge, can Phoibos suit

In song to music jubilant

For all its sorrow: making shoot

His golden plectron o'er the lute,

Melodious ministrant.

And I, too, am of mind to raise,

Despite the imminence of doom,

A song of joy, outpour my praise

To him—what is it rumor says?—

Whether—now buried in the ghostly gloom

Below ground—he was child of Zeus indeed,

Or mere Amphitruon's mortal seed—

To him I weave the wreath of song, his labor's meed.

For, is my hero perished in the feat?

The virtues of brave toils, in death complete,

These save the dead in song,—their glory-garland meet!

First, then, he made the woodOf Zeus a solitude,Slaying its lion-tenant; and he spreadThe tawniness behind—his yellow headEnmuffled by the brute's, backed by that grin of dread.The mountain-roving savage Kentaur-raceHe strewed with deadly bow about their place,Slaying with wingèd shafts: Peneios knew,Beauteously-eddying, and the long tracts tooOf pasture trampled fruitless, and as wellThose desolated haunts Mount Pelion under,And, grassy up to Homolé, each dellWhence, having filled their hands with pine-tree plunder,Horse-like was wont to prance from, and subdueThe land of Thessaly, that bestial crew.The golden-headed spot-back'd stag he slew,That robber of the rustics: glorifiedTherewith the goddess who in hunter's prideSlaughters the game along Oinoé's side.And, yoked abreast, he brought the chariot-breedTo pace submissive to the bit, each steedThat in the bloody cribs of DiomedeChamped and, unbridled, hurried down that goreFor grain, exultant the dread feast before—Of man's flesh: hideous feeders they of yore!All as he crossed the Hebros' silver-flowAccomplished he such labor, toiling soFor Mukenaian tyrant; ay, and more—He crossed the Melian shoreAnd, by the sources of Amauros, shotTo death that strangers'-pestKuknos, who dwelt in Amphanaia: notOf fame for good to guest!

First, then, he made the wood

Of Zeus a solitude,

Slaying its lion-tenant; and he spread

The tawniness behind—his yellow head

Enmuffled by the brute's, backed by that grin of dread.

The mountain-roving savage Kentaur-race

He strewed with deadly bow about their place,

Slaying with wingèd shafts: Peneios knew,

Beauteously-eddying, and the long tracts too

Of pasture trampled fruitless, and as well

Those desolated haunts Mount Pelion under,

And, grassy up to Homolé, each dell

Whence, having filled their hands with pine-tree plunder,

Horse-like was wont to prance from, and subdue

The land of Thessaly, that bestial crew.

The golden-headed spot-back'd stag he slew,

That robber of the rustics: glorified

Therewith the goddess who in hunter's pride

Slaughters the game along Oinoé's side.

And, yoked abreast, he brought the chariot-breed

To pace submissive to the bit, each steed

That in the bloody cribs of Diomede

Champed and, unbridled, hurried down that gore

For grain, exultant the dread feast before—

Of man's flesh: hideous feeders they of yore!

All as he crossed the Hebros' silver-flow

Accomplished he such labor, toiling so

For Mukenaian tyrant; ay, and more—

He crossed the Melian shore

And, by the sources of Amauros, shot

To death that strangers'-pest

Kuknos, who dwelt in Amphanaia: not

Of fame for good to guest!

And next, to the melodious maids he came,Inside the Hesperian court-yard: hand must aimAt plucking gold fruit from the appled leaves,Now he had killed the dragon, backed like flame,Who guards the unapproachable he weavesHimself all round, one spire about the same.And into those sea-troughs of ocean divedThe hero, and for mortals calm contrived,Whatever oars should follow in his wake.And under heaven's mid-seat his hands thrust he,At home with Atlas: and, for valor's sake,Held the gods up their star-faced mansionry.Also, the rider-host of AmazonsAbout Maiotis many-streamed, he wentTo conquer through the billowy Euxin once,Having collected what an armamentOf friends from Hellas, all on conquest bentOf that gold-garnished cloak, dread girdle-chase!So Hellas gained the girl's barbarian graceAnd at Mukenai saves the trophy still—Go wonder there, who will!

And next, to the melodious maids he came,

Inside the Hesperian court-yard: hand must aim

At plucking gold fruit from the appled leaves,

Now he had killed the dragon, backed like flame,

Who guards the unapproachable he weaves

Himself all round, one spire about the same.

And into those sea-troughs of ocean dived

The hero, and for mortals calm contrived,

Whatever oars should follow in his wake.

And under heaven's mid-seat his hands thrust he,

At home with Atlas: and, for valor's sake,

Held the gods up their star-faced mansionry.

Also, the rider-host of Amazons

About Maiotis many-streamed, he went

To conquer through the billowy Euxin once,

Having collected what an armament

Of friends from Hellas, all on conquest bent

Of that gold-garnished cloak, dread girdle-chase!

So Hellas gained the girl's barbarian grace

And at Mukenai saves the trophy still—

Go wonder there, who will!

And the ten-thousand-headed houndOf many a murder, the Lernaian snakeHe burned out, head by head, and cast aroundHis darts a poison thence,—darts soon to slakeTheir rage in that three-bodied herdsman's goreOf Erutheia. Many a running moreHe made for triumph and felicity,And, last of toils, to Haides, never dryOf tears, he sailed: and there he, luckless, endsHis life completely, nor returns again.The house and home are desolate of friends,And where the children's life-path leads them, plainI see,—no step retraceable, no godAvailing, and no law to help the lost!The oar of Charon marks their period,Waits to end all. Thy hands, these roofs accost!—To thee, though absent, look their uttermost!

And the ten-thousand-headed hound

Of many a murder, the Lernaian snake

He burned out, head by head, and cast around

His darts a poison thence,—darts soon to slake

Their rage in that three-bodied herdsman's gore

Of Erutheia. Many a running more

He made for triumph and felicity,

And, last of toils, to Haides, never dry

Of tears, he sailed: and there he, luckless, ends

His life completely, nor returns again.

The house and home are desolate of friends,

And where the children's life-path leads them, plain

I see,—no step retraceable, no god

Availing, and no law to help the lost!

The oar of Charon marks their period,

Waits to end all. Thy hands, these roofs accost!—

To thee, though absent, look their uttermost!

But if in youth and strength I flourished still,Still shook the spear in fight, did power match willIn these Kadmeian co-mates of my age,They would,—and I,—when warfare was to wage,Stand by these children; but I am bereftOf youth now, lone of that good genius left!

But if in youth and strength I flourished still,

Still shook the spear in fight, did power match will

In these Kadmeian co-mates of my age,

They would,—and I,—when warfare was to wage,

Stand by these children; but I am bereft

Of youth now, lone of that good genius left!

But hist, desist! for here come these,—Draped as the dead go, under and over,—Children long since—now hard to discover—Of the once so potent Herakles!And the loved wife dragging, in one tetherAbout her feet, the boys together;And the hero's aged sire comes last!Unhappy that I am! Of tears which rise,—How am I all unable to hold fast,Longer, the aged fountains of these eyes!

But hist, desist! for here come these,—

Draped as the dead go, under and over,—

Children long since—now hard to discover—

Of the once so potent Herakles!

And the loved wife dragging, in one tether

About her feet, the boys together;

And the hero's aged sire comes last!

Unhappy that I am! Of tears which rise,—

How am I all unable to hold fast,

Longer, the aged fountains of these eyes!

Meg.Be it so! Who is priest, who butcher hereOf these ill-fated ones, or stops the breathOf me, the miserable? Ready, see,The sacrifice—to lead where Haides lives!O children, we are led—no lovely teamOf corpses—age, youth, motherhood, all mixed!O sad fate of myself and these my sonsWhom with these eyes I look at, this last time!I, indeed, bore you: but for enemiesI brought you up to be a laughing-stock,Matter for merriment, destruction-stuff!Woe's me!Strangely indeed my hopes have struck me downFrom what I used to hope about you once—The expectation from your father's talk!For thee, now, thy dead sire dealt Argos to:Thou wast to have Eurustheus' house one day,And rule Pelasgia where the fine fruits grow;And, for a stole of state, he wrapped aboutThy head with that the lion-monster bore,That which himself went wearing armor-wise.And thou wast King of Thebes—such chariots there!Those plains I had for portion—all for thee,As thou hadst coaxed them out of who gave birthTo thee, his boy: and into thy right handHe thrust the guardian-club of Daidalos,—Poor guardian proves the gift that plays thee false!And upon thee he promised to bestowOichalia—what, with those far-shooting shafts,He ravaged once; and so, since three you were,With threefold kingdoms did he build you upTo very towers, your father,—proud enough,Prognosticating, from your manlinessIn boyhood, what the manhood's self would be.For my part, I was picking out for youBrides, suiting each with his alliance—thisFrom Athens, this from Sparté, this from Thebes—Whence, suited—as stern-cables steady ship—You might have hold on life gods bless. All gone!Fortune turns round and gives us—you, the FatesInstead of brides—me, tears for nuptial baths,Unhappy in my hoping! And the sireOf your sire—he prepares the marriage-feastBefitting Haides who plays father now—Bitter relationship! Oh me! which first—Which last of you shall I to bosom fold?To whom shall I fit close, his mouth to mine?Of whom shall I lay hold and ne'er let go?How would I gather, like the brown-winged bee,The groans from all, and, gathered into one,Give them you back again, a crowded tear!Dearest, if any voice be heard of menDungeoned in Haides, thee—to thee I speak!Here is thy father dying, and thy boys!And I too perish, famed as fortunateBy mortals once, through thee! Assist them! Come!But come! though just a shade, appear to me!For, coming, thy ghost-grandeur would suffice,Such cowards are they in thy presence, theseWho kill thy children now thy back is turned!

Meg.Be it so! Who is priest, who butcher here

Of these ill-fated ones, or stops the breath

Of me, the miserable? Ready, see,

The sacrifice—to lead where Haides lives!

O children, we are led—no lovely team

Of corpses—age, youth, motherhood, all mixed!

O sad fate of myself and these my sons

Whom with these eyes I look at, this last time!

I, indeed, bore you: but for enemies

I brought you up to be a laughing-stock,

Matter for merriment, destruction-stuff!

Woe's me!

Strangely indeed my hopes have struck me down

From what I used to hope about you once—

The expectation from your father's talk!

For thee, now, thy dead sire dealt Argos to:

Thou wast to have Eurustheus' house one day,

And rule Pelasgia where the fine fruits grow;

And, for a stole of state, he wrapped about

Thy head with that the lion-monster bore,

That which himself went wearing armor-wise.

And thou wast King of Thebes—such chariots there!

Those plains I had for portion—all for thee,

As thou hadst coaxed them out of who gave birth

To thee, his boy: and into thy right hand

He thrust the guardian-club of Daidalos,—

Poor guardian proves the gift that plays thee false!

And upon thee he promised to bestow

Oichalia—what, with those far-shooting shafts,

He ravaged once; and so, since three you were,

With threefold kingdoms did he build you up

To very towers, your father,—proud enough,

Prognosticating, from your manliness

In boyhood, what the manhood's self would be.

For my part, I was picking out for you

Brides, suiting each with his alliance—this

From Athens, this from Sparté, this from Thebes—

Whence, suited—as stern-cables steady ship—

You might have hold on life gods bless. All gone!

Fortune turns round and gives us—you, the Fates

Instead of brides—me, tears for nuptial baths,

Unhappy in my hoping! And the sire

Of your sire—he prepares the marriage-feast

Befitting Haides who plays father now—

Bitter relationship! Oh me! which first—

Which last of you shall I to bosom fold?

To whom shall I fit close, his mouth to mine?

Of whom shall I lay hold and ne'er let go?

How would I gather, like the brown-winged bee,

The groans from all, and, gathered into one,

Give them you back again, a crowded tear!

Dearest, if any voice be heard of men

Dungeoned in Haides, thee—to thee I speak!

Here is thy father dying, and thy boys!

And I too perish, famed as fortunate

By mortals once, through thee! Assist them! Come!

But come! though just a shade, appear to me!

For, coming, thy ghost-grandeur would suffice,

Such cowards are they in thy presence, these

Who kill thy children now thy back is turned!

Amph.Ay, daughter, bid the powers below assist!But I will rather, raising hand to heaven,Call thee to help, O Zeus, if thy intentBe, to these children, helpful anyway,Since soon thou wilt be valueless enough!And yet thou hast been called and called; in vainI labor: for we needs must die, it seems.Well, aged brothers—life's a little thing!Such as it is, then, pass life pleasantlyFrom day to night, nor once grieve all the while!Since Time concerns him not about our hopes,—To save them,—but his own work done, flies off.Witness myself, looked up to among men,Doing noteworthy deeds: when here comes fateLifts me away, like feather skyward borne,In one day! Riches then and glory,—whomThese are found constant to, I know not. Friends,Farewell! the man who loved you all so much,Now, this last time, my mates, ye look upon!

Amph.Ay, daughter, bid the powers below assist!

But I will rather, raising hand to heaven,

Call thee to help, O Zeus, if thy intent

Be, to these children, helpful anyway,

Since soon thou wilt be valueless enough!

And yet thou hast been called and called; in vain

I labor: for we needs must die, it seems.

Well, aged brothers—life's a little thing!

Such as it is, then, pass life pleasantly

From day to night, nor once grieve all the while!

Since Time concerns him not about our hopes,—

To save them,—but his own work done, flies off.

Witness myself, looked up to among men,

Doing noteworthy deeds: when here comes fate

Lifts me away, like feather skyward borne,

In one day! Riches then and glory,—whom

These are found constant to, I know not. Friends,

Farewell! the man who loved you all so much,

Now, this last time, my mates, ye look upon!

Meg.Ha!O father, do I see my dearest? Speak!

Meg.Ha!

O father, do I see my dearest? Speak!

Amph.No more than thou canst, daughter—dumb like thee!

Meg.Is this he whom we heard was under ground?

Amph.Unless at least some dream in day we see!

Meg.What do I say? what dreams insanely view?This is no other than thy son, old sire!Here, children! hang to these paternal robes,Quick, haste, hold hard on him, since here's your trueZeus that can save—and every whit as well!

Meg.What do I say? what dreams insanely view?

This is no other than thy son, old sire!

Here, children! hang to these paternal robes,

Quick, haste, hold hard on him, since here's your true

Zeus that can save—and every whit as well!

Herakles.Oh, hail, my palace, my hearth's propula,—How glad I see thee as I come to light!Ha, what means this? My children I beholdBefore the house in garments of the grave,Chapleted, and, amid a crowd of men,My very wife—my father weeping too,Whatever the misfortune! Come, best takeMy station nearer these and learn it all!Wife, what new sorrow has approached our home?

Herakles.Oh, hail, my palace, my hearth's propula,—

How glad I see thee as I come to light!

Ha, what means this? My children I behold

Before the house in garments of the grave,

Chapleted, and, amid a crowd of men,

My very wife—my father weeping too,

Whatever the misfortune! Come, best take

My station nearer these and learn it all!

Wife, what new sorrow has approached our home?

Meg.O dearest! light flashed on thy father now!Art thou come? art thou saved and dost thou fallOn friends in their supreme extremity?

Meg.O dearest! light flashed on thy father now!

Art thou come? art thou saved and dost thou fall

On friends in their supreme extremity?

Her.How say'st thou? Father! what's the trouble here?

Meg.Undone are we!—but thou, old man, forgiveIf first I snatch what thou shouldst say to him!For somehow womanhood wakes pity more.Here are my children killed and I undone!

Meg.Undone are we!—but thou, old man, forgive

If first I snatch what thou shouldst say to him!

For somehow womanhood wakes pity more.

Here are my children killed and I undone!

Her.Apollon, with what preludes speech begins!

Meg.Dead are my brothers and old father too.

Her.How say'st thou?—doing what?—by spear-stroke whence?

Meg.Lukos destroyed them—the land's noble king!

Her.Met them in arms? or through the land's disease?

Meg.Sedition: and he sways seven-gated Thebes.

Her.Why then came fear on the old man and thee?

Meg.He meant to kill thy father, me, our boys.

Her.How say'st thou? Fearing what from orphanage?

Meg.Lest they should some day pay back Kreon's death.

Her.And why trick out the boys corpse-fashion thus?

Meg.These wraps of death we have already donned.

Her.And you had died through violence? Woe's me!

Meg.Left bare of friends: and thou wast dead, we heard.

Her.And whence came on you this faintheartedness?

Meg.The heralds of Eurustheus brought the news.

Her.And why was it you left my house and hearth?

Meg.Forced thence: thy father—from his very couch!

Her.And no shame at insulting the old man?

Meg.Shame, truly! no near neighborsheand Shame!

Her.And so much, in my absence, lacked I friends?

Meg.Friends,—are there any to a luckless man?

Her.The Minuai-war I waged,—they spat forth these?

Meg.Friendless—again I tell thee—is ill-luck.

Her.Will not you cast these hell-wraps from your hairAnd look on light again, and with your eyesTaste the sweet change from nether dark to day?While I—for now there needs my handiwork—First I shall go, demolish the abodesOf these new lordships; next hew off the headAccurst and toss it for the dogs to trail.Then, such of the Kadmeians as I findWere craven though they owed me gratitude,—Some I intend to handle with this clubRenowned for conquest; and with wingèd shaftsScatter the others, fill Ismenos fullWith bloody corpses,—Dirké's flow so whiteShall be incarnadined. For, whom, I pray,Behooves me rather help than wife and childAnd aged father? Farewell, "Labors" mine!Vainly I wrought them: my true work lay here!My business is to die defending these,—If for their father's sake they meant to die.Or how shall we call brave the battling itWith snake and lion, as Eurustheus bade,If yet I must not labor death awayFrom my own children? "Conquering Herakles"Folk will not call me as they used, I think!The right thing is for parents to assistChildren, old age, the partner of the couch.

Her.Will not you cast these hell-wraps from your hair

And look on light again, and with your eyes

Taste the sweet change from nether dark to day?

While I—for now there needs my handiwork—

First I shall go, demolish the abodes

Of these new lordships; next hew off the head

Accurst and toss it for the dogs to trail.

Then, such of the Kadmeians as I find

Were craven though they owed me gratitude,—

Some I intend to handle with this club

Renowned for conquest; and with wingèd shafts

Scatter the others, fill Ismenos full

With bloody corpses,—Dirké's flow so white

Shall be incarnadined. For, whom, I pray,

Behooves me rather help than wife and child

And aged father? Farewell, "Labors" mine!

Vainly I wrought them: my true work lay here!

My business is to die defending these,—

If for their father's sake they meant to die.

Or how shall we call brave the battling it

With snake and lion, as Eurustheus bade,

If yet I must not labor death away

From my own children? "Conquering Herakles"

Folk will not call me as they used, I think!

The right thing is for parents to assist

Children, old age, the partner of the couch.

Amph.True, son! thy duty is—be friend to friendsAnd foe to foes: yet—no more haste than needs!

Amph.True, son! thy duty is—be friend to friends

And foe to foes: yet—no more haste than needs!

Her.Why, father, what is over-hasty here?

Amph.Many a pauper—seeming to be rich,As the word goes—the king calls partisan.Such made a riot, ruined Thebes to robTheir neighbor: for, what good they had at homeWas spent and gone,—flew off through idleness.You came to trouble Thebes, they saw: since seen,Beware lest, raising foes, a multitude,You stumble where you apprehend no harm.

Amph.Many a pauper—seeming to be rich,

As the word goes—the king calls partisan.

Such made a riot, ruined Thebes to rob

Their neighbor: for, what good they had at home

Was spent and gone,—flew off through idleness.

You came to trouble Thebes, they saw: since seen,

Beware lest, raising foes, a multitude,

You stumble where you apprehend no harm.

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