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Editor’s Note
Preface
On the Genius and Character of the Greek Tragedy
The Life of Æschylus
Agamemnon
ChoephorÆ Or, the Libation-bearers a Lyrico-dramatic Spectacle
The Eumenides
Prometheus Bound a Lyrico-dramatic Spectacle
The Suppliants a Lyrico-dramatic Spectacle
The Seven Against Thebes a Lyrico-dramatic Spectacle
The Persians a Historical Cantata
List of Editions Commentaries and Translations Used By the Translator

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THE SAGES OF OLD LIVE AGAIN IN US GLANVILL

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EDITOR’S NOTE

The following is a list of the chief English translators of Æschylus:—

The Tragedies translated into English Verse; R. Potter, 1777, 1779.

The Seven Tragedies literally translated into English Prose, from the Text of Blomfield and Schütz, 1822, 1827.

Literal translation by T. A. Buckley, 1849.

The Lyrical Dramas . . . into English Verse; J. S. Blackie, 1850: into English Prose, F. A. Paley, 1864, 1891; E. H. Plumptre, 1868, 1873; Anna Swanwick, 1873; from a revised Text, W. Headlam, 1900, etc.

The Seven Plays in English Verse; L. Campbell, 1890.

The Agamemnon was translated by Dean Milman, 1865; and “transcribed” by Robert Browning, 1877. A. W. Verrall’s edition of the text, with commentary and translation, appeared in 1889.

The most important of the earlier editions of the text was that by Stanley; of the more recent, that by Schütz, Wellauer, and Hermann.

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PREFACE

Some men of literary note, in the present day, observing the great difficulties with which poetical translators have to contend, especially when using a language of inferior compass, have been of opinion that the task ought not to be attempted at all—that all poetical translations, from Greek at least into English, should be done in prose; and, in confirmation of this opinion, they point to the English translation of the Hebrew Bible as a model. But if, as Southey says, “a translation is good precisely as it faithfully represents the matter, manner, and spirit of the original,”* it is difficult to see how this doctrine can be entertained. Poetry is distinguished from prose more by the manner than by the matter; and rhythmical regularity or verse is precisely that quality which distinguishes the manner of poetry from that of prose. In one sense, and in the best sense, Plato and Richter and Jeremy Taylor are poets; in another sense, and in the best sense, Æschylus and Dante and Shakespere are philosophers; but that which a poet as a poet has, and a philosopher as a philosopher has not, is verse; and this element the advocates of a prose translation of poetical works are content to miss out! That the argument from the English translation of the Bible is not applicable to every case, will appear plain to any one who will figure to himself Robert Burns or Horace or Beranger in a prose dress. In the Bible we seek for the simplicity of religious inculcation or devout meditation, and would consider the finest rhythmical decorations out of place. Besides, the style of the Hebrew poetry is eminently simple; and the rhythmical element of language, so far as I can learn, was never highly cultivated by the Jews, whose mission on earth was of a different kind. The Greeks, on the other hand, were eminently a poetical people; the poetry of their drama, though not without its own simplicity, is, in respect of mere linguistic organism, of a highly decorated order; and by nothing is that decoration so marked as by a systematic attention to rhythm. I consider, therefore, that prose translations of the Greek dramatists will never satisfy the just demands of a cultivated taste, for the plain reason that they omit that element which is most characteristic of the manner of the original.

I am persuaded that the demand for prose translations of poets had arisen, in this country, more from a sort of desperate reaction against certain vicious principles of the old English school of translation, than from a serious consideration either of the nature of the thing, or of the capacity of our noble language. In Germany, I do not find that this notion has ever been entertained; plainly because the German poetical translations did not err, like our English ones, in conspiring, by every sort of fine flourishing and delicate furbishment, to obscure or to blot out what was most characteristic in their originals. The proper problem of an English translator is not how to say a thing as the author would have said it, had he been an Englishman; but how, through the medium of the English language, to make the English reader feel both what he said and how he said it, being a Greek. Now, any one who is familiar with the general run of English rhythmical translations, of which Pope’s Iliad is the pattern, must be aware that they have too often been executed under the influence of the former of these principles rather than the latter. In Pope’s Homer, and in Sotheby’s also, I must add, we find many, perhaps all the finest passages very finely done; but so as Pope or Sotheby might have done themselves in an original poem written at the present day, while that which is most peculiarly Homeric, a certain blunt naturalness and a talkative simplicity, we do not find in these translators at all. The very things which most strike the eye of the accomplished connoisseur, and feed the meditations of the student of human nature, are omitted.

Now, I at once admit that a good prose translation—that is to say, a prose translation done by a poet or a man of poetical culture—of such an author as Homer, is preferable, for many purposes, to a poetical translation so elegantly defaced as that of Pope. A prose translation, also, of any poet, done accurately in a prosaic style by a proser, however much of a parody or a caricature in point of taste, may not be without its use, if in no other way, as a ready check on the free licence of omission or inoculation which rhythmical translators are so fond to usurp. But it is a mistake to suppose, because Pope, under the influence of Louis XIV. and Queen Anne, could not write a good poetical translation of Homer, that therefore such a work is beyond the compass of the English language.* I believe that, if Alfred Tennyson were to give the world a translation of the Iliad in the measure of Locksley Hall, he would cut Pope out of the market of the million, even at this eleventh hour. We are, in the present epoch of our literary history, arrived at a very favourable moment for producing good translations. A band of highly-original and richly-furnished minds has just left the stage, leaving us the legacy of a poetical language which, under their hand, received a degree of rhythmical culture, of which it had been before considered incapable. The example of the Germans, also, now no longer confined to the knowledge of a few, stands forth to show us how excellent poetical translations may be made, free, at least, from those faults from which we have suffered. There is no reason why we should despair of producing poetical versions of the Classics which shall be at once graceful as English compositions, and characteristic as productions of the Greek or Roman mind. I, for one, have already passed this judgment on my own attempt, that if I have failed in these pages to bring out what is Greek and what is Æschylean prominently, in combination with force, grace, and clearness of English expression, it is for lack of skill in the workman, not for want of edge in the tool.

The next question that calls for answer is: it being admitted that a rhythmical translation of a Greek poem is preferable to a prose one, should we content ourselves with a blank rhythm (such as Shelley has used in Queen Mab, and Southey in Thalaba), or should we adopt also the sonorous ornament of rhyme. On this subject, when I first commenced this translation, about twelve years ago, I confess my feelings were strongly against the use of rhyme in translations from the antique; but experience and reflection have taught me considerably to modify, and, in some points of view, altogether to abandon this opinion. With regard to this matter, Southey has expressed himself thus:—“Rhyme is to passages of no inherent merit what rouge and candle-light are to ordinary faces. Merely ornamental passages, also, are aided by it, as foil sets off paste. But when there is either passion or power, the plainer and more straightforward the language can be made, the better.”† This is the lowest ground on which the plea for rhyme can be put; but even thus, it will be impossible for a discriminating translator to ward off its application to the Greek tragedy. In all poetry written for music, there will occur, even from the best poets, not a few passages on which the mere reader will pronounce, in the language of Horace, that they are comparatively

“Inopes rerum nugaeque canorae.”

With regard to the proper choral odes—the most difficult, and, in my view, the most important part of my task—I have allowed myself a licence, which some may think too large, but which, if I were to do the work over again, I scarcely think I should contract. In very few cases have I given anything like a curious imitation of the original; and, when I have done so—as in the Trochaic Chaunt of the Furies, Vol. I. p. 212, and in the Cretics mingled with Trochees, in the short ode of the Suppliants, Vol. II. p 107‡ —it was more to humour the whim of the moment than from any fixed principle. For, to speak truth, rhyming men will have their whim; and I do not think it politic or judicious to deprive the translator altogether of that rhythmical freedom which is the great delight of the original composer. But another, and the principal reason with me for not attempting a systematic imitation of the choral measures, was, that many of them failed to produce, on my ear, an intelligible musical effect, which I could set myself to reproduce; while, in other cases, though I clearly saw the rhythmical principle on which they were constructed (for I do not speak of the blind jargon of inherited metrical terminology), I saw with equal clearness that in our English poetry written to be read, systematic imitation of ancient metres written on musical principles, and with a view to musical exhibition, is, in the majority of cases, altogether absurd and impertinent. I confined myself, therefore, to the selection of such English metres as to my ear seemed most dramatically to represent the feeling of the original, making a marked contrast everywhere between the rhythmical movement of joy and sorrow, and always distinguishing carefully between what was piled up with a stable continuity of sublime emotion, and what was ejaculated in a hurried and broken style, where the Dochmiac verse prevails.*

So much for metres With regard to the more strictly linguistic part of my task, I have only to say that I thought it proper to assume Wellauer’s cautiously edited text as a safe general foundation, with the liberty, of course, to deviate from it whenever I saw distinct and clearly made out grounds. The other editions, old and new, which I have used are enumerated in an Appendix at the end of the second volume. There also will be found those Commentaries and Translations which I have consulted on all the difficult passages; my obligations to which are, of course, great, and are here gratefully acknowledged. I desire specially to name, as having been of most service to me, Linwood, Peile, and Paley among the English; Wellauer, Welcker, Müller, and Schoemann among the German scholars. My manner of proceeding with previous English translations was to borrow from them an occasional phrase or hint, only after I had finished and carefully revised my own. But my obligations in respect of poetical diction to my fellow-labourers in the same field are very few, and are for the most part specially acknowledged.

The introductory remarks to each play are intended to supply the English reader with that particular mythological or historical knowledge, and to inspire him with those Hellenic views and feelings, which are necessary to the enjoyment of the different dramas. The appended notes proceed on the principle, generally understood in this country, though apparently neglected in erudite Germany, that translations are made, not for the learned mainly, but for the unlearned. I have, therefore, not assumed even the most common points of mythological and antiquarian lore. Some of the notes, especially those on moral and religious points, have a higher view than mere explanation. They are intended to stir those human feelings, and suggest those trains of moral reflection without which the most profound scholarship issues only in a multitudinous cracking of empty nut-shells, and a ghastly exhibition of gilded bones. The few notes of a strictly hermeneutical character that are mingled with these, are mere jottings to preserve for my own use, and that of my fellow-students of the Greek text, the grounds of decision which have moved me in some of the more difficult passages, where I have either departed from Wellauer’s text, or where something appeared to lie in the various renderings fraught with a more than common poetical significance. In the general case, however, the translation must serve as its own commentary; and, though I do not pretend to have read every thing that has been written on the disputed passages of this most difficult, and, in many places, sadly corrupt author, I hope there is evidence enough in every page of my work to show that I have conscientiously grappled with all real difficulties in any way affecting the meaning of the text, and not leapt to a conclusion merely because it was the most obvious and most convenient one. If here and there I have made a rapid dash, a headlong plunge, or a bold sweep, beyond the rules of a strict philology, it was because these were the only tactics that the desperation of the case allowed.*

In conclusion, I am glad to take this opportunity of publicly returning my thanks to two gentlemen of well-known literary taste and discernment, who took the trouble to read my sheets as they went through the press, and favour me with their valuable suggestions.

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ON THE GENIUS AND CHARACTER OF THE GREEK TRAGEDY

“In der Beurtheilung des Hellenischen Alterthums soll der Scharfsinnige nicht aus sich herauszuspinnen suchen, was nur aus der Verbindung mannichfacher Ueberlieferungen gewonnen werden kann.”

—Bockh.

Let us inquire, therefore, setting aside alike Shaksperian examples and Aristotelian canons, what the τραγῳδία, or “tragedy,” was to the ancient Greeks. Nor have we far to seek. The name, when the modern paint is rubbed off, declares its own history; and we find that the main idea of the old word τραῳδία—as, by the way, the only idea of the modern word τραγουδι* —is a song. Of the second part of this word, we have preserved the root in our English words ode, melody, monody, thenody, and the other half of the word means goat; whether that descriptive addition to the principal substantive came from the circumstance that the song was originally sung by persons habited like goats,† or from other circumstances connected with the worship of Dionysus, to whom this animal was sacred, is of no importance for our present purpose. The main fact to which we have to direct attention, is that the word tragedy, when analysed, bears upon its face, and in the living Greek tongue proclaims loudly to the present hour, that the essential character of this species of poetry—when the name was originally given to it—was lyrical, and not at all dramatic or tragic, in the modern sense of these words. A drama, in modern language, means an action represented by acting persons; and a tragedy is such a represented action, having a sad issue; but neither of these elements belonged to the original Greek tragedy, as inherited from his rude predecessors by Æschylus, nor (as we shall immediately show) do they form the prominent or characteristic part of that exhibition, as transmitted by him to his successors. With regard to the origin of the Greek “goat-song,” and its condition previous to the age of Æschylus, there is but one uncontradicted voice of tradition on the subject; the curious discussions and investigations of the learned affecting only certain minute points of detail in the progress, which have no interest for the general student. That tradition is to the effect that the Greek lyrical drama, as we find it in the extant works of Æschylus, arose out of the Dithyrambic hymns sung at the sacred festivals of the ancient Hellenes in honour of their god Dionysus, or, as he is vulgarly called, Bacchus; hymns which were first extemporized under the influence of the stimulating juice of the grape,* and then sung by a regularly trained Chorus, under the direction of the famous Methymnean minstrel, Arion.† The simplest form which such hymns, under such conditions, could assume, was that of a circular dance by a band of choristers round the statue or the altar of the god in whose honour the hymn was sung. This is not a matter peculiar to Greece, but to be found at all times, and all over the world, wherever there are men who are not mere brutes. So in the description of the religious practices of the ancient Mexicans, our erudite poet Southey has the following beautiful passage, picturing a sacred choral dance round the altar of sacrifice:—

Round the choral band
The circling nobles gay, with gorgeous plumes,
And gems which sparkled to the midnight fire,
Moved in the solemn dance, each in his hand,
In measured movements, lifts the feathery shield,
And shakes a rattling ball to measured sounds;
With quicker steps, the inferior chiefs without,
Equal in number, but in just array,
The spreading radii of the mystic wheel
Revolved; and outermost, the youths roll round,
In motions rapid as their quickened blood.

The academic student, who is familiar with these matters, is aware that what has been here constructed hypothetically, as a natural result of the circumstances, is the real historical account of the origin and progress of the Greek tragedy, as it is shortly given in a well-known passage of Diogenes Laertius. “In the oldest times,” says that biographer of the philosophers, “the Chorus alone went through the dramatic exhibition (διεδραματ[Editor: illegible character]ζεν) in tragedy; afterwards Thespis, to give rest to the Chorus, added one actor distinct from the singers; then Æschylus added a second, and Sophocles a third; which gave to tragedy its complete development.”* The reason mentioned here for the addition of the first actor by Thespis, is a very probable one. The convenience or ease of the singers contributed, along with the lively wit of the Greeks, and a due regard for the entertainment of the spectators, to raise the dramatized ode, step by step, into the lyrical drama.

In the above account, two secondary circumstances connected with this transition, have not been mentioned The first is, that the jocund and sometimes boisterous hymn, in honour of the wine-god, should have passed into the lyrical representation of an action generally not at all connected with the worship or history of that divinity; and, secondly, that this action should have changed its tone from light to grave, from jocular to sad, and become, in fact, what we, in the popular language of modern times, call tragic. Now, for the first of these circumstances, I know nothing that can be said in the way of historical philosophy, except that man is fond of variety, that the Greek genius was fertile, and that accident often plays strange tricks with the usages and institutions of mortal men. For the other point, there can be no doubt that the worship of the god of physical and animal joy, being violent in its character, had its ebb as well as its flow, its broad-gleaming sunshine not without the cloud, its wail as well as its rejoicing. Whether Dionysus meant the sun, or only wine, which is the produce of the solar heat, or both, it is plain that his worshippers would have to lament his departure, at least as often as they hailed his advent; and, in this natural alternation, a foundation was laid for the separation of the original Dithyrambic Chorus into a wild, sportive element, represented by the Aristophanic comedy, and a deeply serious, meditative element represented by tragedy But we must beware, in reference to Æschylus at least, of supposing that the lyrical drama, as exhibited by him, however solemn and awe-inspiring, was necessarily sad, or, as we say, tragic in its issue. Aristotle indeed, in his famous treatise, lays down the doctrine that the main object of tragic composition is to excite pity and terror, and that Euripides, “though in other respects he manages badly, is in this respect the most tragic of the tragedians, that the most of his pieces end unfortunately.”* But there is not the slightest reason, in the nature of things, why a solemn dramatic representation, any more than a high-toned epical narrative, should end unfortunately. The Hindoo drama, for one, never does;† and, in the case of our poet, it is plain that the great trilogy, of which the Orestes is the middle piece, is constructed upon the principle of leading the sympathizing spectator through scenes of pity and terror, as stations in a journey, but finally to a goal of moral peace and harmonious reconciliation. That the great trilogy of the Prometheus, of which only one part remains, had an equally fortunate termination, is not to be doubted. Here, therefore, we see another impertinence in that modern word tragedy, which, in the superscriptions of these plays, I have been so careful to eschew.

We shall now examine one or two of the Æschylean pieces by a simple arithmetical process, and see how essentially the lyrical element predominates in their construction. Taking Wellauer’s edition, and turning up the Suppliants, I find that that play, consisting altogether of 1055 lines, is opened by a continuous lyric strain of 172 lines. Then we have dialogue, in part of which the Chorus uses lyric measures to the extent of 22 lines Then follows a short choral song of only 20 lines. The next Chorus comprises 76 lines, and the next 70. After this follows another dialogue, in which the Chorus, being in great mental agitation, use, according to the uniform practice of Æschylus, lyric measures to the extent altogether of 20 verses. Then follows another regular choral hymn of 47 lines. After that a violent lyrical altercation between the Chorus and a new actor, to the amount of 74 lines, in the most impassioned lyrical rhythm. Then follow 14 lines of anapæsts; and the whole concludes with a grand lyrical finale of 65 lines: altogether 580—considerably more than the half of the piece by bare arithmetic, and equal to two-thirds of it fully, if we consider how much more time the singing, with the musical accompaniments, must have occupied than the simple declamation. No more distinct proof could be required how essentially the account of Diogenes Laertius is right; how true it is that the choral part of the Æschylean drama is both its body and its soul, while the dialogic part, to use the technical language of Aristotle’s days, was, in fact, only an ἐπεισόδιον (from which our English word Episode) or thing thrown in between the main choral acts of the representation, for the sake of variety to the spectators, and, as the writer says, of rest to the singers. We thus see, also, what an incorrect and indefinite idea of the Æschylean drama Aristotle had when he says—so far as we can gather his meaning—that “Æschylus first added a second actor; he also abridged the chorus, and made the dialogue the principal part of tragedy.”* The last article, so far as the play of the Suppliants is concerned, is simply not true. Let us make trial of another play. The Agamemnon, which, for many reasons, is one of the best for testing the mature genius of the bard, contains about 1600 lines; and, without troubling the reader with details, it will be found that about the half of this number is written in lyric measures. When we consider, further, that the most splendid imaginative pictures, and the wildest bursts of passion, all the interest, the doubt, and the anxiety, the fear, the terror, the surprise, and the final issue, are, according to the practice of Æschylus, regularly thrown into lyric measures, we shall be convinced that Aristotle (if we rightly apprehend him) was altogether mistaken when he led the moderns to imagine that the father of tragedy had really given such a preponderance to the dialogic element, that the lyric part is to be looked on, in his productions, as in any way subordinate. Unless it be the Prometheus, I do not know a single extant play of Æschylus in which the lyric element occupies a position which, in actual representation, would justify the dictum of the Stagyrite. And even in this play, let it be observed, how grandly the poet makes his anapæsts swell and billow with sonorous thunder in the finale; as if to make amends for the somewhat prolix epic recitals with which he had occupied the spectator, and to prove that a Greek tragedy could never be true to itself, unless it left upon the ear, in its last echoes, the permanent impression of its original character as a Song

Three observations strike me, that may conveniently be stated as corollaries from the above remarks. First, That those translators have erred who, whether from carelessness, or from ignorance, or from a desire to accommodate the ancient tragedy as much as possible to the modern, have given an undue predominance to blank verse in their versions, making it appear as if the spoken part of the Æschylean tragedy bore a much larger proportion, than it really does, to the sung. Second, Those critics have erred who, applying the principles of modern theatrical criticism to the chaunted parts of the ancient lyrical drama, have found many parts dull or wearisome, extravagant, and even ridiculous, which, there can be no doubt, with their proper musical accompaniment, were the most impressive, and the most popular parts of the representation. Third, We err altogether, when we judge of the excellence of an ancient Greek drama as a composition, by its effect on us when reading it. The Suppliants, for instance, is generally considered a stupid play; because it wants grand contrasts of character and striking dramatic situations, and contains so much of mere reiterated supplication. But this reiteration, though wearisome to us who read the text-book of the lost opera, was, in all probability, that on which the ravished ears of the devout ancient auditors dwelt with most voluptuous delight. In general, without re-creating some musical accompaniment, and dwelling with ear and heart on the frequent variations of the lyric burden of the piece, a man is utterly incapable of passing any sane judgment on an Æschylean drama. Such a piece may contain in abundance everything that the auditors desired and enjoyed, and yet be very stupid now to us who merely read and criticise.

The fact of the matter is, that the marshalled band of singers, however satisfactory to an ancient audience, who looked principally for musical excitement in their tragedies, and not for an interesting plot, was not at all calculated for allowing a dramatic genius to bring out those tragic situations in which the modern reader delights; but rather stood directly in the way of such an effect The fine development of character under the influence of various delicate situations, and in collision with different persons, all acting their part in some complex knot of various-coloured life, could not be exhibited in a performance where a band of singers on whom the eye of the spectators principally rested, and who formed the great attraction for the masses,* constantly occupied the central ground, and constantly interfered with every thing that was either said or done, whether it was convenient for them to do so or not. For a perfect tragedy, as conceived scientifically by Aristotle, and executed with a grand practical instinct by Shakespere, the Chorus was, in the very nature of the thing, an incumbrance and an impediment. It was only very seldom that the persons of that body could form such an important part of the action, and come forward with such a startling dramatic effect as in the Eumenides. Too often they were obliged to hang round the action as an atmosphere, or look at it as spectators; spectators either impartial altogether, and then too wise for dramatic sympathy, or half-partial, and then, by indecision of utterance, often making themselves ridiculous, as in a noted scene of the Agamemnon (Vol I p. 79), or contemptible, as in the Antigone* The proper position of the Chorus in a regularly constructed drama, is, like the witches in Macbeth, to form a mysterious musical background (not a fore-ground, as in the Greek tragedy), or to circle, as in the opera of Masaniello, the principal character with a band of associates naturally situated to assist and cheer him on to his grand enterprise. But the Greek Chorus, even in the time of Sophocles and Euripides, who enlarged the spoken part, was too independent, too stationary, too central a nucleus of the representation, not to impede the movements of the acting persons who performed the principal parts. As a form of art, therefore, the Greek tragedy, so soon as it attempted to assume the scientific ground so acutely seized on by the subtle analysis of Aristotle, was necessarily clumsy and incongruous. The lyric element, which was always the most popular element, refused to be incorporated with the acting element, and yet could not be altogether displaced, a position of scenic affairs which has strangely perplexed not a few modern critics, looking for a dramatic plot with all the dramatic proprieties in a composition where the old Hellenic spectator only felt a hymn to Jove; and curiously tasking their wits to find excuses for a poet like Euripides, who, with blossoming lyrics and sonorous rhetoric, might gain the prize of the “goat-song,” even over the head of a Sophocles, and yet, in point of dramatic propriety, as we demand it in our modern plays, be constantly perpetrating enormities which a clever schoolboy at Westminster or Eton might avoid.†

So much for the artistic form of the Æschylean drama. As for the matter, it was essentially a combination of mythologial, legendary, and devotional elements, such as naturally belonged to a people whose religion was intimately blended with every passion of the human heart, and every chance of human life, and whose gods were only a sort of glorified men, as their men sometimes were nothing less than mortal gods The Greek lyrical dramas were part of the great public exhibitions at the great feasts of Bacchus, which took place, some in the winter season, and some in the spring of the year;* and in this respect they bear a striking resemblance both to the Hindoo dramas (for which see Wilson), to the so-called mysteries and moralities of mediæval piety, and to the sacred dramas of Metastasio, exhibited to the court at Vienna. And what sort of an aspect does ancient polytheistic piety present, what sort of an attitude does it maintain, in these compositions? An aspect surprisingly fair, considering what motley confusion it sprang from, an attitude singularly noble, seeing how nearly it was allied to mere animal enjoyment, and how prone was its degeneration into the mire of the grossest sensuality. The pictured pages of Livy, and brazen tablets of the grave Roman senate still extant, tell only too true a tale into what a fearful mire of brutishness the fervent worship of Dionysus might plunge its votaries. And yet out of this Bacchantic worship, so wild, so animal, and so sensual, arose the Greek tragedy, confessedly amongst the most high-toned moral compositions that the history of literature knows. Our modern Puritans, who look upon the door of a theatre (according to the phrase of a famous Edinburgh preacher) as the gate of hell, might take any one of these seven plays which are here presented in an English dress, and with the simple substitution of a few Bible designations for Heathen ones, find, so far as moral and religious doctrine is concerned, that, with the smallest possible exercise of the pruning-knife, they might be exhibited in a Christian Church, and be made to subserve the purposes of practical piety, as usefully as many a sermon The following passage from the Agamemnon is not a solitary gem from a heap of rubbish, but the very soul and significance of the Æschylean drama:—

“For Jove doth teach men wisdom, sternly wins
To virtue by the tutoring of their sins;
Yea! drops of torturing recollection chill
The sleeper’s heart; ’gainst man’s rebellious will
Jove works the wise remorse:
Dread Powers, on awful seats enthroned, compel
Our hearts with gracious force.”

The only serious charge that, to my knowledge, has ever been made against the morality of the Greek drama, is that in it “an innocent person, one in the main of a virtuous character, through no crime of his own, nay not by the vices of others, but through mere Fatality and Blind Chance, is involved in the greatest of all human miseries.” This is the critical judgment of Dr. Blair (lecture xlvi.) in reference to the famous Labdacidan story of Œdipus.* Now, though the personal history of Œdipus contains many incidents that expose it justly to criticism, especially when brought upon the stage in a modernized dress by modern French or other poets (which abuse the learned Doctor no doubt had principally in view); yet, as applied to the whole Labdacidan story, or to the subjects of the Greek drama generally, the allegation is either extremely shallow, or altogether false, There is no destiny or fatality of any kind in the Æschylean drama, other than that which, according to the Mosaic record, drove Adam out of Paradise; that destiny which a divine decree, seeing the end in the beginning, has prepared, and that fatality which makes a guilty man not merely the necessary architect of his own misery, but the propagator of a moral contagion, more or less, to the offspring that inherits his pollution and his curse. On this subject I need make no lengthened observations here, as I have brought it and other points of moral and religious feeling prominently forward, both in the introductory observations to the separate plays, and in various places of the notes. I shall only say that the reader who does not find a high moral purpose and a deep religious meaning in the specimens of ancient Greek worship now submitted to his inspection, has no eye for what is best in these pages, and had better throw the book down. The Germans, who look deeper into these matters than we have either time, inclination, or, in the general case, capacity to do, have written volumes on the subject.† To me it has seemed more suitable to the genius of the English reader merely to hint the existence of this rich mine of moral wealth, leaving to the quiet thinker where, amid our various political and ecclesiastical clamour, he may have found a corner, to work out the vein with devout spade and mattock for himself.

A few words must now be said on the Dance, as an essential part of the lyrical element of the Greek tragedy. Our sober British, stern Protestant, and precise Presbyterian notions, make it very difficult for us to realize this peculiarity. Even the old Heathen Roman could say, “Nemo fere saltat sobrius, nisi forte insanit”;* much more must it be hard for a modern Presbyterian Christian to recognise, in the twinkling-footed celerity of the merry dance, an exercise which a pious old Dorian could look upon as an indispensable part of an act of public worship. To read the weighty moral sentences of a solemn Æschylean Chorus, and then figure to ourselves their author as a dancing-master, is an unnatural and almost painful transition of thought to a Christian man in these times; and yet Athenæus tells us, that the author of the Prometheus really was a professor of the orchestric art, and a very cunning one too.† The fundamental truth of the case is, that the religion of the Greeks was not, like ours, a religion only of moral emotions and theological principles, but a religion of the whole man, with rather too decided a tendency, in some parts, it must be confessed, towards a disturbance of the equipoise on the side of the senses. But, whatever may be thought of Bacchic orgies and other associate rites, with regard to dancing, there is plainly nothing in the exercise, when decorously conducted, inconsistent either with dignity, or with piety; and the feelings of ancient Romans and modern Presbyterians on the subject, must be regarded as the mere products of arbitrary association. Certain it is, that all the Greek philosophers looked upon dancing as an essential element, not only in the education of a gentleman, but in the performance of public worship; nay, even among the severe Jews, we read that David, on occasion of a great religious festival, danced before the Lord; and only an idle woman called him an idle fellow for doing so. We need not be surprised, therefore, if among the merry Greeks, professing a religion fully as much of physical enjoyment as of moral culture, orchestric evolutions, along with sacred hymns, formed an essential part of the tragic exhibitions belonging to the feasts of the great god Dionysus. On the details of this matter, we are sadly wanting in satisfactory information; but that the fact was so, there can be no doubt.‡ The only point with regard to which there is room for a serious difference of opinion is, whether every performance of the Chorus in full band included dancing, or whether it was only introduced occasionally, as the ballet in our modern operas. On this point, the greatest authority in Greek Literature at present living has declared strongly in favour of the latter view; and, in doing so, he has been followed by one of the first philologers of our own country;* and as I have not been led, in the course of my studies, to make any particular examination of this subject, I am loath to contradict anything proceeding from such an authoritative quarter. One great branch of the evidence, I presume, on which this view is supported, lies in the words of the old Scholiast to the choral chaunt in the Phœnissae of Euripides, beginning with these words, Τύριον διδμα λιπονˆ[Editor: illegible character] ἒβαν. “This chaunt,” says the annotator, “is what is called a στάσιμον, or standing chorus; for when the Chorus, after the πάροδος, remaining motionless, sings a hymn arising out of the subject of the play, this song is called a στάσιμον. A πάροδος, on the other hand, is a song sung as they are marching into the orchestra on the first entrance.”† Now, no doubt, if this matter be taken with a literal exactitude, the expression, ἀκίνητος, or without moving, will exclude dancing; but if we merely take it generally, as opposed to the great sweeping evolutions of the Chorus, and as implying only a permanent occupation of the same ground in the centre of the orchestra, by the band, as a whole, while the individual members might change their places in the most graceful and beautiful variety of forms, we are thus saved from the harshness of giving to the orchestric element, in many plays, a subordinate position, equally at variance with the original character of the Chorus, and with the place which the dance held as a prominent part of Greek social life‡ With regard to Æschylus, in particular, I do not see how I should be acting in consistency with the testimony of Athenæus just quoted, if I were to assign such a small proportion of the choric performances to orchestric accompaniment, as Boeckh and Donaldson have done in their editions of the play of Sophocles, which the genius of Miss Faucit has rendered so dear to the friends of the drama in this country. It would be easy to show, from internal evidence such as Boeckh finds in what he calls the Orchestric Chorus, or ἐμμέλεια of the Antigone, that certain choruses of Æschylus are more adapted for violent and extensive orchestric movements than others. But I have thought it more prudent, considering the general uncertainty that surrounds this matter, not to make any allusion to dancing in any one performance of the Chorus more than another; contenting myself with carefully distinguishing everywhere between the anapæstic parts where the Chorus is plainly making extensive movements, and the Choral Hymn with regular Strophe and Antistrophe, which is sung when they are placed in their proper position in a square band round the Thymele (θυμέλη), or Bacchic altar, in the centre of the orchestra.*

Having said so much with regard both to the form and substance of the lyric portion of the Æschylean drama, I have said almost all that I was anxious to say; for, in stating this matter clearly, I have brushed out of the way the principal part of that host of modern associations which is so apt to disturb our sympathetic enjoyment of the great masterpieces of Hellenic art. Anything that might be said in detail on the Iambic or dialogic part of ancient tragedy would only serve to set in a yet stronger light the grand fact which has been urged, that the strength of the Greek drama lies in the singing, and not in the acting. It were easy to show by an extensive analysis, that the classical “goat-singers” had but very imperfect notions on the subject of stage dialogue; and that it was a light thing for them to deal at large in mere epic description, or rhetorical declamation, without offending the taste of a fastidious audience, or sinning grossly against the understood laws of the sort of composition which they exhibited.† Notwithstanding Aristotle’s nicely-drawn distinction, the narrated, or purely epic parts of the Greek tragedy, are often the best This is the case not seldom even with Æschylus, whose native dramatic power the voice of a master has judged to be first-rate.‡ But with him the infant state of the art, and the insufficient supply of actors,§ combined with a radical faultiness of structure, produced, in not a few instances, the same anti-dramatic results as the want of dramatic genius in Euripides. Further, to use the language of Mr. Donaldson—“the narrowness and distance of the stage rendered any (free and complex) grouping unadvisable. The arrangement of the actors was that of a processional bas relief. Their movements were slow, their gesticulations abrupt and angular, and their delivery a sort of loud and deep-drawn sing-song, which resounded throughout the immense theatre. They probably neglected everything like by-play and making points, which are so effective on the English stage. The distance at which the spectators were placed would prevent them from seeing those little movements and hearing those low tones which have made the fortune of many a modern actor. The mask, too, precluded all attempts at varied expression, and it is probable that nothing more was expected from the performer than was looked for from his predecessor, the rhapsode—viz., good recitation.” These observations, flowing from a realization of the known circumstances of the case, will sufficiently explain to the modern reader the extreme stiffness and formality which distinguishes the tragic dialogue of the Greeks from that dexterous and various play of verbal interchange which delights us so much in Shakespere and the other masters of English tragedy. Every view, in short, that we can take, tends to fix our attention on the musical and the religious elements, as on the life-blood and vital soul of the Hellenic τραγῳδία; forces us to the conclusion that, with a due regard to organic principle, its proper designation is sacred opera,* and not tragedy, in the modern sense of the word at all; and leads us to look on the dramatic art altogether in the hands of Æschylus, not as an infant Hercules strangling serpents, but as a Titan, like his own Prometheus, chained to a rock, whom only, after many ages, a strong Saxon Shakespere could unbind.

To conclude. If these observations shall seem to any conceived in a style too depreciatory of the masterpieces of Hellenic art, such persons will observe, that what has been here said of a negative character has reference only to the form of these productions as works of art, and not to their poetic contents. An unfortunate external arrangement is often, as in the case of the German writer Richter, united in intimate amalgamation with the richest and most exuberant energy of intellectual and moral life. However imperfect the Greek “tragedies” are as forms of artistic exhibition, they are not the less admirable, for the mass of healthy poetic life of which they are the embodiment, and the grand combination of artistic elements which they present As among the world’s notable men there are some who are great rather by a harmonious combination of the great healthy elements of humanity, than by the gigantic development of any one faculty, so in literature there are phenomena which must be measured by the mass of inward life which they concentrate, not by the structural perfection of form which they exhibit. The lyrical tragedy of the Greeks presents, in a combination elsewhere unexampled, the best elements of our serious drama, our opera, our oratorio, our public worship, and our festal recreations. The people who prepared and enjoyed such an intellectual banquet were not base-minded. Had their stability been equal to their susceptibility, the world had never seen their equal. As it is, they are like to remain for ages the great Hierophants of the intellectual world, whose influence will always be felt even by those who are ignorant or impudent enough to despise them; and among the various branches of art and science which owed a felicitous culture to their dexterous and subtle genius, there is certainly no phenomenon in the wide history of imaginative manifestation more imposing and more significant than that which bears on its face the signature of the rude god of wine, and his band of shaggy and goat-footed revellers.

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THE LIFE OF ÆSCHYLUS

τονˆτον τὸν βακχεɩ̂ον ἅνακτα.
—Aristophanes.

. . . personæ pallæque repertor honestæ.
—Horace

After his death the Athenians testified their esteem for his character by decreeing—what was quite an extraordinary privilege according to their stage practice—that his dramas might be exhibited at the great Dionysiac festivals, when their author could be no longer a competitor for the prize* The people of Gela, justly proud that the bones of so great a man should repose in their soil, erected a monument to his memory with the following inscription:—

“Here Æschylus lies, from his Athenian home
Remote, ’neath Gola’s wheat-producing loam.
How brave in battle was Euphorion’s son
The long-haired Mede can tell that fled from Marathon.”

With regard to the great merits of Æschylus both as a poet and as the creator of the tragic stage, there is but one testimony among the writers of antiquity. He not only introduced, as we have elsewhere stated, a second, and afterwards a third actor—without which there was no scope for the proper representation of an action—but he made the greatest improvements in the whole machinery and decorations of the stage, gave dignity to the actors by a minute attention to their masks, dresses, and buskins,† besides attending specially to the graceful culture of the dance, according to the testimony of Athenæus above quoted. As a dramatist he is distinguished by peculiar loftiness of conception and grandeur of phraseology. His style is sometimes harsh and abrupt, but it is always manly and vigorous; his metaphors are bold and striking, with something at times almost oriental in their cast; and, though not free from the offence of mixing incongruous metaphors—the natural sin of an imagination at once fearless and fertile—I do not think he can be fairly charged with turgidity and bombast; for, as Aristophanes remarks, in the Frogs, there is a superhuman grandeur about his characters which demands a more than common elevation of phrase.‡ As to the obscurity with which he has been charged, the comparative clearness of those plays which have been most frequently transcribed is a plain indication that this fault proceeds more from the carelessness of stupid copyists, than from confusion of thought or inadequate power of expression in the writer. In some cases, as in the prophecy of Calchas in the opening scene of the Agamemnon, the obscurity is studied and most appropriate Poetry, like painting, will have its shade. But the great excellence of Æschylus, as a poet, is the bracing tone of thorough manhood, noble morality, and profound piety which pervades his works Among those who are celebrated by Virgil as walking with Orpheus and Musæus in blissful Elysium—

“Quique pii vates et Phoebo digna locuti,”

“Ὁι Τρώων μεν ὑπεξέϕυγον στονόεσσαν ἀυτὴν
Ἐν νόστῳ δ’ απόλοντο κακη̂ς ἰότητι γυναιλός”

“Greeks that ’scaped the Trojan war-cry, and the wailing battle-field,
But home returning basely perished by a wicked woman’s guile”
Homer,Odys. xi 383-4.

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PERSONS

Watchman.

Chorus of Argive Elders.

Clytemnestra, Wife of Agamemnon.

Herald.

Agamemnon, King of Argos and Mycenæ.

Cassandra, a Trojan Prophetess, Daughter of Priam.

Ægisthus, Son of Thyestes.

Scene—The Royal Palace in Arges.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

The last sentence of this curious notice contains the Epic germ of which the famous trilogy—the Agamemnon, the Choephorœ, and the Eumenides of Æschylus—the three plays contained in the present volume, present the dramatic expansion. The celebrity of the legends with regard to the return of the mighty Atridan arose naturally from the prominent situation in which he stood as the admiral of the famous thousand-masted fleet; and, besides, the passage from the old Troezenian minstrel just quoted, is sufficiently attested by various passages—some of considerable length—in the Odyssey, which will readily present themselves to the memory of those who are familiar with the productions of the great Ionic Epopœist. In the very opening of that poem, for instance, occur the following remarkable lines:—

“Strange, O strange, that mortal men immortal gods will still be blaming,
Saying that the source of evil lies with us; while they, in sooth,
More than Fate would have infatuate with sharp sorrows pierce themselves!
Thus even now Ægisthus, working sorrow more than Fate would have,
The Atridan’s wife hath wedded, and himself returning slain,
Knowing well the steep destruction that awaits him, for ourselves
Sent the sharp-eyed Argus-slayer, Hermes, to proclaim our will,
That nor him he dare to murder, nor his wedded wife to woo.
Thus spoke Hermes well and wisely; but thy reckless wit, Ægisthus,
Moved he not; full richly therefore now thy folly’s fine thou payest.”

Agamemnon, the son, or, according to a less common account (for which see Schol. ad Iliad II. 249), the grandson of Atreus, being distinguished above the other Hellenic princes for wealth and power, was either by special election appointed, or by that sort of irregular kingship common among half-civilized nations, allowed to conduct the famous expedition against Troy that in early times foreshadowed the conquests of Alexander the Great, and the influence of the Greek language and letters in the East. Such a distant expedition as this, like the crusades in the middle ages, was not only a natural living Epos in itself, but would necessarily give rise to that intense glow of popular sympathy, and that excited state of the popular imagination, which enable the wandering poets of the people to make the best poetic use of the various dramatic incidents that the realities of a highly potentiated history present. Accordingly we find, in the very outset of the expedition, the fleet, storm-bound in the harbour of Aulis, opposite Eubœa, enabled to pursue its course, under good omens, only by the sacrifice of the fairest daughter of the chief. This event—a sad memorial of the barbarous practice of human sacrifice, even among the polished Greeks—formed the subject of a special play, perhaps a trilogic series of plays,* by Æschylus. This performance, however, has been unfortunately lost; and we can only imagine what it may have been by the description in the opening chorus of the present play, and by the beautiful, though certainly far from Æschylean, tragedy of Euripides. For our present purpose, it is sufficient to note that, in the Agamemnon, special reference is made to the sacrifice of Iphigenia, both as an unrighteous deed on the part of the father, for which some retribution was naturally to be expected, and as the origin of a special grudge in the mind of the mother, which she afterwards gratifies by the murder of her husband

As to that deed of blood itself, and its special adaptation for dramatic purposes, there can be no doubt; as little that Æschylus has used his materials in the present play in a fashion that satisfies the highest demands both of lyric and dramatic poetry, as executed by the first masters of both. The calm majesty and modest dignity of the much-tried monarch; the cool self-possession, and the smooth front of specious politeness that mark the character of the royal murderess the obstreperous bullying of the cowardly braggart, who does the deed with his heart, not with his hand; the half-wild, half-tender ravings of the horror-haunted Trojan prophetess; these together contain a combination of highly wrought dramatic elements, such as is scarcely excelled even in the all-embracing pages of our own Shakespere As far removed from common-place are the lyrical—in Æschylus never the secondary—elements of the piece The sublime outbreak of Cassandra’s prophetic horror is, as the case demanded, made to exhibit itself as much under the lyric as in the declamatory form; while the other choral parts, remarkable for length and variety, are marked not only by that mighty power of intense moral feeling which is so peculiarly Æschylean, but by the pictorial beauty and dramatic reality that distinguish the workmanship of a great lyric master from that of the vulgar dealer in inflated sentiment and sonorous sentences.

AGAMEMNON

Watch.

I pray the gods a respite from these toils,
This long year’s watch that, dog-like, I have kept,
High on the Atridan’s battlements,1 beholding
The nightly council of the stars, the circling
Of the celestial signs, and those bright regents,
High-swung in ether, that bring mortal men
Summer and winter. Here I watch the torch,
The appointed flame that wings a voice from Troy,
Telling of capture; thus I serve her hopes,
The masculine-minded who is sovereign here2
And when night-wandering shades encompass round
My dew-sprent dreamless couch (for fear doth sit
In slumber’s chair, and holds my lids apart),
I chaunt some dolorous ditty, making song,
Sleep’s substitute, surgeon my nightly care,
And the misfortunes of this house I weep,
Not now, as erst, by prudent counsels swayed.
Oh! soon may the wished for sign relieve my toils,
Thrice-welcome herald, gleaming through the night!

[The beacon is seen shining.]

All hail thou cresset of the dark! fair gleam
Of day through midnight shed, all hail! bright father
Of joy and dance, in Argos, hail! all hail!
Hillo! hilloa!
I will go tell the wife of Agamemnon
To shake dull sleep away, and lift high-voiced,3
The jubilant shout well-omened, to salute
This welcome beacon, if, indeed, old Troy
Hath fallen—as flames this courier torch to tell.
Myself will dance the prelude to this joy.
My master’s house hath had a lucky throw,
And thrice six falls to me,4 thanks to the flame!
Soon may he see his home; and soon may I
Carry my dear-loved master’s hand in mine!
The rest I whisper not, for on my tongue
Is laid a seal.5 These walls, if they could speak,
Would say strange things Myself to those that know
Am free of speech, to whoso knows not dumb.

[Exit

EnterChorusin procession. March time.

Chorus.

Nine years have rolled, the tenth is rolling,
Since the strong Atridan pair,
Menelaus and Agamemnon,
Sceptied kings by Jove’s high grace,6
With a host of sworn alliance,
With a thousand triremes rare,
With a righteous strong defiance,
Sailed for Troy From furious breast
Loud they clanged the peal of battle;
Like the cry of vultures wild
O’er the lone paths fitful-wheeling,7
With their plumy oarage oaring
Over the nest by the spoiler spoiled,
The nest dispeopled now and bare,
Their long but fruitless care.
But the gods see it: some Apollo,
Pan or Jove, the wrong hath noted,
Heard the sharp and piercing cry
Of the startled birds, shrill-throated
Tenants of the sky;
And the late-chastising Fury8
Sent from above to track the spoiler,
Hovers vengeful nigh.
Thus great Jove, the high protector
Of the hospitable laws,9
’Gainst Alexander sends the Atridans,
Harnessed in a woman’s cause,
The many-lorded fair.
Toils on toils shall come uncounted,
(Jove hath willed it so);
Limb-outwearying hard endeavour,
Where the strong knees press the dust,
Where the spear-shafts split and shiver,
Trojan and Greek shall know.
But things are as they are: the chain
Of Fate doth bind them; sighs are vain,
Tears, libations, fruitless flow,
To divert from purposed ire
The powers whose altars know no fire.10
But we behind that martial train
Inglorious left remain,
Old and frail, and feebly leaning
Strength as of childhood on a staff.
Yea! even as life’s first unripe marrow
In the tender bones are we,
From war’s harsh service free.
For hoary Eld, life’s leaf up-shrunken,
Totters, his three-footed way
Feebly feeling, weak as childhood,
Like a dream that walks by day.
But what is this? what wandering word,
Clytemnestra queen, hath reached thee?
What hast seen? or what hast heard
That from street to street swift flies
Thy word, commanding sacrifice?
All the altars of all the gods
That keep the city, gods supernal,
Gods Olympian, gods infernal,
Gods of the Forum, blaze with gifts;
Right and left the flame mounts high,
Spiring to the sky,
With the gentle soothings cherished
Of the oil that knows no malice,11
And the sacred cake that smokes
From the queen’s chamber in the palace.
What thou canst and may’st, declare,
Be the healer of the care
That bodes black harm within me; change it
To the bright and hopeful ray,
Which from the altar riseth, chasing
From the heart the sateless sorrow
That eats vexed life away.

TheChorus,having now arranged themselves into a regular band in the middle of the Orchestra, sing the FirstChoral Hymn.

STROPHE.
I’ll voice the strain.12 What though the arm be weak
That once was strong,
The suasive breath of Heaven-sent memories stirs
The old man’s breast with song.
My age hath virtue left
To sing what fateful omens strangely beckoned
The twin kings to the fray,
What time to Troy concentuous marched
The embattled Greek array.
Jove’s swooping bird, king of all birds,* led on
The kings of the fleet with spear and vengeful hand:
By the way-side from shining seats serene,
Close by the palace, on the spear-hand seen,†
Two eagles flapped the air,
One black, the other silver-tipt behind,
And with keen talons seized a timorous hare,
Whose strength could run no more,
Itself, and the live burden which it bore.
Sing woe and well-a-day! But still
May the good omens shame the ill.

ANTISTROPHE.
The wise diviner of the host‡ beheld,
And knew the sign;
The hare-devouring birds with diverse wings
Typed the Atridan pair,
The diverse-minded kings,13
And thus the fate he chaunted:—Not in vain
Ye march this march to-day;
Old Troy shall surely fall, but not
Till moons on moons away
Have lingering rolled. Rich stores by labour massed
Clean-sweeping Fate shall plunder. Grant the gods,
While this strong bit for Troy we forge with gladness,
No heavenly might in jealous wrath o’ercast
Our mounting hope with sadness.
For the chaste Artemis§ a sore grudge nurses
Against the kings: Jove’s winged hounds she curses,14
The fierce war-birds that tore
The fearful hare, with the young brood it bore.
Sing woe and well-a-day! but still
May the good omens shame the ill.

EPODE.
The lion’s fresh-dropt younglings, and each whelp
That sucks wild milk, and through the forest roves,
Live not unfriended; them the fair goddess loves,15
And lends her ready help.
The vision of the birds shall work its end
In bliss, but dashed not lightly with black bane;*
I pray thee, Pæan, may she never send16
Contrarious blasts dark-lowering, to detain
The Argive fleet.
Ah! ne’er may she desire to feast her eyes
On an unblest unholy sacrifice,
From festal use abhorrent, mother of strife,
And sundering from her lawful lord the wife.†
Stern-purposed waits the child-avenging wrath17
About the fore-doomed halls,
Weaving dark wiles, while with sure-memoried sting
Fury to Fury calls.
Thus hymned the seer, the doom, in dubious chaunt
Bliss to the chiefs dark-mingling with the bane,
From the way-haunting birds; and we
Respondent to the strain,
Sing woe and well-a-day! but still
May the good omens shame the ill.

STROPHE I.
Jove, or what other name18
The god that reigns supreme delights to claim,
Him I invoke; him of all powers that be,
Alone I find,
Who from this bootless load of doubt can free
My labouring mind.

ANTISTROPHE I.
Who was so great of yore,
With all-defiant valour brimming o’er,19
Is mute; and who came next by a stronger arm
Thrice-vanquished fell;
But thou hymn victor Jove: so in thy heart
His truth shall dwell.

STROPHE II.
For Jove doth teach men wisdom, sternly wins
To virtue by the tutoring of their sins,
Yea! drops of torturing recollection chill
The sleeper’s heart, ’gainst man’s rebellious will
Jove works the wise remorse:
Dread Powers, on awful seats enthroned, compel
Our hearts with gracious force.20

ANTISTROPHE II.
The elder chief, the leader of the ships,
Heard the dire doom, nor dared to ope his lips
Against the seer, and feared alone to stand
’Gainst buffeting fate, what time the Chalcian strand*
Saw the vexed Argive masts
In Aulis tides hoarse-refluent,21 idly chained
By the fierce Borean blasts;

STROPHE III.
Blasts from Strymon† adverse braying,
Harbour-vexing, ship-delaying,
Snapping cables, shattering oars,
Wasting time, consuming stores,
With vain-wandering expectation,
And with long-drawn slow vexation
Wasting Argive bloom.
At length the seer forth-clanged the doom,
A remedy strong to sway the breeze,
And direful Artemis to appease,
But to the chiefs severe:
The Atridans with their sceptres struck the ground,
Nor could restrain the tear.

ANTISTROPHE III.
Then spake the elder. To deny,
How hard! still harder to comply!
My daughter dear, my joy, my life,
To slay with sacrificial knife,
And with life’s purple-gushing tide,
Imbrue a father’s hand, beside
The altar of the gods.
This way or that is ill: for how
Shall I despise my federate vow?
How leave the ships? That all conspire
Thus hotly to desire
The virgin’s blood—wind-soothing sacrifice—
Is the gods’ right. So be it22

STROPHE IV.
Thus to necessity’s harsh yoke he bared
His patient neck. Unblissful blew the gale
That turned the father’s heart23
To horrid thoughts unholy, thoughts that dared
The extreme of daring. Sin from its primal spring
Mads the ill-counsell’d heart, and arms the hand
With reckless strength. Thus he
Gave his own daughter’s blood, his life, his joy,
To speed a woman’s war, and consecrate24
His ships for Troy.

ANTISTROPHE IV.
In vain with prayers, in vain she beats dull ears
With a father’s name; the war-delighting chiefs
Heed not her virgin years.
The father stood; and when the priests had prayed
Take her, he said; in her loose robes enfolden,
Where prone and spent she lies,25 so lift the maid.
Even as a kid is laid,
So lay her on the altar; with dumb force
Her beauteous* mouth gag, lest it breathe a voice
Of curse to Argos.

STROPHE V.
And as they led the maid, her saffron robe26
Sweeping the ground, with pity-moving dart
She smote each from her eye,
Even as a picture beautiful, fain to speak,
But could not. Well that voice they knew of yore;
Oft at her father’s festive board,
With gallant banqueters ringed cheerly round,
The virgin strain they heard27
That did so sweetly pour
Her father’s praise, whom Heaven had richly crowned
With bounty brimming o’er.

ANTISTROPHE V.
The rest I know not, nor will vainly pry;
But Calchas was a seer not wont to lie.
Justice doth wait to teach
Wisdom by suffering. Fate will have its way.
The quickest ear is pricked in vain to-day,
To catch to-morrow’s note. What boots
To forecast woe, which, on no wavering wing,28
The burthen’d hour shall bring.
But we, a chosen band,
Left here sole guardians of the Apian land,*
Pray Heaven, all good betide!

EnterClytemnestra.

Chorus.

Hail Clytemnestra! honour to thy sceptre!
When her lord’s throne is vacant, the wife claims
His honour meetly. Queen, if thou hast heard
Good news, or to the hope of good that shall be,
With festal sacrifice dost fill the city,
I fain would know; but nothing grudge thy silence.

Clytem.

Bearing blithe tidings, saith the ancient saw,
Fair Morn be gendered from boon mother Night!
News thou shalt hear beyond thy topmost hope;
The Greeks have ta’en old Priam’s city.

Chorus.

How!
Troy taken! the word drops from my faithless ear.

Clytem.

Hephæstus.* He from Ida shot the spark,30
And flaming straightway leapt the courier fire
From height to height; to the Hermæan rock
Of Lemnos, first from Ida; from the isle
The Athóan steep of mighty Jove received
The beaming beacon; thence the forward strength
Of the far-travelling lamp strode gallantly31
Athwart the broad sea’s back. The flaming pine
Rayed out a golden glory like the sun,
And winged the message to Macistus’ watch-tower.
There the wise watchman, guiltless of delay,
Lent to the sleepless courier further speed,
And the Messapian station hailed the torch
Far-beaming o’er the floods of the Eurípus.
There the grey heath lit the responsive fire,
Speeding the portioned message; waxing strong,
And nothing dulled across Asopus’ plain
The flame swift darted like the twinkling moon,
And on Cithæron’s rocky heights awaked
A new receiver of the wandering light.
The far-sent ray, by the faithful watch not spurned,
With bright addition journeying, bounded o’er
Gorgópus’ lake and Ægiplanctus’ mount,
Weaving the chain unbroken.32 Hence it spread
Not scant in strength, a mighty beard of flame,33
Flaring across the headlands that look down
On the Saronic gulf.34 Speeding its march,
It reached the neighbour-station of our city,
Arachne’s rocky steep; and thence the halls
Of the Atridæ recognised the signal,
Light not unfathered by Idæan fire.
Such the bright train of my torch-bearing heralds,
Each from the other fired with happy news,
And last and first was victor in the race35
Such the fair tidings that my lord hath sent,
A sign that Troy hath fallen.

Chorus.

And for its fall
Our voice shall hymn the gods anon: meanwhile
I’m fain to drink more wonder from thy words.

Clytem.

This day Troy fell. Methinks I see’t; a host
Of jarring voices stirs the startled city,
Like oil and acid, sounds that will not mingle,
By natural hatred sundered. Thou may’st hear
Shouts of the victor, with the dying groan,
Battling, and captives’ cry, upon the dead—
Fathers and mothers, brothers, sisters, wives—
The living fall—the young upon the old;
And from enthralléd necks wail out their woe
Fresh from the fight, through the dark night the spoilers
Tumultuous rush where hunger spurs them on,
To feast on banquets never spread for them.
The homes of captive Trojan chiefs they share
As chance decides the lodgment; there secure
From the cold night-dews and the biting frosts,
Beneath the lordly roof, to their hearts’ content36
They live, and through the watchless night prolong
Sound slumbers Happy if the native gods
They reverence, and the captured altars spare,37
Themselves not captive led by their own folly!
May no unbridled lust of unjust gain
Master their hearts, no reckless rash desire!
Much toil yet waits them. Having turned the goal,38
The course’s other half they must mete out,
Ere home receive them safe Their ships must brook
The chances of the sea; and, these being scaped,
If they have sinned39 the gods their own will claim,
And vengeance wakes till blood shall be atoned.
I am a woman; but mark thou well my words;
I hint the harm; but with no wavering scale,
Prevail the good! I thank the gods who gave me
Rich store of blessings, richly to enjoy.

Chorus.

Woman, thou speakest wisely as a man,
And kindly as thyself. But having heard
The certain signs of Agamemnon’s coming,
Prepare we now to hymn the gods; for surely
With their strong help we have not toiled in vain.
- O regal Jove! O blessed Night!
- Thou hast won thee rich adornments,
- Thou hast spread thy shrouding meshes
- O’er the towers of Priam Ruin
- Whelms the young, the old. In vain
- Shall they strive to o’erleap the snare,
- And snap the bondsman’s galling chain,
- In woe retrieveless lost.
- Jove, I fear thee, just protector
- Of the wrong’d host’s sacred rights;
- Thou didst keep thy bow sure bent
- ’Gainst Alexander; not before
- The fate-predestined hour, and not
- Beyond the stars, with idle aim,
- Thy cunning shaft was shot.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
The hand of Jove hath smote them; thou
May’st trace it plainly,
What the god willed, behold it now
Not purposed vainly!
The gods are blind,40 and little caring,
So one hath said, to mark the daring
Of men, whose graceless foot hath ridden
O’er things to human touch forbidden.
Godless who said so; sons shall rue
Their parents’ folly,
Who flushed with wealth, with insolence flown,
The sober bliss of man outgrown,
The trump of Mars unchastened blew,
And stirred red strife without the hue
Of justice wholly.
Live wiselier thou, not waxing gross
With gain, thou shalt be free from loss.
Weak is his tower, with pampering wealth
In brief alliance
Who spurns great Justice’ altar dread
With damned defiance,
Him the deep hell shall claim, and shame
His vain reliance.

ANTISTROPHE I.
Self-will fell Até’s daughter,41 still
Fore-counselling ruin,
Shall spur him on resistless borne
To his undoing.
Fined with sharp loss beyond repairing,
His misery like a beacon flaring,
Shall shine to all. Like evil brass,
That tested shows a coarse black mass,
His deep distemper he shall show
By dints of trial.
Even as a boy in wanton sport,42
Chasing a bird to his own hurt,
And to the state’s redeemless loss,
Whom, when he prays, the gods shall cross
With sheer denial,
And sweep the lewd and lawless liver
From earth’s fair memory for ever;
Thus to the Atridans’ palace came
False Alexander,
And shared the hospitable board,
A bold offender,
Filching his host’s fair wife away
To far Scamander.

STROPHE II.
She went, and to the Argive city left
Squadrons shield-bearing,
Battle preparing,
Swords many-flashing,
Oars many-plashing;
She went, destruction for her dowry bearing,
To the Sigean shore;
Light with swift foot she brushed the doorstead, daring
A deed undared before.
The prophets of the house loud wailing,43
Cried with sorrow unavailing,
“Woe to the Atridans! woe!
The lofty palaces fallen low!
The marriage and the marriage bed,
The steps once faithful, fond to follow
There where the faithful husband led!”
He silent stood in sadness, not in wrath,44
His own eye scarce believing,
As he followed her flight beyond the path
Of the sea-wave broadly heaving.
And phantoms sway each haunt well known,
Which the lost loved one wont to own,
And the statued forms that look from their seats
With a cold smile serenely,
He loathes to look on; in his eye
Pines Aphrodité* leanly.

ANTISTROPHE II.
In vain he sleeps; for in the fretful night
Shapes of fair seeming
Flit through his dreaming,
Soothing him sweetly,
Leaving him fleetly
Of bliss all barren. The shape fond fancy weaves him
His eager grasp would keep,
In vain; it cheats the hand; and leaves him, sweeping
Swift o’er the paths of sleep.
These sorrows pierce the Atridan chiefs,
And, worse than these, their private griefs,
But general Greece that to the fray
Sent her thousands, mourns to-day;
And Grief stout-hearted at each door
Sits to bear the burden sore
Of deathful news from the Trojan shore.
Ah! many an Argive heart to-day
Is pricked with wail and mourning,
Knowing how many went to Troy,
From Troy how few returning!
The mothers of each house shall wait
To greet their sons at every gate,
But, alas! not men, but dust of men
Each sorrowing house receiveth,
The urn in which the fleshly case
Its cindered ruin leaveth.

STROPHE III.
For Mars doth market bodies, and for gold
Gives dust, and in the battle of the bold
Holds the dread scales of Fate.
Burnt cinders, a light burden, but to friends
A heavy freight,
He sends from Troy; the beautiful vase he sends
With dust, for hearts, well lined, on which descends
The frequent tear.
And friends do wail their praise; this here
Expert to wield the pointed spear,
And this who cast his life away,
Nobly in ignoble fray,
For a strange woman’s sake.
And in their silent hearts hate burns;
Against the kings
The moody-muttered grudge creeps forth,
And points its stings.
Others they mourn who ’neath Troy’s wall
Entombed, dark sleep prolong,
Low pressed beneath the hostile sod,
The beautiful, the strong!

ANTISTROPHE III.
O hard to bear, when evil murmurs fly,
Is a nation’s hate; unblest on whom doth lie
A people’s curse!
My heart is dark, in my fear-procreant brain
Bad begets worse.
For not from heaven the gods behold in vain
Hands red with slaughter. The black-mantled train*
Who watch and wait,
In their own hour shall turn to bane
The bliss that grew from godless gain.
The mighty man with heart elate
Shall fall; even as the sightless shades,
The great man’s glory fades.
Sweet to the ear is the popular cheer
Forth billowed loudly;
But the bolt from on high shall blast his eye45
That looketh proudly.
Be mine the sober bliss, and far
From fortune’s high-strung rapture,
Not capturing others, may I never
See my own city’s capture!

EPODE.
Swift-winged with thrilling note it came,
The blithe news from the courier-flame;
But whether true and witnessed well,
Or if some god hath forged a lie,
What tongue can tell?
Who is so young, so green of wit,
That his heart should blaze with a fever fit,
At a tale of this fire-courier’s telling,
When a new rumour swiftly swelling,
May turn him back to dole? To lift the note
Of clamorous triumph ere the fight be fought,
Is a light chance may fitly fall,
Where women wield the spear.46
A wandering word by woman’s fond faith sped
Swells and increases,
But with dispersion swift a woman’s tale
Is lost and ceases.

EnterClytemnestra.

Soon shall we know if the light-bearing lamps
And the bright signals of the fiery changes
Spake true or, dream-like, have deceived our sense
With smiling semblance. For, behold, where comes,
Beneath the outspread olive’s branchy shade,
A herald from the beach; and thirsty dust,
Twin-sister of the clay, attests his speed.
Not voiceless he, nor with the smoking flame
Of mountain pine will bring uncertain news.
His heraldry gives increase to our joy,
Or—but to speak ill-omened words I shun;—
May fair addition fair beginning follow!

Chorus.

Whoso fears evil where no harm appears,
Reap first himself the fruit of his own fears.

EnterHerald.

Hail Argive land! dear fatherland, all hail!
This tenth year’s light doth shine on my return!
And now this one heart’s hope from countless wrecks
I save! Scarce hoped I e’er to lay my bones
Within the tomb where dearest dust is stored.
I greet thee, native land! thee, shining sun!
Thee, the land’s Sovereign, Jove! thee, Pythian King,
Shooting no more thy swift-winged shafts against us.
Enough on red Scamander’s banks we knew
Thee hostile; now our saviour-god be thou,
Apollo, and our healer from much harm!47
And you, all gods that guide the chance of fight,
I here invoke; and thee, my high protector,
Loved Hermes, of all heralds most revered.
And you, all heroes that sent forth our hosts,
Bring back, I pray, our remnant with good omens.
O kingly halls! O venerated seats!
O dear-loved roofs, and ye sun-fronting gods,48
If ever erst, now on this happy day,
With these bright-beaming eyes, duly receive
Your late returning king; for Agamemnon
Comes, like the sun, a common joy to all.
Greet him with triumph, as beseems the man,
Who with the mattock of justice-bringing Jove
Hath dug the roots of Troy, hath made its altars
Things seen no more, its towering temples razed,
And caused the seed of the whole land to perish.
Such yoke on Ilium’s haughty neck the elder
Atridan threw, a king whom gods have blessed
And men revere, ’mongst mortals worthy most
Of honour; now nor Paris, nor in the bond
Partner’d with him, old Troy more crime may boast
Than penalty; duly in the court of fight,
In the just doom of rape and robbery damned,
His pledge is forfeited,49 his hand hath reaped
Clean bare the harvest of all bliss from Troy.
Doubly they suffer for a double crime.

Chorus.

Hail soldier herald, how farest thou?

Herald.

Right well!
So well that I could bless the gods and die.

Chorus.

I own thy speech the conqueror; for a man
Can never be too old to learn good news,
And though thy words touch Clytemnestra most,
Joy to the Atridan’s halls is wealth to me.

Clytem.

I lifted first the shout of jubilee,
Then when the midnight sign of the courier fire
Told the deep downfall of the captured Troy,
But one then mocked my faith, that I believed
The fire-sped message in so true a tale.
’Tis a light thing to buoy a woman’s heart
With hopeful news, they cried; and with these words
They wildered my weak wit. And yet I sped
The sacrifice, and raised the welcoming shout
In woman’s wise, and at a woman’s word
Forthwith from street to street uprose to the gods
Well-omened salutations, and glad hymns,
Lulling the fragrant incense-feeding flame.
What needs there more? The event has proved me right,
Himself—my lord—with his own lips shall speak
The weighty tale; myself will go make ready
With well-earned honour to receive the honoured.
What brighter bliss on woman’s lot may beam,
Than when a god gives back her spouse from war,
To ope the gates of welcome. Tell my husband,
To his loved home, desired of all, to haste.
A faithful wife, even as he left her, here
He’ll find expectant, like a watch-dog, gentle
To him and his, to all that hate him harsh.
The seals that knew his stamp, when hence he sailed,
Unharmed remain, untouched: and for myself
Nor praise nor blame from other man I know,
No more than dyer’s art can tincture brass.51

Herald.

A boast like this, instinct with very truth,
Comes from a noble lady without blame.

Chorus.

Wise words she spake, and words that need no comment
To ears that understand. But say, good Herald,
Comes Menelaus safe back from the wars,
His kindly sway in Argos to resume?

Herald.

I cannot gloss a lie with fair pretence;
The best told lie bears but a short-lived fruit.

Chorus.

Speak the truth plainly, if thou canst not pleasantly;
These twain be seldom wedded; and here, alas!
They stand out sundered with too clear a mark.

Herald

The man is vanished from the Achæan host,
He and his vessel. Thou hast heard the truth.

Chorus.

Sailed he from Ilium separate from the fleet?
Or did the tempest part him from his friends!

Herald.

Like a good marksman thou hast hit the mark,
In one short sentence summing many sorrows.

Chorus.

Alive is he or dead? What word hath reached you?
What wandering rumour from sea-faring men?

Herald.

This none can tell, save yon bright sun aloft,
That cherishes all things with his friendly light.

Chorus.

How came the storm on the fleet? or how was ended
The wrath of the gods?

Herald.

Not well it suits to blot
With black rehearsal this auspicious day.
Far from the honors of the blissful gods52
Be grief’s recital. When with gloomy visage
An ugly tale the herald’s voice unfolds,
At once a general wound, and private grief,
An army lost, the sons of countless houses
Death-doomed by the double scourge so dear to Ares,*
A twin-speared harm, a yoke of crimson slaughter:
A herald saddled with such woes may sing
A pæan to the Erinnyes. But I,
Who to this city blithe and prosperous
Brought the fair news of Agamemnon’s safety,
How shall I mingle bad with good, rehearsing
The wintry wrath sent by the gods to whelm us?
Fire and the sea, sworn enemies of old,53
Made friendly league to sweep the Achæan host
With swift destruction pitiless. Forth rushed
The tyrannous Thracian blasts, and wave chased wave,
Fierce ’neath the starless night, and ship on ship
Struck clashing; beak on butting beak was driven;
The puffing blast, the beat of boiling billows,
The whirling gulph (an evil pilot) wrapt them
In sightless death. And when the shining sun
Shone forth again, we see the Ægean tide
Strewn with the purple blossoms of the dead,
And wrecks of shattered ships. Us and our bark
Some god, no man, the storm-tost hull directing,
Hath rescued scathless, stealing us from the fray,
Or with a prayer begging our life from Fate.
Kind Fortune helmed us further, safely kept
From yeasty ferment in the billowy bay,
Nor dashed on far-ledged rocks. Thus having ’scaped
That ocean hell,54 scarce trusting our fair fortune,
We hailed the lucid day; but could we hope,
The chance that saved ourselves had saved our friends?
Our fearful hearts with thoughts of them we fed,
Far-labouring o’er the loosely-driving main.55
And doubtless they, if yet live breath they breathe,
Deem so of us, as we must fear of them,
That they have perished. But I hope the best.
And first and chief expect ye the return
Of Menelaus. If the sun’s blest ray
Yet looks on him, where he beholds the day
By Jove’s devising,56 not yet willing wholly
To uproot the race of Atreus, hope may be
He yet returns. Thou hast my tale; and I
Have told the truth untinctured with a lie.

[Exit.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Who gave her a name
So true to her fame?
Does a Providence rule in the fate of a word?
Sways there in heaven a viewless power
O’er the chance of the tongue in the naming hour?
Who gave her a name,
This daughter of strife, this daughter of shame,
The spear-wooed maid of Greece?
Helen the taker!57 ’tis plain to see
A taker of ships, a taker of men,
A taker of cities is she.
From the soft-curtained chamber of Hymen she fled,
By the breath of giant58 Zephyr sped,
And shield-bearing throngs in marshalled array
Hounded her flight o’er the printless way,
Where the swift-plashing oar
The fair booty bore
To swirling Simois’ leafy shore,
And stirred the crimson fray.

ANTISTROPHE I.
For the gods sent a bride,
Kin but not kind,59
Ripe with the counsel of wrath to Troy,
In the fulness of years, the offender to prove,
And assert the justice of Jove;
For great Jove is lord
Of the rights of the hearth and the festal board.
The sons of Priam sang
A song to the praise of the bride:
From jubilant throats they praised her then,
The bride from Hellas brought;
But now the ancient city hath changed
Her hymn to a doleful note.
She weeps bitter tears; she curses the head
Of the woe-wedded Paris; she curses the bed
Of the beautiful bride
That crossed the flood,
And filched the life of her sons, and washed
Her wide-paved streets with blood.

STROPHE II.
Whoso nurseth the cub of a lion
Weaned from the dugs of its dam, where the draught
Of its mountain-milk was free,
Finds it gentle at first and tame.
It frisks with the children in innocent game,
And the old man smiles to see;
It is dandled about like a babe in the arm,
It licketh the hand that fears no harm,
And when hunger pinches its fretful maw,
It fawns with an eager glee.

ANTISTROPHE II.
But it grows with the years; and soon reveals
The fount of fierceness whence it came:
And, loathing the food of the tame,
It roams abroad, and feasts in the fold,
On feasts forbidden, and stains the floor
Of the house that nursed it with gore.
A curse they nursed for their own undoing,
A mouth by which their own friends shall perish;
A servant of Até, a priest of Ruin,60
Some god hath taught them to cherish.

STROPHE III.
Thus to Troy came a bride of the Spartan race,
With a beauty as bland as a windless calm,
Prosperity’s gentlest grace;
And mild was love’s blossom that rayed from her eye,
The soft-winged dart that with pleasing pain
Thrills heart and brain.
But anon she changed: herself fulfilled
Her wedlock’s bitter end;
A fatal sister, a fatal bride,
Her fateful head she rears;
Herself the Erinnys from Jove to avenge
The right of the injured host, and change
The bridal joy to tears.

ANTISTROPHE III.
’Twas said of old, and ’tis said to-day,
That wealth to prosperous stature grown
Begets a birth of its own:
That a surfeit of evil by good is prepared,
And sons must bear what allotment of woe
Their sires were spared.
But this I rebel to believe: I know
That impious deeds conspire
To beget an offspring of impious deeds
Too like their ugly sire.
But whoso is just, though his wealth like a river
Flow down, shall be scathless his house shall rejoice
In an offspring of beauty for ever.

STROPHE IV.
The heart of the haughty delights to beget
A haughty heart.61 From time to time
In children’s children recurrent appears
The ancestral crime.
When the dark hour comes that the gods have decreed,
And the Fury burns with wrathful fires,
A demon unholy, with ire unabated,
Lies like black night on the halls of the fated:
And the recreant son plunges guiltily on
To perfect the guilt of his sires.

ANTISTROPHE IV.
But Justice shines in a lowly cell;
In the homes of poverty, smoke-begrimed,
With the sober-minded she loves to dwell.
But she turns aside
From the rich man’s house with averted eye,
The golden-fretted halls of pride
Where hands with lucre are foul, and the praise
Of counterfeit goodness smoothly sways:
And wisely she guides in the strong man’s despite
All things to an issue of right.

Chorus.

But, hail the king! the city-taking
Seed of Atreus’ race.
How shall I accost thee! How
With beseeming reverence greet thee?
Nor above the mark, nor sinking
Beneath the line of grace?
Many of mortal men there be,
’Gainst the rule of right preferring
Seeming to substance; tears are free
In the eye when woe its tale rehearseth,
But the sting of sorrow pierceth
No man’s liver; many force
Lack-laughter faces to relax
Into the soft lines traced by joy.
But the shepherd true and wise
Knows the faithless man, whose eyes,
With a forward friendship twinkling,
Fawn with watery love.62
For me, I nothing hide. O King,
In my fancy’s picturing,
From the Muses far I deemed thee,
And thy soul not wisely helming
When thou drew’st the knife
For Helen’s sake, a woman, whelming
Thousands in ruin, rushing rashly
On unwelcome strife.
But now all’s well. No shallow smiles
We wear for thee, thy weary toils
All finished. Thou shalt know anon
What friends do serve thee truly,
And who in thy long absence used
Their stewardship unduly.

EnterAgamemnonwith attendants;Cassandrabehind.

Aga.

First Argos hail! and ye, my country’s gods,
Who worked my safe return, and nerved my arm
With vengeance against Priam! for the gods,
Taught by no glozing tongue, but by the sight
Of their own eyes knew justice; voting ruin
And men-destroying death to ancient Troy,
Their fatal pebbles in the bloody urn
Not doubtingly they dropt; the other vase,
Unfed with hope of suffrage-bearing hand,
Stood empty. Now the captured city’s smoke
Points where it fell. Raves Ruin’s storm; the winds
With crumbled dust and dissipated gold
Float grossly laden. To the immortal gods
These thanks, fraught with rich memory of much good,
We pay; they taught our hands to spread the net
With anger-whetted wit, a woman’s frailty
Laid bare old Ilium to the Argive bite,
And with the setting Pleiads outleapt a birth
Of strong shield-bearers from the fateful horse.
A fierce flesh-tearing lion leapt their walls,
And licked a surfeit of tyrannic blood.
This prelude to the gods. As for thy words
Of friendly welcome, I return thy greeting,
And as your thought, so mine; for few are gifted
With such rich store of love, to see a friend
Preferred and feel no envy; ’tis a disease
Possessing mortal men, a poison lodged
Close by the heart, eating all joy away
With double barb—his own mischance who suffers
And bliss of others sitting at his gate,
Which when he sees he groans. I know it well;
They who seemed most my friends, and many seemed,
Were but the mirrored show, the shadowy ghost
Of something like to friendship, substanceless.
Ulysses only, most averse to sail,
Was still most ready in the yoke with me
To bear the harness; living now or dead,
This praise I frankly give him. For the rest,
The city and the gods, we will take counsel
In full assembly freely. What is good
We will give heed that it be lasting; where
Disease the cutting or the caustic cure
Demands, we will apply it. I, meanwhile,
My hearth and home salute, and greet the gods,
Who, as they sent me to the distant fray,
Have brought me safely back. Fair victory,
Once mine, may she dwell with me evermore!

Clytem.

Men! Citizens! ye reverend Argive seniors,
No shame feel I, even in your face, to tell
My husband-loving ways. Long converse lends
Boldness to bashfulness. No foreign griefs,
Mine own self-suffered woes I tell. While he
Was camping far at Ilium, I at home
Sat all forlorn, uncherished by the mate
Whom I had chosen; this was woe enough
Without enforcement; but, to try me further,
A host of jarring rumours stormed my doors,
Each fresh recital with a murkier hue
Than its precedent; and I must hear all.
If this my lord, had borne as many wounds
In battle as the bloody fame recounted,
He had been pierced throughout even as a net;
And had he died as oft as Rumour slew him,
He might have boasted of a triple coil63
Like the three-bodied Geryon, while on earth
(Of him below I speak not), and like him
Been three times heaped with a cloak of funeral dust.
Thus fretted by cross-grained reports, oft-times
The knotted rope high-swung had held my neck,
But that my friends with forceful aid prevented.
Add that my son, pledge of our mutual vows,
Orestes is not here; nor think it strange.
Thy Phocian spear-guest,64 the most trusty Strophius,
Took him in charge, a twofold danger urging
First thine beneath the walls of Troy, and further
The evil likelihood that, should the Greeks
Be worsted in the strife, at home the voice
Of many-babbling anarchy might cast
The council down, and as man’s baseness is,
At fallen greatness insolently spurn.
Moved by these thoughts I parted with my boy,
And for no other cause. Myself the while
So woe-worn lived, the fountains of my grief
To their last drop were with much weeping drained;
And far into the night my watch I’ve kept
With weary eyes, while in my lonely room
The night-torch faintly glimmered. In my dream
The buzzing gnat, with its light-brushing wing,
Startled the fretful sleeper; thou hast been
In waking hours, as in sleep’s fitful turns
My only thought. But having bravely borne
This weight of woe, now with blithe heart I greet
Thee, my heart’s lord, the watch-dog of the fold,
The ship’s sure mainstay, pillared shaft whereon
Rests the high roof, fond parent’s only child,
Land seen by sailors past all hope, a day
Lovely to look on when the storm hath broken,
And to the thirsty wayfarer the flow
Of gushing rill. O sweet it is, how sweet
To see an end of the harsh yoke that galled us!
These greetings to my lord; nor grudge me, friends,
This breadth of welcome; sorrows we have known
Ample enough. And now, thou precious head,
Come from thy car, nay, do not set thy foot,
The foot that trampled Troy, on common clay.
What ho! ye laggard maids! why lags your task
Behind the hour? Spread purple where he treads.
Fitly the broidered foot-cloth marks his path,
Whom Justice leadeth to his long-lost home
With unexpected train. What else remains
Our sleepless zeal, with favour of the gods,
Shall order as befits.

Aga.

Daughter of Leda, guardian of my house!
Almost thou seem’st to have spun thy welcome out
To match my lengthened absence; but I pray thee
Praise with discretion, and let other mouths
Proclaim my pæans. For the rest, abstain
From delicate tendance that would turn my manhood
To woman’s temper. Not in barbaric wise
With prostrate reverence base, kissing the ground,
Mouth sounding salutations; not with purple,
Breeder of envy, spread my path. Such honors
Suit the immortal gods; me, being mortal,
To tread on rich-flowered carpetings wise fear
Prohibits. As a man, not as a god,
Let me be honored. Not the less my fame
Shall be far blazoned, that on common earth
I tread untapestried. A sober heart
Is the best gift of God; call no man happy
Till death hath found him prosperous to the close.
For me, if what awaits me fall not worse
Than what hath fallen, I have good cause to look
Bravely on fate.

Clytem.

Nay, but my good lord will not
In this gainsay my heart’s most warm desire.

Aga.

Thou hast thy will. Come, boy, unbind these sandals,65
That are the prostrate subjects to my feet,
When I do tread; for with shod feet I never
May leave my print on the sea-purple, lest
Some god with jealous eye look from afar
And mark me. Much I fear with insolent foot
To trample wealth, and rudely soil the web
Whose precious threads the pure-veined silver buys.
So much for this. As for this maid, receive
The stranger kindly: the far-seeing gods
Look down with love on him who mildly sways.
For never yet was yoke of slavery borne
By willing neck; of all the captive maids
The choicest flower she to my portion fell.
And now, since thou art victor o’er my will,
I tread the purple to my father’s hall.

Clytem.

The wide sea flows; and who shall dry it up?
The ocean flows, and in its vasty depths
Is brewed the purple’s die, as silver precious,
A tincture ever-fresh for countless robes.
But Agamemnon’s house is not a beggar;
With this, and with much more the gods provide us;
And purple I had vowed enough to spread
The path of many triumphs, had a god
Given me such ’hest oracular to buy
The ransom of thy life. We have thee now,
Both root and trunk, a tree rich leafage spreading
To shade this mansion from the Sirian dog.
Welcome, thou double blessing [Editor: illegible character] to this hearth
That bringest heat against keen winter’s cold,
And coolness when the sweltering Jove prepares
Wine from the crudeness of the bitter grape;
Enter the house, made perfect by thy presence.
Jove, Jove, the perfecter! perfect thou my vow,66
And thine own counsels quickly perfect thou!

[Exeunt.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Whence these shapes of fear that haunt me?
These hovering portents why?
Is my heart a seer inspired,
To chaunt unbidden and unhired67
Notes of dark prophecy?
Blithe confidence, my bosom’s lord,*
That swayed the doubtful theme,
Arise, and with thy clear command
Chase the vain-vexing dream!
Long years have rolled; and still I fear,
As when the Argive band
Unloosed their cables from the shore,68
And eager plied the frequent oar
To the far Ilian strand.

ANTISTROPHE I.
Now they return: my vouching eyes
To prop my faith conspire,
And yet my heart, in self-taught hymns,
As with a Fury’s burden brims,
And will not own the lyre.
I fear, I fear: the bold-faced Hope
Hath left my heart all drear;
And my thought, not idly tossed within,
Feels evil creeping near.
For the heart hath scent of things to come
And prophesies by fear;
And yet I pray, may all conspire
To prove my boding heart a liar,
And me a foolish seer.

STROPHE II.
Full-blooded health, that in the veins
With lusty pulses hotly wells,
Shall soon have check. Disease beside it
Wall to wall, ill-sundered, dwells.
The proud trireme, with sudden shock,
In its mid career, on a sunken rock
Strikes, and all is lost.
Yet there is hope; the ship may rein
Its plunge, from whelming ruin free,
If with wise sling the merchant fling
Into the greedy sea
A part to save the whole. And thus
Jove, that two-handed stores for us,
In our mid woe may pause,
Heap gifts on gifts from yearly furrows,
And save the house from swamping sorrows,
And lean starvation’s jaws.

ANTISTROPHE II.
But, oh! when black blood stains the ground,
And the mortal mortal lies,
Shall the dead hear when thou chauntest?
To thy charming shall he rise?
Once there was a leech so wise
Could raise the dead,* but, from the skies,
Struck by Jove, he ceased.
But cease my song. Were link with link
In the chain of things not bound together69
That each event must wait its time,
Nor one dare trip the other,
My tongue had played the prophet’s part,
And rolled the burden from my heart;
But now, to doubt resigned,
With smothered fears, all dumb I wait
The unravelling hour; while sparks of fate
Flit through my darksome mind.

EnterClytemnestra.

Clytem.

Come thou, too, in; this maid, I mean; Cassandra!
For not in wrath Jove sent thee here to share
Our family lustrations, and to stand,
With many slaves, beside the household altar.70
Step from this car, nor bear thy spirit proudly
Above thy fate, for even Alcmena’s son,
To slavery sold, once bore the hated yoke.
What must be, must be; rather thank the chance
That gave thee to an old and wealthy house;
For they who reap an unexpected growth
Of wealth, are harsh to slaves beyond the line
Of a well-tempered rule. Here thou shalt find
The common use of bondage.

Chorus.

Plainly she speaks;
And thou within Fate’s iron toils once caught
Wert wise to go—if go thou wilt—but, soothly,
Thou hast no willing look.

Clytem.

Nay! an’ she be not
Barbarian to the bone, and speaking nought
Save swallow jabber,* she shall hear my voice.
I’ll pierce her marrow with it.

Chorus

Captive maid,
Obey! thou shouldst; ’tis best; be thou persuaded
To leave thy chariot-seat and follow her.

Clytem.

No time have I to stand without the gate
Prating with her. Within, on the central hearth,
The fire burns bright, the sheep’s fat slaughter waiting,
To furnish forth a banquet that transcends
The topmost of our hopes. Wilt thou obey,
Obey me quickly! If with stubborn sense
Thou hast nor ear to hear, nor voice to speak,
Answer my sign with thy barbarian hand.

Chorus.

A wise interpreter the maid demands;
Like a wild beast new caught, even so she stands.

Clytem.

Ay! she is mad; her wit to sober counsels
Is deaf; she comes from the new-captured city,
Untaught to bear the Argive bit with patience,
But foams and dashes bloody froth. I will not
Make myself base by wasting words on her.

[Exit.

Chorus.

Poor maid, I may not blame; I pity thee.
Come, leave thy seat, for, though the yoke be strange,
Necessity compels, and thou must bear it.

STROPHE I.

Cass.

Ah! ah! woes me! woe! woe!
Apollo! O Apollo!

Chorus.

Why dost thou wail to Loxias?† is he
A gloomy god that he should list sad tales?

ANTISTROPHE I.

Cass.

Ah! ah! woes me! woe! woe!
Apollo! O Apollo!

Chorus.

Again with evil-omened voice she cries
Upon the god least fit to wait on woe.

STROPHE II.

Cass.

Apollo! Apollo!
My way-god, my leader Apollo!71
Apollo the destroyer!
Thou with light labour hast destroyed me quite.

Chorus.

Strange oracles against herself she speaks;
Ev’n in the bondsman’s bosom dwells the god.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Cass.

Apollo! Apollo!
Apollo, my leader, whither hast thou led me?72
My way-god, Apollo?
What homes receive thy captive prophetess?

Chorus.

The Atridæ’s homes. This, an’ thou knowst it not,
I tell thee, and the words I speak are true.

STROPHE III.

Cass.

Ha! the house of the Atridæ!*
Well the godless house I know,
With the dagger and the rope,
And the self-inflicted blow!
Where red blood is on the floor,
And black murder at the door—
This house—this house I know.

Chorus.

She scents out slaughter, mark me, like a hound,
And tracks the spot where she shall feast on blood.

ANTISTROPHE III.

Cass.

Ay! I scent a truthful scent,
And the thing I say I know.
See! see! these weeping children,
How they vouch the monstrous woe!
Their red wounds are bleeding fresh,
And their father eats their flesh,
This bloody house I know.

Chorus.

The fame of thy divinings far renowned
Have reached us, but we wish no prophets here.

STROPHE IV.

Cass.

Ha! ha! what plots she now!
A new sorrow, a new snare
To the house of the Atridæ,
And a burden none may bear!
A black harm to all and each,
A disease that none may leech,
And the evil plot to mar
All help and hope is far.

Chorus.

Nay now I’m lost and mazed in vain surmise.
What first she said I knew—the common rumour.

ANTISTROPHE IV.

Cass.

Ha! woman wilt thou dare?
Thy bed’s partner and thy mate
In the warm refreshing bath
Shall he find his bloody fate?
How shall I dare to say
What comes and will not stay?
See, to do her heart’s command
Where she stretches her red hand!

Chorus.

Not yet I understand: through riddles dark
And cloudy oracles my wits are wandering.

STROPHE V.

Cass.

Ha! what bloody sight is this!
’Tis a net of Hades spread—
’Tis a snare to snare her lord,
The fond sharer of her bed.
The black chorus of the place*
Shout for vengeance o’er the race,
Whose offence cries for atoning,
With a heavy death of stoning!

STROPHE VI.

Chorus.

What black Fury of the place
Shall shout vengeance o’er the race?
Such strange words I hate to hear.
The blithe blood, that crimson ran73
In my veins, runs pale and wan
With the taint of yellow fear,
As when in the mortal anguish,74
Life’s last fitful glimpses languish
And Fate, as now, is near!

ANTISTROPHE V.

Cass.

Ha! ha! the work proceeds!
From the bull keep back the cow!
Lo! now she seizes him
By the strong black horn,75 and now
She hath wrapt him round with slaughter;
She strikes! and in the water
Of the bath he falls. Mark well,
In the bath doth murder dwell.

ANTISTROPHE VI.

Chorus.

No prophetic gift is mine
The dark saying to divine,
But this sounds like evil quite;
For to mortal man was never
The diviner’s voice the giver
Of a message of delight,
But in words of mazy mourning,
Comes the prophet’s voice of warning,
With a lesson of affright.

STROPHE VII.

Cass.

Fill the cup, and brim the woe!
’Tis my own heart’s blood must flow
Me! miserable me!
From old Troy why didst thou bring me
Poor captive maid, to sing thee
Thy dirge, and die with thee?

STROPHE VIII.

Chorus.

By a god thou art possessed,
And he raveth in thy breast,
And he sings a song of thee
That hath music, but no glee.
Like a dun-plumed nightingale,*
That, with never-sated wail,
Crieth Itys! Itys! aye,76
As it scatters, in sweet flow,
The thick blossoms of its woe,77
So singest thou to-day.

ANTISTROPHE VII.

Cass.

Ah! the clear-toned nightingale!
Mellow bird, thou dost not wail,†
For the good gods gave to thee
A light shape of fleetest winging,
A bright life of sweetest singing,
But a sharp-edged death to me.

ANTISTROPHE VIII.

Chorus.

By a god thou art possessed,
And he goads thee without rest,
And he racks thy throbbing brain
With a busy-beating pain,
And he presses from thy throat
The heavy struggling note,
And the cry that rends the air.
Who bade her tread this path,
With the prophecy of wiath,
And the burden of despair?

STROPHE IX.

Cass.

O the wedlock and the woe
Of the evil Alexander,
To his chiefest friends a foe!
O my native stream Scamander,
Where in youth I wont to wander,
And was nursed for future woes,
Where thy swirling current flows!
But now on sluggish shore
Of Cocytus I shall pour,
’Mid the Acherusian glades,
My divinings to the shades.

STROPHE X.

Chorus.

Nothing doubtful is the token;
For the words the maid hath spoken
To a very child are clear.
She hath pierced me to the marrow;
And her cry of shrieking sorrow
Ah! it crushes me to hear.

ANTISTROPHE IX.

Cass.

The proud city lieth lowly,
Nevermore to rise again!
It is lost and ruined wholly;
And before the walls in vain
Hath my pious father slain
Many meadow-cropping kine,
To appease the wrath divine.
Where it lieth it shall lie,
Ancient Ilium: and I
On the ground, when all is past,
Soon my reeking heart shall cast.78

ANTISTROPHE X.

Chorus.

Ah! the mighty god, wrath-laden,
He hath smote the burdened maiden
With a weighty doom severe.
From her heart sharp cries he wringeth,
Dismal, deathful strains she singeth,
And I wait the end in fear.

Cass.

No more my prophecy, like a young bride
Shall from a veil peep forth, but like a wind
Waves shall it dash from the west in the sun’s face,79
And curl high-crested surges of fierce woes,
That far outbillow mine. I’ll speak no more
In dark enigmas. Ye my vouchers be,
While with keen scent I snuff the breath of the past,
And point the track of monstrous crimes of eld.
There is a choir, to destiny well-tuned,
Haunts these doomed halls, no mellow-throated choir,
And they of human blood have largely drunk:
And by that wine made bold, the Bacchanals
Cling to their place of revels. The sister’d Furies
Sit on these roofs, and hymn the prime offence
Of this crime-burthened race; the brother’s sin
That trod the brother’s bed.* Speak! do I hit
The mark, a marksman true? or do I beat
Your doors, a babbling beggar prophesying
False dooms for hire? Be ye my witnesses,
And with an oath avouch, how well I know
The hoary sins that hang upon these walls

Chorus.

Would oaths make whole our ills, though I should wedge them
As stark as ice?80 But I do marvel much
That thou, a stranger born, from distant seas,
Dost know our city as it were thine own.

Cass.

Ah me! woe! woe!
Again strong divination’s troublous whirl
Seizes my soul, and stirs my labouring breast
With presages of doom. Lo! where they sit,
These pitiful young ones on the fated roof,
Like to the shapes of dreams! The innocent babes,
Butchered by friends that should have blessed them, and
In their own hands their proper bowels they bear,
Banquet abhorred, and their own father eats it.*
This deed a lion, not a lion-hearted
Shall punish; wantonly in her bed, whose lord
Shall pay the heavy forfeit, he shall roll,
And snare my master—woe’s me, even my master,
For slavery’s yoke my neck must learn to own.
Ah! little weens the leader of the ships,
Troy’s leveller, how a hateful bitch’s tongue,
With long-drawn phrase, and broad-sown smile, doth weave
His secret ruin. This a woman dares;
The female mars the male. Where shall I find
A name to name such monster? dragon dire,
Rock-lurking Scylla, the vexed seaman’s harm,
Mother of Hades, murder’s Mænad, breathing
Implacable breath of curses on her kin.81
All-daring woman! shouting in her heart,
As o’er the foe, when backward rolls the fight,
Yet hymning kindliest welcome with her tongue.
Ye look mistrustful; I am used to that.
That comes which is to come; and ye shall know
Full soon, with piteous witness in your eyes,
How true, and very true, Cassandra spake.

Chorus.

Thyestes’ banquet, and his children’s flesh
I know, and shudder; strange that she should know
The horrors of that tale; but for the rest
She runs beyond my following.

Cass.

Thus I said;
Thine eyes shall witness Agamemnon’s death

Chorus.

Hush, wretched maiden! lull thy tongue to rest,
And cease from evil-boding words!

Cass.

Alas!
The gods that heal all evil, heal not this.

[Exit.

Chorus.

Men crave increase of riches ever
With insatiate craving. Never
From the finger-pointed halls
Of envied wealth their owner calls,
“Enter no more! I have enough!”
This man the gods with honour crowned;
He hath levelled with the ground
Priam’s city, and in triumph
Glorious home returns;
But if doomed the fine to pay
Of ancient guilt, and death with death
To guerdon in the end,
Who of mortals will not pray,85
From high-perched Fortune’s favour far,
A blameless life to spend.

Aga.

[From within.] O I am struck! struck with a mortal blow!

Chorus.

Hush! what painful voice is speaking there of strokes and mortal blows?

Aga.

O struck again! struck with a mortal blow!

Chorus.

’Tis the king that groans; the work, the bloody work, I fear, is doing.
Weave we counsel now together, and concert a sure design.86

1st Chorus.

I give my voice to lift the loud alarm,
And rouse the city to besiege the doors.

2nd Chorus.

Rather forthwith go in ourselves, and prove
The murderer with the freshly-dripping blade.

3rd Chorus.

I add my pebble to thine. It is not well
That we delay. Fate hangs upon the moment.

4th Chorus.

The event is plain, with this prelusive blood
They hang out signs of tyranny to Argos.

5th Chorus.

Then why stay we? Procrastination they
Tramp underfoot; they sleep not with their hands.

6th Chorus.

Not so. When all is dark, shall we unwisely
Rush blindfold on an unconsulted deed?

7th Chorus.

Thou speakest well. If he indeed be dead,
Our words are vain to bring him back from Hades.

8th Chorus.

Shall we submit to drag a weary life
Beneath the shameless tyrants of this house?

9th Chorus.

Unbearable! and better far to die!
Death is a gentler lord than tyranny.

10th Chorus.

First ask we this, if to have heard a groan
Gives a sure augury that the man is dead.

11th Chorus.

Wisdom requires to probe the matter well:
To guess is one thing, and to know another.

12th Chorus.

So wisely spoken87 With full-voiced assent
Inquire we first how Agamemnon fares.

[The scene opens from behind, and discoversClytemnestrastanding over the dead bodies ofAgamemnonandCassandra.]

Clytem.

I spoke to you before; and what I spoke
Suited the time; nor shames me now to speak
Mine own refutal. For how shall we entrap
Our foe, our seeming friend, in scapeless ruin,
Save that we fence him round with nets too high
For his o’erleaping? What I did, I did
Not with a random inconsiderate blow,
But from old Hate, and with maturing Time.
Here, where I struck, I take my rooted stand,
Upon the finished deed:88 the blow so given,
And with wise forethought so by me devised,
That flight was hopeless, and to ward it vain.
With many-folding net, as fish are caught,
I drew the lines about him, mantled round
With bountiful destruction; twice I struck him,
And twice he groaning fell with limbs diffused
Upon the ground; and as he fell, I gave
The third blow, sealing him a votive gift
To gloomy Hades, saviour of the dead.
And thus he spouted forth his angry soul,
Bubbling a bitter stream of frothy slaughter,
And with the dark drops of the gory dew
Bedashed me; I delighted nothing less
Than doth the flowery calix, full surcharged
With fruity promise, when Jove’s welkin down
Distils the rainy blessing. Men of Argos,
Rejoice with me in this, or, if ye will not,
Then do I boast alone. If e’er ’twas meet
To pour libations to the dead, he hath them
In justest measure. By most righteous doom,
Who drugged the cup with curses to the brim,
Himself hath drunk damnation to the dregs.

Chorus.

Thou art a bold-mouthed woman. Much we marvel
To hear thee boast thy husband’s murder thus.

Clytem.

Ye tempt me as a woman, weak, unschooled.
But what I say, ye know, or ought to know,
I say with fearless heart. Your praise or blame
Is one to me. Here Agamemnon lies,
My husband, dead, the work of this right hand—
The hand of a true workman. Thus it stands.

STROPHE.

Chorus.

Woman! what food on wide earth growing
Hast thou eaten of? What draught
From the briny ocean quaffed,
That for such deed the popular breath
Of Argos should with curses crown thee,
As a victim crowned for death?
Thou hast cast off: thou hast cut off
Thine own husband:89 thou shalt be
From the city of the free
Thyself a cast-off: justly hated
With staunch hatred unabated.

Clytem.

My sentence thou hast spoken; shameful flight,
The citizens’ hate, the people’s vengeful curse:
For him thou hast no curse, the bloody man
Who, when the fleecy flocks innumerous pastured,
Passed the brute by, and sacrificed my child,
My best-beloved, fruit of my throes, to lull
The Thracian blasts asleep. Why did thy wrath,
In righteous guerdon of this foulest crime,
Not chase this man from Greece? A greedy ear
And a harsh tongue thou hast for me alone.
But mark my words,90 threats I repay with threats;
If that thou canst subdue me in fair fight,
Subdue me; but if Jove for me decide,
Thou shalt be wise, when wisdom comes too late.

ANTISTROPHE.

Chorus.

Thou art high and haughty-hearted,
And from lofty thoughts within thee
Mighty words are brimming o’er:
For thy sober sense is madded
With the purple-dripping gore;
And thine eyes with fatness swell91
From bloody feasts: but mark me well,
Time shall come, avenging Time,
And hunt thee out, and track thy crime:
Then thou, when friends are far, shalt know
Stroke for stroke, and blow for blow.

Clytem.

Hear thou this oath, that seals my cause with right:
By sacred Justice, perfecting revenge,
By Até, and the Erinnys of my child,
To whom I slew this man, I shall not tread
The threshold of pale Fear, the while doth live
Ægisthus, now, as he hath been, my friend,
Stirring the flame that blazes on my hearth,
My shield of strong assurance. For the slain,
Here lieth he that wronged a much-wronged woman,
Sweet honey-lord of Trojan Chryseids.
And for this spear-won maid, this prophetess,
This wise diviner, well-beloved bed-fellow,
And trusty messmate of great Agamemnon,
She shares his fate, paying with him the fee
Of her own sin, and like a swan hath sung
Her mortal song beside him. She hath been
Rare seasoning added to my banquet rare.

STROPHE I.92

Chorus.

O would some stroke of Fate—no dull disease
Life’s strings slow-rending,
No bed-bound pain—might bring, my smart to soothe,
The sleep unending!
For he, my gracious lord, my guide, is gone,
Beyond recalling;
Slain for a woman’s cause, and by the hands
Of woman falling.

STROPHE II.
O Helen! Helen! phrenzied Helen,
Many hearts of thee are telling
Damned destruction thou hast done,
There where thousands fell for one
’Neath the walls of Troy

ANTISTROPHE II.
Bloomed from thee the blossom gory
Of famous Agamemnon’s glory;
Thou hast roused the slumbering strife,
From age to age, with eager knife,
Watching to destroy.

STROPHE III.

Clytem.

Death invoke not to relieve thee
From the ills that vainly grieve thee!
Nor, with ire indignant swelling,
Blame the many-murdering Helen!
Damned destruction did she none,
There, where thousands fell for one,
’Neath the walls of Troy.

ANTISTROPHE I.
O god that o’er the doomed Atridan halls93
With might prevailest,
Weak woman’s breast to do thy headlong will
With murder mailest!
O’er his dead body, like a boding raven,
Thou tak’st thy station,
Piercing my marrow with thy savage hymn
Of exultation.

ANTISTROPHE III.

Clytem.

Nay, but now thou speakest wisely;
This thrice-potent god precisely
Works our woe, and weaves our sorrow.
He with madness stings the marrow,
And with greed that thirsts for blood;
Ere to-day’s is dry, the flood
Flows afresh to-morrow.

STROPHE IV.

Chorus.

Him, even him, this terrible god, to bear
These walls are fated;
From age to age he worketh wildly there
With wrath unsated.
Not without Jove, Jove cause and end of all,
Nor working vainly.
Comes no event but with high sway the gods
Have ruled it plainly.

STROPHE V.

Chorus.

O the king! the king! for thee
Tears in vain my cheek shall furrow,
Words in vain shall voice my sorrow!
As in a spider’s web thou liest;
Godless meshes spread for thee,
An unworthy death thou diest!

STROPHE VI.

Chorus.

There, even there thou liest, woe’s me, outstretched
On couch inglorious;
O’er thee the knife prevailed, keen-edged, by damned
Deceit victorious.

STROPHE VII.

Clytem.

Nay, be wise, and understand;
Say not Agamemnon’s wife
Wielded in this human hand
The fateful knife.
But a god, my spirit’s master,
The unrelenting old Alastor94
Chose this wife, his incarnation,
To avenge the desecration
Of foul-feasting Atreus, he
Gave, to work his wrath’s completion
To the babes this grown addition.

ANTISTROPHE IV.

Chorus.

Thy crime is plain: bear thou what thou hast merited,
Guilt’s heavy lading;
But that fell Spirit, from sire to son inherited,
Perchance was aiding.
Black-mantled Mars through consanguineous gore
Borne onwards blindly,
Old horrors to atone, fresh Murder’s store
Upheaps unkindly.

ANTISTROPHE V.
O the king! the king! for thee
Tears in vain my cheek shall furrow,
Words in vain shall voice my sorrow!
As in a spider’s web thou liest;
Godless meshes spread for thee,
An unworthy death thou diest.

ANTISTROPHE VI.

Chorus.

There, even there, thou liest, woe’s me, outstretched
On couch inglorious!
O’er thee the knife prevailed, keen-edged, by damned
Decent victorious.

ANTISTROPHE VII.

Clytem.

Say not thou that he did die
By unworthy death inglorious,
Erst himself prevailed by damned
Deceit victorious,
Then when he killed the deep-lamented
Iphigenía, nor relented
When for my body’s fruit with weeping
I besought him. Springs his reaping
From what seed he sowed. Not he
In Hades housed shall boast to-day;
So slain by steel as he did slay.

STROPHE VIII.

Chorus.

I’m tossed with doubt, on no sure counsel grounded,
With fear confounded.
No drizzling drops, a red ensanguined shower,
Upon the crazy house, that was my tower,
Comes wildly sweeping,
On a new whetstone whets her blade the Fate
With eyes unweeping.

STROPHE IX.

Chorus.

O Earth, O Earth, would thou hadst yawned,
And in thy black pit whelmed me wholly,
Ere I had seen my dear-loved lord
In the silver bath thus bedded lowly!
Who will bury him? and for him
With salt tears what eyes shall brim?
Wilt thou do it—thou, the wife
That slew thy husband with the knife?
Wilt thou dare, with blushless face,
Thus to offer a graceless grace?
With false show of pious moaning,
Thine own damned deed atoning?

STROPHE X.

Chorus.

What voice the praises of the godlike man
Shall publish clearly?
And o’er his tomb the tear from eyelids wan
Shall drop sincerely?

STROPHE XI.

Clytem.

In vain thy doubtful heart is tried
With many sorrows. By my hand
Falling he fell, and dying died.95
I too will bury him; but no train
Of mourning men for him shall plain
In our Argive streets; but rather
In the land of sunless cheer
She shall be his convoy; she,
Iphigenía, his daughter dear.
By the stream of woes* swift-flowing,
Round his neck her white arms throwing,
She shall meet her gentle father,
And greet him with a kiss.

ANTISTROPHE VIII.

Chorus.

Crime quitting crime, and which the more profanely
Were questioned vainly;
’Tis robber robbed, and slayer slain, for, though
Oft-times it lag, with measured blow for blow
Vengeance prevaileth,
While great Jove lives.96 Who breaks the close-linked woe
Which Heaven entaileth?

ANTISTROPHE IX.

Chorus.

O Earth, O Earth, would thou hadst yawned,
And in thy black pit whelmed me wholly,
Ere I had seen my dear-loved lord
In the silver bath thus bedded lowly!
Who will bury him? and for him
With salt tears, what eyes shall brim?
Wilt thou do it? thou, the wife
That killed thy husband with the knife?
Wilt thou dare, with blushless face,
Thus to offer a graceless grace?
With false show of pious moaning
Thine own damned deed atoning?

ANTISTROPHE X.

Chorus.

What voice the praises of the god-like man
Shall publish clearly?
And o’er his tomb the tear from eyelids wan
Shall drop sincerely?

ANTISTROPHE XI.

Clytem.

Cease thy cries. Where Heaven entaileth,
Thyself didst say, woe there prevaileth.
But for this tide enough hath been
Of bloody work. My score is clean.
Now to the ancient stern Alastor,
That crowns the Pleisthenids* with disaster,
I vow, having reaped his crop of woe
From me, to others let him go,
And hold with them his bloody bridal,
Of horrid murders suicidal!
Myself, my little store amassed
Shall freely use, while it may last,
From murdering madness healed.

EnterÆgisthus.

Ægis.

O blessed light! O happy day proclaiming
The justice of the gods! Now may I say
The Olympians look from heaven sublime, to note
Our woes, and right our wrongs, seeing as I see
In the close meshes of the Erinnyes tangled
This man—sweet sight to see!—prostrate before me,
Having paid the forfeit of his father’s crime.
For Atreus, ruler of this Argive land,
This dead man’s father—to be plain—contending
About the mastery, banished from the city
Thyestes, his own brother and my father.
In suppliant guise back to his hearth again
The unhappy prince returned, content if he
Might tread his native acres, not besprent
With his own blood. Him with a formal show
Of hospitality—not love—received
The father of this dead, the godless Atreus;
And to my father for the savoury use
Of festive viands gave his children’s flesh
To feed on; in a separate dish concealed
Were legs and arms, and the fingers’ pointed tips,97
Broke from the body. These my father saw not;
But what remained, the undistinguished flesh,
He with unwitting greed devoured, and ate
A curse to Argos. Soon as known, his heart
Disowned the unholy feast, and with a groan
Back-falling he disgorged it. Then he vowed
Dark doom to the Pelopidae, and woes
Intolerable, while with his heel he spurned98
The supper, and thus voiced the righteous curse:
Thus perish all the race of Pleisthenes!
See here the cause why Agamemnon died,
And why his death most righteous was devised
By me; for I, Thyestes’ thirteenth son,
While yet a swaddled babe, was driven away
To houseless exile with my hapless sire.
But me avenging Justice nursed, and taught me,
Safer by distance, with invisible hand
To reach this man, and weave the brooded plot,
That worked his sure destruction. Now ’tis done;
And gladly might I die, beholding him,
There as he lies where Vengeance trapped his crimes.

Chorus.

Ægisthus, that thou wantonest in the woe
Worked by thy crime I praise not. Thou alone
Didst slay this man, and planned the piteous slaughter
With willing heart. So say’st thou: but mark well,
Justice upon thy head the stony curse
Shall bring avoidless from the people’s hand.

Ægis.

How? Thou who sittest on the neathmost bench,
Speak’st thus to me who ply the upper oar?
’Tis a hard task to teach an old man wisdom,
And dullness at thy years is doubly dull;
But chains and hunger’s pangs sure leeches are,
And no diviner vends more potent balms
To drug a doting wit.99 Have eyes, and see,
Kick not against the pricks, nor vainly beat
Thy head on rocks.

Chorus[toClytemnestra].

Woman, how couldst thou dare,
On thine own hearth to plot thy husband’s death;
First having shamed his bed, to welcome him
With murder from the wars?

Ægis.

Speak on; each word shall be a fount of tears,
I’ll make thy tongue old Orpheus’ opposite.
He with sweet sounds led wild beasts where he would,
Thou where thou wilt not shalt be led, confounding
The woods with baby cries. Thou barkest now,
But, being bound, the old man shall be tame.

Chorus.

A comely king wert thou to rule the Argives!
Whose wit had wickedness to plan the deed,
But failed the nerve in thy weak hand to do it.

Ægis.

’Twas wisely schemed with woman’s cunning wit
To snare him. I, from ancient date his foe,
Stood in most just suspicion. Now, ’tis done;
And I, succeeding to his wealth, shall know
To hold the reins full tightly. Who rebels
Shall not with corn be fatted for my traces,
But, stiffly haltered, he shall lodge secure
In darkness, with starvation for his mate.

Chorus.

Hear me yet once. Why did thy dastard hand
Shrink from the deed? But now his wife hath done it,
Tainting this land with murder most abhorred,
Polluting Argive gods. But still Orestes
Looks on the light; him favouring Fortune shall
Nerve with one stroke to smite this guilty pair.

Ægis.

Nay, if thou for brawls art eager, and for battle, thou shalt know—

Chorus.

Ho! my gallant co-mates, rouse ye!100 ’tis an earnest business now!
Quick, each hand with sure embracement hold the dagger by the hilt!

Ægis.

I can also hold a hilted dagger—not afraid to die.

Chorus.

Die!—we catch the word thou droppest, lucky chance, if thou wert dead!

Clytem.

Not so, best-beloved! there needeth no enlargement to our ills.
We have reaped a liberal harvest, gleaned a crop of fruitful woes,
Gained a loss in brimming measure: blood’s been shed enough to-day.
Peacefully, ye hoary Elders, enter now your destined homes,
Ere mischance o’ertake you, deeming what is done hath so been done,
As it behoved to be, contented if the dread god add no more,
He that now the house of Pelops smiteth in his anger dire.
Thus a woman’s word doth warn ye, if that ye have wit to hear.

Ægis.

Babbling fools are they; and I forsooth must meekly bear the shower,
Flowers of contumely cast from doting drivellers, tempting fate!
O! if length of hoary winters brought discretion, ye should know
Where the power is; wisely subject you the weak to me the strong.

NOTES TO THE AGAMEMNON

πάρεστι σιγὰς (σιγηλος) ἄτιμος ἀλόιδορος
ἄληστος ἀϕεμένων ἰο̂εɩ̂ν;

modified thus by Orelli—

ἄπιστος ἀϕεμέναν ἰδεɩ̂ν
—(See Wellauer)

With a reference to Menelaus and not to Helen. In doing so, I am not at all moved by any merely philological consideration; but I may observe that the remark made by Well., Peile, and Con, that the words cannot refer to Menelaus, because he has not yet been mentioned, can have little weight in the present chorus, in the first antistrophe of which Paris is first alluded to, by dim indications, and afterwards distinctly by name This method of merely hinting at a person, before naming him, is common in all poetry, but peculiarly characteristic of Æschylus. Besides, it is impossible to deny that the πόθος in the next line refers to Menelaus, and can refer to no other. Con., who refers the words to Helen, translates thus—

“She stands in silence, scorned, yet unrebuking,
Most sweetly sorrowfully looking
Of brides that have from wedlock fled,”

to which I have this further objection, that it is contrary to the poet’s intention and to the moral tone of the piece, to paint the fair fugitive with such an engaging look of reluctance to leave her husband; on the contrary, he blames her in the strongest language, ἄτλητα τλα̂σα, and represents her as leaving Argos with all the hurry of a common elopement, where both parties are equally willing for the amorous flight, βέβακε ρίμϕα διὰ πυλα̂ν. After which our fancy has nothing to do but imagine her giving her sails to the wind as swiftly as possible, and bounding gaily over the broad back of ocean with her gay paramour. In this connection, to say “shestands,” appears quite out of place. In my view of this “very difficult and all but desperate passage” (Peile) I am supported by Sym. in an able note, which every student ought to read, by Med. and Sew., Buck., Humb., and Droys. Neither is Fr. against me, because, though following a new reading of Hermann,

πάρεστι σιγὰς ἀτίμους ἀλοιδόρους
’αισχρωˆς ἀϕειμενων ιδειν,

he avoids all special allusions to Menelaus, it is evident that the picture of solitary desolation given in his translation can have no reference but to the palace of the king of Sparta—

“Ein Schweigen, sieh! voll von Schmach, nicht gebrochen church
Vorwurf, beherrscht die Einsamkeit”

[Back to Table of Contents]

CHOEPHORÆ OR, THE LIBATION-BEARERS

A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE

Ἐκ γὰρ Ὀρέσταο τίσις [Editor: illegible character]σσεται Ἀτρέιδαο
Ὀπποτ [Editor: illegible character]ν ‘ηβήσ[Editor: illegible character] τε κὰι ἠ̂ς ἱμείρεται ἄιης.
Homer.

Think upon our father,
Give the sword scope—think what a man was he
Landoe.

PERSONS

Orestes, Son of Agamemnon.

Pylades, Friend of Orestes

Chorus of Captive Women.

Electra, Sister of Orestes.

Nurse of Orestes.

Clytemnestra, Mother of Orestes.

Ægisthus.

Servant.

Sceneas in the preceding piece. The Tomb of Agamemnon in the centre of the Stage.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

“Good, how good, when one who dies unjustly leaves a son behind him To avenge his death!”

—Odyss. iii. 196,

As a composition, the Choephoræ is decidedly inferior both to the Agamemnon which precedes, and the Eumenides which follows it; and the poet, as if sensible of this weakness, following the approved tactics of rhetoricians and warriors, has dexterously placed it in a position where its deficiencies are least observed. At the same time, in passing a critical judgment on this piece we must bear in mind two things—first, that some parts of this play that appear languid, long-drawn, and ineffective to us who read, may have been overflowing with the richest emotional power in their living musical exhibition; and, secondly, that many parts, especially of the choral chaunts, have been so maimed and shattered by time that the modern commentator is perhaps as much chargeable with the faults of the translation as the ancient tragedian.

EnterOrestesandPylades.

Orest.

Hermes, that wieldest underneath the ground
What power thy father lent,1 be thou my saviour
And my strong help, and grant his heart’s request
To the returning exile! On this mound,
My father’s tomb, my father I invoke,
To hear my cry!

* * * * * *
* * My early growth of hair
To Inachus I vowed;2 this later lock
The right of grief for my great sire demands.
* * * * *
But what is this? what sad procession comes
Of marshalled maids in sable mantles clad?
What mission brings them? Some new woe that breaks
Upon our fated house? Or, do they come
To soothe the ancient anger of the dead
With sweet libations for my father’s tomb?
’Tis even so for lo! Electra comes—
My sister—with them in unblissful grief
Pre-eminent. O Jove, be thou mine aid,3
And nerve my hand to avenge my father’s wrong!
Stand we aside, my Pylades, that we
May learn the purpose of the murky pomp.

[They go aside.

Chorus,dressed in sable vestments, bearing vessels with libations.

STROPHE I.
Missioned from these halls I come
In the sable pomp of woe,
Here to wail and pour libations,
with the bosom-beating blow;
And my cheeks, that herald sorrow,4
With the fresh-cut nail-ploughed furrow,
Grief’s vocation show.
See! my rent and ragged stole
Speaks the conflict of my soul;
My vex’d heart on grief is feeding,
Night and day withouten rest;
Riven with the ruthless mourning,
Hangs the linen vest, adorning
Woefully my breast.

ANTISTROPHE I.
Breathing wrath through nightly slumbers,
By a dream-encompassed lair,
Prophet of the house of Pelops,
Terror stands with bristling hair.
Through the dark night fitful yelling,
He within our inmost dwelling
Did the sleeper scare.
Heavily, heavily terror falls
On the woman-governed halls!
And, instinct with high assurance,
Speak the wise diviners all;
“The dead, the earth-hid dead are fretful,
And for vengeance unforgetful,
From their graves they call.”

STROPHE II.
This graceless grace to do, to ward
What ills the dream portendeth
This pomp—O mother Earth!—and me
The godless woman sendeth.
Thankless office! Can I dare,
Naming thee, to mock the air?
Blood that stains with purple track
The ground, what price can purchase back?
O the hearth beset with mourning!
O the proud halls’ overturning!
Darkness, blithe sight’s detestation,
Sunless sorrow spread
Round the house of desolation,
Whence the lord is fled.

ANTISTROPHE II.
The kingly majesty that was
The mighty, warlike-hearted,
That swayed the general ear and will,
The unconquered, hath departed.
And now fear rules,5 and we obey,
Unwillingly, a loveless sway.
Who holds the key of plenty’s portals
Is god, and more than god to mortals;
But justice from her watchful station,
With a sure-winged visitation
Swoops; and some in blazing noon
She for doom doth mark,
Some in lingering eve, and some
In the deedless dark.

EPODE.
When mother Earth hath drunk black gore,
Printed on the faithful floor,
The staring blot remaineth;
There the deep disease is lurking;
There thrice double-guilt is working
Woes that none restraineth.
As virgin-chambers once polluted
Never may be pure again,
So filthy hands with blood bedabbled6
All the streams of all the rivers
Flow to wash in vain
For me I suffer what I must;
By ordinance divine,
Since Troy was levelled with the dust
The bondman’s fate is mine.
What the masters of my fate
In their strength decree,7
Just or unjust, matters not,
Is the law to me.
I must look content; and chain
Strongest hate with tightest rein;
I for my mistress’ woes must wail,
And for my own, beneath the veil;8
I must sit apart,
And thaw with tears my frozen heart,
When no eye may see.

EnterElectra.

Elect.

Ye ministering maids with dexterous heed
That tend this household, as with me ye share
This pomp of supplication, let me share
In your good counsel. Speak, and tell me how,
This flood funereal pouring on the tomb,
I shall find utterance in well-omened words?
Shall I declare me bearer of sweet gifts
From a dear wife to her dear lord? I fear
To mingle faslehood with libations pure,
Poured on my father’s tomb.9 Or shall I pray,
As mortals wont to pray, that he may send
Just retribution, and a worthy gift
Of ill for ill to them that sent these garlands?
Or shall I silent stand, nor with my tongue
Give honour, as in dumb dishonoured death
My father died, and give the Earth to drink
A joyless stream, as who throws lustral ashes10
With eyes averse, and flings the vase away?
Your counsel here I crave; ye are my friends,
And bear with me, within these fated halls
A common burden. Speak, and no craven fear
Lurk in your breasts! The man that lives most free,
And him to sternest masterdom enthralled,
One fate abides Lend me your wisdom, friends.

Chorus.

Thy father’s tomb shall be to me an altar;
As before God I’ll speak the truth to thee.

Elect.

Speak thus devoutly, and thou’lt answer well.

Chorus

Give words of seemly honour, as thou pourest,
To all that love thy father.

Elect.

[approaching to the tomb of Agamemnon]. Hermes, that
swayest underneath the ground,*12
Of powers divine, Infernal and Supernal,
Most weighty herald, herald me in this,
That every subterranean god, and earth,
Even mother earth, who gave all things their birth,
And nurseth the reviving germs of all,
May hear my prayer, and with their sleepless eyes
Watch my parental halls. And while I dew
Thy tomb with purifying stream, O father,
Pity thou me, and on thy loved Orestes
With pity look, and to our long lost home
Restore us!—us, poor friendless outcasts both,
Bartered by her who bore us, and exchanged
Thy love for his who was thy murderer.
Myself do menial service in this house;
Orestes lives in exile; and they twain
In riot waste the fruits of thy great toils.
Hear thou my prayers, and quickly send Orestes
With happy chance to claim his father’s sceptre!
And give thou me a wiser heart, and hand
More holy-functioned than the mother’s was
That bore thy daughter. Thus much for myself,
And for my friends. To those that hate my father,
Rise thou with vengeance mantled-dark to smite
Those justly that unjustly smote the just.
These words of evil imprecation dire,13
Marring the pious tenor of my prayer,
I speak constrained: but thou for me and mine
Send good, and only good, to the upper air,
The gods being with thee, mother Earth, and Justice
With triumph in her train. This prayer receive
And these libations. Ye, my friends, the while
Let your grief blossom in luxuriant wail,
Lifting the solemn pæan of the dead.

Chorus.

Flow! in plashing torrents flow!
Wretched grief for wretched master!
O’er this heaped mound freely flow,
Refuge of my heart’s disaster!
O thou dark majestic shade,
Hear, O hear me! While anear thee
Pours this sorrow-stricken maid
The pure libation,
May the solemn wail we lift
Atone the guilt that taints the gift
With desecration!
O that some god from Scythia far,
To my imploring,
Might send a spearman strong in war,
Our house restoring!
Come Mars, with back-bent bow, thy hail
Of arrows pouring,
Or with the hilted sword assail,
And in the grapple close prevail,
Of battle roaring!

Elect.

These mild libations, earth-imbibed, my father
Hath now received. Thy further counsel lend.

Elect

’Tis like—O strange!—to these same locks I wear.
And yet—

Chorus.

Not being yours, there’s none, I know,
Can claim it but Orestes.

Elect.

In sooth, ’tis like
Trimmed with one plume Orestes was and I

Chorus.

But how should he have dared to tread this ground?

Elect.

Belike, he sent it by another’s hand,
A votive lock to grace his father’s tomb.

Chorus.

Small solace to my grief, if that he lives,
Yet never more may touch his native soil.

Elect.

I, too, as with a bitter wave was lashed,
And pierced, as with an arrow, at the sight
Of this loved lock; and from my thirsty eyne
With troubled overflowings unrestrained
The full tide gushes: for none here would dare
To gift a lock to Agamemnon’s grave;
No citizen, much less the wife that slew him.
My mother most unmotherly, her own children
With godless hate pursuing, evil-minded:
And though to think this wandering lock have graced
My brother’s head—even his—my loved Orestes,
Were bliss too great, yet will I hold the hope.
O that this lock might with articulate voice
Pronounce a herald’s tale, and I no more
This way and that with dubious thought be swayed!
That I might know if from a hostile head
’Twas shorn, and hate it as it hate deserves,
Or, if from friends, my sorrows’ fellow make it,
The dearest grace of my dear father’s tomb!
But the gods know our woes; them we invoke,
Whirled to and fro in eddies of dark doubt,
Like vessels tempest-tossed. If they will save us,
They have the power from smallest seed to raise
The goodliest tree. But lo! a further proof18 —
Footsteps, a perfect print, that seem to bear
A brotherhood with mine! Nay, there are two—
This claimed by him, and that by some true friend
That shares his wanderings. See, the heel, the sole,
Thus measured with my own, prove that they were
Both fashioned in one mould ’Tis very strange!
I’m racked with doubt, my wits are wandering.

Orest.

[coming forward]. Nay, rather thank the gods! Thy first prayer granted,
Pray that fair end may fair beginning follow.19

Elect.

O of my father’s house the chiefest care!
Seed of salvation, hope with many tears
Bewept, with thy strong arm thou shalt restore
Thy father’s house. O my life’s eye, thou dost
Four several functions corporate in one
Discharge for me! My father thou, and thine
The gentler love that should have been my mother’s,
My justly hated mother; and in her place,
Who died by merciless immolation,* thou
Must be my sister, so even as thou art
My faithful brother, loved much and revered.
May Power and Justice aid thee, mighty Twain,21
And a third mightier, Jove supremely great.

Orest.

O Jove, great Jove, of all these things be thou
Spectator! And behold the orphan’d brood,
Of eagle father strangled in the folds
And deadly coil of loathly basilisk!
Them sireless see in dire starvation’s gripe,
Too weak of wing to bear unto the nest
Their father’s prey. So we before thee stand,
Myself and this Electra, sire-bereaved,
And exiles both from our paternal roof.
If we, the chickens of the pious father
That crowned thee with much sacrifice, shall fail,
Where shalt thou find a hand like his, to offer
Gifts from the steaming banquet? If the brood
Of the eagle perish, where shall be thy signs,
That speak from Heaven persuasive to mankind?
If all this royal trunk shall rot, say who,
When blood of oxen flows on holidays,
Shall stand beside thine altar? O give ear,
And of this house so little now, and fallen
So low, rebuild the fortunes!

Chorus.

Hush, my children!
If ye would save your father’s house, speak softly,
Lest some one hear, and, with swift babblement,
Inform their ears who rule; whom may I see
Flayed on a fire, with streaming pitch well fed!

Orest.

Fear not. The mighty oracle of Loxias,
By whose commands I dare the thing I dare,
Will not deceive me. He, with shrill-voiced warning,
Foretold that freezing pains through my warm liver
Should torturing shoot, if backward to avenge
My father’s death, and even as he was slain,
To slay the slayers, exasperate at the loss22
Of my so fair possessions. Thus to do
He gave me strict injunction: else myself
With terrible pains, of filial zeal remiss,
Should pay the fine. The evil-minded Powers
Beneath the Earth23 would visit me in wrath,
A leprous tetter with corrosive tooth
Creep o’er my skin, and fasten on my flesh,
And with white scales the white hair grow, defacing
My bloom of health; and from my father’s tomb
Ripe with avenging ire the Erinnyes
Should ruthlessly invade me. Thus he spake,
And through the dark his prescient eyebrow arched.24
Sharp arrows through the subterranean night,
Shot by dear Shades that through the Infernal halls
Roam peaceless, madness, and vain fear o’ nights,
Prick with sharp goads, and chase from street to street,
With iron scourge, the meagre-wasted form
Of the Fury-hunted sinner; him no share
In festal cup awaits, or hallowed drop
Of pure libation;25 the paternal wrath,
Hovering unseen, shall drive him from the altar;
Him shall no home receive, no lodgment hold,
Unhonoured and unfriended he shall die,
Withered and mummied with the hot dry plague.
Such oracle divine behoves me trust
With single faith, or, be I faithless, still
The vengeance must be done. All things concur
To point my purpose; the divine command
My sore heart-grief for a loved father’s death,
The press of want, the spoiling of my goods,
The shame to see these noble citizens,
Proud Troy’s destroyers, basely bent beneath
The yoke of two weak women: for he hath
A woman’s soul: if not, the proof is near.

Chorus.

Mighty Fates, divinely guiding
Human fortunes to their end,
Send this man, with Jove presiding,
Whither Justice points the way.
Words of bitter hatred duly
Pay with bitter words for thus
With loud cry triumphant shouting
Justice pays the sinner’s debt.
Blood for blood and blow for blow,
Thou shalt reap as thou didst sow;
Age to age with hoary wisdom
Speaketh thus to men.26

STROPHE I.

Orest.

O father, wretched father, with what air
Of word or deed impelling,
Shall I be strong to waft the filial prayer
To thy dim distant dwelling?
There where in dark, the dead-man’s day, thou liest,27
Be our sharp wailing
(Grace of the dead, and Hades’ honour highest),
With thee prevailing!

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

Son, the strong-jawed funeral fire
Burns not the mind in the smoky pyre;
Sleeps, but not forgets the dead
To show betimes his anger dread.
For the dead the living moan,
That the murderer may be known.
They who mourn for parent slain
Shall not pour the wail in vain,
Bright disclosure shall not lack
Who through darkness hunts the track.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Elect.

Hear thou our cries, O father, when for thee
The frequent tear is falling;
The wailing pair o’er thy dear tomb to thee
From their hearts’ depths are calling;
The suppliant and the exile at one tomb
Their sorrow showering,
Helpless and hopeless; mantled round with gloom,
Woe overpouring!

Chorus.

Nay, be calm; the god that speaks
With voice oracular shall attune
Thy throat to happier notes;
Instead the voice of wail funereal,
Soon the jubilant shout shall shake
His father’s halls with joy, and welcome
The new friend to his home.

STROPHE III.

Orest.

If but some Lycian spear, ’neath Ilium’s walls,
Had lowly laid thee,
A mighty name in the Atridan halls
Thou wouldst have made thee!
Then hadst thou pitched thy fortune like a star,
To son and grandson shining from afar;
Beyond the wide-waved sea, the high-heaped mound
Had told for ever
Thy feats of battle, and with glory crowned
Thy high endeavour.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus.

Ah! would that thou hadst found thy end
There, where dear friend fell with friend,
And marched with them to Hades dread,
The monarch of the awful dead,28
Sitting beside the throne with might
Of them that rule the realms of night;
For thou in life wert monarch true,
Expert each kingly deed to do,
Leading, with thy persuasive rod,
Submissive mortals like a god.

ANTISTROPHE III.

Elect.

Thou wert a king, no fate it was for thee
To die as others
’Neath Ilium’s walls, far, far beyond the sea,
With many brothers.
Unworthy was the spear to drink thy blood,
Where far Scamander rolls his swirling flood.
Justly who slew had drawn themselves thy lot,
And perished rather,
And thou their timeless fate had welcomed, not
They thine, my father.

Chorus.

Child, thy grief begetteth visions
Brighter than gold, and overtopping
Hyperborean bliss.29
Ah, here the misery rudely riots,
With double lash. These twins, their help
Sleeps beneath the ground; and they
Who hold dominion here, alas!
With unholy sceptre sway.
Woe is me! but chiefly woe
Children dear to you!

STROPHE IV.

Elect.

Chiefly to me! Thy words shoot like an arrow,
And pierce my marrow.
O Jove, O Jove! that sendest from below30
The retribution slow,
Against the stout heart and bold hand,
That dared defy thy high command.
Even though a parent feel the woe,
Prepare, prepare the finished blow.

STROPHE V.

Chorus.

Mine be soon to lift the strain,
O’er the treacherous slayer slain,
To shout with bitter exultation,
O’er the murtherous wife’s prostration!
Why should I the hate conceal,
That spurs my heart with promptest zeal,
Bitter thoughts, that gathering grow,
Like blustering winds, that beat the plunging vessel’s prow?

ANTISTROPHE IV.

Orest.

O thou that flourishest, and mak’st to flourish,
By thy hands perish
All they that hate me! Cleave the heads of those,
That are Orestes’ foes!
Pledge the land in peace to live,
For injustice justice give;
Ye that honoured reign below,31
Furies! prepare the crowning blow.

Chorus.

Wont hath been, and shall be ever,
That when purple gouts bedash
The guilty ground, then blood doth blood
Demand, and blood for blood shall flow.
Fury to Havoc cries, and Havoc,
The tainted track of blood pursuing,
From age to age works woe.

STROPHE VI.

Elect.

Ye powers of Hades dread!
Fell Curses of the Dead,
Hear me when I call!
Behold! The Atridan hall,
Dashed in dishonoured fall,
Lies low and graceless all.
O mighty Jove, I see
Mine only help in thee!

ANTISTROPHE V.

Chorus.

Thy piteous tale doth make my heart
From its central hold back start;
Hope departs, and blackening Fear
Rules my fancy, while I hear.
And if blithe confidence awhile32
Lends my dull faith the feeble smile,
Soon, soon departs that glimpse of cheer,
And all my map of things is desolate and drear.

ANTISTROPHE VI.

Orest.

For why! our tale of wrong
In hate of parents strong,
Spurneth the flatterer’s arm,
Mocketh the soothing charm.
The mother gave her child33
This wolfish nature wild;
And I from her shall learn
To be thus harsh and stern.

STROPHE VII.

Chorus.

Like a Persian mourner34
Singing sorrow’s tale,
Like a Cissian wailer,
I did weep and wail.
O’er my head swift-oaring
Came arm on arm amain,
The voice of my deploring
Like the lashing rain!
Sorrow’s rushing river
O’er me flooding spread,
Black misfortune’s quiver
Emptied on my head!

Elect.

Mother bold, all-daring,
On a bloody bier
Thine own lord forth bearing
Slain without a tear.
Alone, unfriended he did go
Down to the sunless homes below.

STROPHE VIII.

Orest.

Thou hast named the dire dishonor;
The gods shall send swift judgment on her.
By Heaven’s command,
By her own son’s hand,
Slain she shall lie;
And I, having dealt the fated death,
Myself shall die!

ANTISTROPHE VII.

Elect.

Be the butcher’s work remembered,
Mangled was he, and dismembered;
Like vilest clay,
She cast him away,
With burial base;
Mocking the son, the father branding
With dark disgrace.

ANTISTROPHE VIII.

Orest.

Thou dost tell too truly
All my father’s woe.

Elect.

I, the while, accounted
Lower than most low,35
Like a dog, was sundered
From my father’s hearth,
An evil dog, and wandered
Far from seats of mirth;
In my chamber weeping
Tears of silent woe,
From rude gazers keeping
Grief too great for show.
Hear these words; and hearing
Nail them in thy soul,
With steady purpose nearing,
And noiseless pace, thy goal.
Go where just wrath leads the way,
With stout heart tread the lists to-day.

STROPHE IX.

Orest.

O father, help thy friends, when helping thee!

Elect.

My tears, if they can help, shall flow for thee.

Chorus.

And this whole mingled choir shall raise for thee
The sistered cry: O hear!
In light of day appear,
And help thy banded friends, to avenge thy foes for thee!

ANTISTROPHE IX.

Orest.

Now might with might engage, and right with right!

Elect.

And the gods justly the unjust shall smite.

Chorus.

The tremulous fear creeps o’er my frame to hear
Thy words; for, though long-dated,
The thing divinely fated
Shall surely come at last, our cloudy prayers to clear.

STROPHE X.

Elect.

O home-bred pain,
Stroke of perdition that refuses
Concord with the holy Muses!
O burden more than heart can bear,
Disease that no physician’s care
Makes sound again!

ANTISTROPHE X.

Orest.

So; even so.
No far-sent leech this tetter uses;
A home-bred surgery it chooses.
I the red strife myself pursue,
Pouring this dismal hymn to you,
Ye gods below!

Chorus.

Blessed powers, propitious dwelling,
Deep in subterranean darkness,
Hear this pious prayer;
May all trials end in triumph
To the suppliant pair!

Orest.

Father, who died not as a king should die,
Give me to rule, as thou didst rule, these halls.

Elect.

My supplication hear, thy strong help lend me,
Scathless myself37 to work Ægisthus’ harm.

Orest.

Thus of the rightful feasts that soothe the Shades
Thou too shalt taste,38 and not dishonoured lie,
When savoury fumes mount to our country’s dead.

Elect.

And I my whole of heritage will offer,
The blithe libations of my marriage feast.
Thy tomb before all tombs I will revere.

Orest.

O Earth, relax thy hold, and give my father
To see the fight!

Elect.

O Persephassa,* send
The Atridan forth, in beauty clad and strength.

Orest.

Send justice forth to work the just revenge,
Like quit with like, and harm with harm repay;
Thou wert the conquered then, rise now to conquer.

Elect.

And hear this last request, my father, looking
On thy twin chickens nestling by thy tomb;
Pity the daughter, the male seed protect,
Nor let the name revered of ancient Pelops
Be blotted from the Earth! Thou art not dead,
Though housed in Hades, while thy children live,
For children are as echoes that prolong
Their parents’ fame; the floating cork are they
That buoyant bear the net deep sunk in the sea.
Hear, father—when we weep, we weep for thee,
And, saving us, thou savest thine own honour.

Chorus.

Well spoken both:39 and worthily fall the tears
On this dear tomb, too long without them. Now,
If to the deed thy purpose thou hast buckled,
Orestes, try what speed the gods may give thee.40

Orest.

I’ll do the deed. Meanwhile not idly this
I ask of thee—what moved her soul to send
These late libations, limping remedy
For wounds that cannot heal? A sorry grace
To feed the senseless dead with sacrifice,
When we have killed the living. What she means
I scarce may guess, but the amend is less
Than the offence. All ocean poured in offering
For the warm life-drops of one innocent man
Is labour lost. Old truth thus speaks to all.
How was it?

Chorus.

That I well may tell, for I
Was with her. Hideous dreams did haunt her sleep;
Night-wandering terrors scared her godless breast,
That she did send these gifts to soothe the Shades.

Orest.

What saw she in her dream?

Chorus.

She dreamt, she said,
She had brought forth a serpent.

Orest.

A serpent, say’st thou?

Chorus.

Ay! and the dragon birth portentous moved,
All swaddled like a boy.

Orest.

Eager for food, doubtless, the new-born monster?

Chorus.

The nurturing nipple herself did fearless bare.

Orest.

How then? escaped the nipple from the bite?

Chorus.

The gouted blood did taint the milk, that flowed
From the wounded paps.

Orest.

No idle dream was this.
And he who sent it was my father.

Chorus.

Then
She from her sleep up started, and cried out,
And many lamps, whose splendour night had blinded,
Rushed forth, to wait upon their mistress’ word.
Straightway she sends us with funereal gifts,
A medicinal charm, if medicine be
For griefs like hers!

Orest.

Now hear me, Earth profound,
And my dear father’s tomb, that so this dream
May find in me completion! Thus I read it—
As left the snake the womb that once hid me,
And in the clothes was swathed that once swathed me
And as it sucked the breast that suckled me,
And mingled blood with milk once sucked by me,
And as she groaned with horror at the sight,
Thus it beseems who bore a monstrous birth
No common death to die. I am the serpent
Shall bite her breast. It is a truthful dream.
My seer be thou. Say have I read it well?

Chorus.

Bravely. Now, for the rest, thy friends instruct
What things to do, and what things to refrain.

Orest.

’Tis said in few. Electra, go within,
And keep my counsels in wise secrecy;
For, as they killed an honourable man
Deceitfully, by cunning and deceit
Themselves shall find the halter. Thus Apollo,
A prophet never known to lie, foretold.
Myself will come, like a wayfaring man
Accoutred, guest and spear-guest of this house,*
With Pylades, my friend, to the court gates.
We both will speak with a Parnassian voice,
Aping the Phocian tongue. If then it chance
(As seems most like, for this whole house with ills
Is sheer possessed)41 that with a welcome greeting
No servant shall receive us, we will wait
Till some one pass, and for their churlish ways
Rate them thus sharply. “Sirs, why dare ye shut
Inhospitable doors against the stranger,42
Making Ægisthus sin against the gods?”
When thus I pass the threshold of his courts,
And see him sitting on my father’s throne,
When he shall scan me face to face, and seek
To hear my tale; ere he may say the word,
Whence is the stranger? I will lay him dead,
Dressing him trimly o’er with points of steel.
The Fury thus, not scanted of her banquet,
Shall drink unmingled blood from Pelops’ veins,
The third and crowning cup.43 Now, sister, see to ’t
That all within be ordered, as shall serve
My end most fitly. Ye, when ye shall speak,
Speak words of happy omen; teach your tongue
Both to be silent, and to speak in season.
For what remains, his present aid I ask,
Who laid on my poor wits this bloody task.44

[Exeunt.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Earth breeds a fearful progeny,45
To man a hostile band,
With finny monsters teems the sea,
With creeping plagues the land;
And winged portents scour mid-air,
And flaring lightnings fly,
And storms, sublimely coursing, scare
The fields of the silent sky.

ANTISTROPHE I.
But Earth begets no monster dire
Than man’s own heart more dreaded,
All-venturing woman’s dreadful ire,46
When love to woe is wedded.
No mate with mate there gently dwells,
There peace and joy depart,
Where loveless love triumphant swells,
In fearless woman’s heart.

STROPHE II.
This the light-witted may not know,
The wise shall understand,
Who hear the tale from age to age,
How Thestios’ daughter, wild with rage,47
Lighted the fatal brand,
The brand that burned with conscious flashes
At the cry of her new-born son;
And, when the brand had burned to ashes,
His measured course was run.

ANTISTROPHE II.
And yet a tale of bloody love
From hoary eld I know,
How Scylla gay, in gold arrayed,48
The gift of Minos old, betrayed
Her father to the foe.
Sleeping all careless as he lay,
She cut the immortal hair,
And Hermes bore his life away,
From the bold and blushless fair.

STROPHE III.
Ah me! not far needs fancy range
For tales of harshest wrong:
Here, even here, damned wedlock thrives,
And lawless loves are strong.
Within these halls, where blazes now
No holy hearth, a bloody vow
Against her liege lord’s life
She vowed; and he, the king divine,
Whose look back-drove the bristling line,
Bled by a woman’s knife.

ANTISTROPHE III.
O woman! woman! Lemnos saw49
Your jealous fountains flow,
And, when the worst of woes is named,
It is a Lemnian woe.
From age to age the infected tale,
Far echoed by a wandering wail,
To East and West shall go;
And honor from the threshold hies,
On which the doom god-spoken lies;50
Speak I not wisely so?

STROPHE IV.
Right through the heart shall pierce the blow,
When Justice is the sinner’s foe,
With the avenging steel;
In vain with brief success they strove,
Who trampled on the law of Jove,
With unregarding heel.

ANTISTROPHE IV.
Firm is the base of Justice. Fate,
With whetted knife, doth eager wait
At hoary Murder’s door;
The Fury, with dark-bosomed ire,
Doth send the son a mission dire,
To clear the parent’s score.

EnterOrestes.

Orest.

What, ho! dost hear no knocking? boy! within!
Is none within, boy? ho! dost hear me call
The third time at thy portal? Is Ægisthus
A man, whose ears are deaf to the strangers’ cry?

Ser.

[appearing at the door]. Enough I hear thee. Who art thou, and whence?

Orest.

Tell those within that a poor stranger waits
Before the gate, bearer of weighty news.
Speed thee; night’s dusky chariot swoopeth down,
And the dark hour invites the travelling man
To fix his anchor ’neath some friendly roof.
Thy mistress I would see, if here a mistress
Rules, or thy master rather, if a master.
For with a man a man may plainly deal,
But nice regard for the fine feeling ear51
Oft mars the teller’s tale, when women hear.

EnterClytemnestra.

Clytem

Strangers, speak your desire. Whate’er becomes
This house to give is free to you to share.
Hot baths,52 a couch to soothe your travelled toil,
Blithe welcoming eyes, and gentle tendance; these
I freely give. If aught beyond ye crave,
There’s counsel with my lord. I’ll speak to him.

Orest.

I am a stranger come from Phocian Daulis.
When I, my burden to my back well saddled,
Stood for the road accoutred, lo! a man
To me not known, nor of me knowing more,
But seeing only that my feet were bound
For Argos, thus accosted me (his name,
I learned, was Strophius the Phocian): Stranger,
If Argos be thy purpose, bear this message
From me to whom it touches near. Orestes
Is dead; charge well thy memory with the tale,
And bring me mandate back, if so his friends
Would have him carried to his native home,
Or he with us due sepulture shall find,
A sojourner for ever. A brazen urn
Holds all the remnant of the much-wept man,
The ashes of his clay. Thus Strophius spake:
And if ye are the friends, whom chiefly grief
Pricks for his loss, my mission’s done; at least
His parents will be grieved to hear ’t.

Elect.

Woe’s me!
Sheer down we topple from proud height; harsh fate
Is ours to wrestle with. O jealous Curse,
How dost thou eye us fatal from afar,
And with thy well-trimmed bow shoot chiefly there
Where thou wert least suspect! Thou hast me now
A helpless captive lorn, and reft of all
My trustiest friends. Orestes also gone,
Whose feet above the miry slough most sure
Seemed planted! Now our revelry of hope,
The fair account that should have surgeoned woe,
Is audited at nothing!54

Orest.

Would the gods,
Where happy hosts give welcome, I were guest
On a more pleasant tale! The entertained
No greater joy can know than with good news
To recreate his entertainer’s ears;
But piety forbade, nor faith allowed
To lop the head of truth.

Clytem.

Thou shalt not fare the worse for thy bad news,
Nor be less dear to us. Hadst thou been dumb,
Some other tongue had vented the sad tale.
But ye have travelled weary leagues to-day,
And doubtless need restoring. Take him, boy,
With the attendant sharers of his travel,
To the men’s chambers. See them well bestowed,
And do all things as one, that for neglect
Shall give account. Meanwhile, our lord shall know
What fate hath chanced, his wit and mine shall find
What solace may be for these news unkind.

[Exeunt into the house.

Chorus.

When, O when, shall we, my sisters,
Lift the strong full-throated hymn,
To greet Orestes’ triumph? Thou,
O sacred Earth, and verge revered
Of this lofty mound, where sleeps
The kingly helmsman of our State,
Hear thou, and help! prevail the hour
Of suasive wile, and smooth deceit!55
Herald him Hermes—lead him, thou
The nightly courier of the dead,56
Through this black business of the sword!
In sooth the host hath housed a grievous guest;
For see where comes Orestes’ nurse, all tears!
Where goest thou, nurse, beyond our gates to walk,
And why walks Grief, an unfee’d page, with thee!

EnterNurse.

Nurse.

My mistress bids me bring Ægisthus quickly,
To see the strangers face to face, that he
May of their sad tale more assurance win
From their own mouths. Herself to us doth show
A murky-visaged grief; but in her eye
Twinkles a secret joy, that time hath brought
The consummation most devoutly wished
By her—to us and Agamemnon’s house
Most fatal issue, if these news be true.
Ægisthus, too, with a light heart will hear
These Phocian tidings. O wretched me! what weight
Of mingled woes from sire to son bequeathed,
Have the gods burdened us withal! Myself,
How many griefs have shaken my old heart;
But this o’ertops them all! The rest I bore,
As best I might, with patience: but Orestes,
My own dear boy, my daily, hourly care,
Whom from his mother’s womb these breasts did suckle—
How often did I rise o’ nights, and walked
From room to room, to soothe his baby cries;
But all my nursing now, and all my cares
Fall fruitless. ’Tis a pithless thing a child,
No forest whelp so helpless; one must even
Wait on its humour, as the hour may bring.
No voice it has to speak its fitful wants,
When hunger, thirst, or Nature’s need commands.
The infant’s belly asks no counsel. I
Was a wise prophetess to all his wants,
Though sometimes false, as others are. I was
Nurse to the child, and fuller to its clothes,
And both to one sad end. Alack the day!
This double trade with little fruit I plied,
What time I nursed Orestes for his father;
For he is dead, and I must live to hear it.
But I must go, and glad his heart, who lives
Plague of this house, with news that make me weep.

Chorus.

What say’st thou, Nurse? how shall thy master come?

Nurse.

How say’st thou? how shall I receive the question?

Chorus.

Alone, I mean, or with his guards?

Nurse.

She says
His spearmen shall attend him.

Chorus.

Not so, Nurse!
If thou dost hate our most hate-worthy master,
Tell him to come alone, without delay,
To hear glad tidings with exulting heart.
The bearer of a tale can make it wear
What face he pleases.57

Nurse.

Well! if thou mean’st well,
Perhaps—

Chorus.

Perhaps that Jove may make the breeze
Yet veer to us.

Nurse.

How so? Our only hope,
Orestes, is no more.

Chorus.

Softly, good Nurse;
Thou art an evil prophet, if thou say’st so.

Nurse.

How? hast thou news to a different tune?

Chorus.

Go! go!
Mind thine own business, and the gods will do
What thing they will do.

Nurse.

Well! I’ll do thy bidding!
The gods lead all things to a fair conclusion!

CHORAL HYMN.58
STROPHE I.
O thou, o’er all Olympian gods that be,
Supremely swaying,
With words of wisdom, when I pray to thee,
Inspire my praying.
We can but pray; to do, O Jove, is thine,
Thou great director;
Of him within, who works thy will divine,
Be thou protector!
Him raise, the orphaned son whom thou dost see
In sheer prostration;
Twofold and threefold he shall find from thee
Just compensation.

ANTISTROPHE I.
But hard the toil. Yoked to the car of Fate,
When harshly driven,
O rein him thou! his goaded speed abate
Wisely from Heaven!
Jove tempers all, steadies all things that reel;
When wildly swerveth
From the safe line life’s burning chariot wheel,
His hand preserveth.
Ye gods, that guard these gold-stored halls, this day
Receive the claimant,
Who comes, that old Wrong to young Right may pay
A purple payment.

STROPHE II.
Blood begets blood; but, when this blow shall fall,
O thou, whose dwelling
Is Delphi’s fuming throat, may this be all!
Of red blood, welling
From guilty veins, enough. Henceforth may joy
Look from the eyes of the Atridan boy,
Discerning clearly
From his ancestral halls the clouds unrolled,
That hung so drearly.

ANTISTROPHE II.
And thou, O Maia’s son,* fair breezes blow,
The full sail swelling!
Cunning art thou through murky ways to go,
To Death’s dim dwelling;
Dark are the doings of the gods; and we,
When they are clearest shown, but dimly see;
Yet faith will follow
Where Hermes leads, the leader of the dead,
And thou, Apollo.

EPODE.
Crown ye the deed; then will I freely pour
The blithe libation,
And, with pure offerings, cleanse the Atridan floor
From desecration!
Then with my prosperous hymn the lyre shall blend
Its kindly chorus,
And Argos shall be glad, and every friend
Rejoice before us!
Gird thee with manhood, boy; though hard to do,
It is thy father’s work; to him be true.
And, when she cries—Son, wilt thou kill thyMother?
Cry—Father, Father! and with that name smother
The rising ruth. As Perseus, when he slew
The stony Dread,* was stony-hearted, do
Thy mission stoutly;
For him below, and her above,† pursue
This work devoutly.
The gods by thee, in righteous judgment, show
Their grace untender!
Thou to the man, that dealt the deathful blow,
Like death shalt render.

EnterÆgisthus.

Ægis.

Not uninvited come I, having heard
A rumour strange, by certain strangers brought,
No pleasant tale—Orestes’ death. In sooth,
A heavy fear-distilling sorrow this,
More than a house may bear, whose wounds yet bleed,
And ulcerate from the fangs of fate. But say,
Is this a fact that looks us in the face,
Or startling words of woman’s fears begotten,
That shoot like meteors through the air, and die?
What proof, ye maids, what proof?

Chorus.

Our ears have heard.
But go within; thyself shalt see the man;
Try well the teller, e’er thou trust the tale.

Ægis.

I’ll scan him well, and prove him close, if he
Himself was at the death, or but repeat
From blind report the news another told.
It will go hard, if idle breath cheat me.
My eyes are in my head, and I can see.

[Exit into the house.

Chorus.

Jove! great Jove! What shall I say?
How with pious fervour pray,
That from thee the answer fair
Be wafted to my friendly prayer?
Now the keen-edged axe shall strike,
With a life-destroying blow;
Now, or, plunged in deep perdition,
Agamemnon’s house sinks low,
Or the hearth with hope this day
Shall blaze, through all the ransomed halls,
And the son his father’s wealth
Shall win, and with his sceptre sway.
In the bloody combat fresh,
He shall risk it, one with two;
Hand to hand the fight shall be.
Godlike son of Agamemnon,
Jove give strength to thee!

Ægis.

[from within]. Ah me! I fall. Ah! Ah!

Chorus.

Hear’st thou that cry? How is’t? Whose was that groan?
Let’s go aside, the deed being done, that we
Seem not partakers of the bloody work.59
’Tis ended now.

EnterServant.

Serv.

Woe’s me! my murdered master!
Thrice woeful deed! Ægisthus lives no more.
Open the women’s gates! uncase the bolts!
Were needed here a Titan’s strength—though that
Would nothing boot the dead. Ho! hillo! ho!
Are all here deaf? or do I babble breath
In sleepers’ ears? Where, where is Clytemnestra?
What keeps my mistress? On a razor’s edge
Her fate now lies; the blow’s already poised,
That falls on her too—nor unjustly falls.

EnterClytemnestra.

Clytem.

Well! what’s the matter? why this clamorous cry?

Serv.

He, who was dead, has slain the quick. ’Tis so.

Clytem.

Ha! Thou speak’st riddles; but I understand thee.
We die by guile, as guilefully we slew.
Bring me an axe! an axe to kill a man!
Quickly!—or conqueror or conquered, I
Will fight it out. To this ’tis come at last.

EnterOrestes,dragging in the dead body ofÆgisthus;with himPylades.

Orest.

Thee next I seek. For him, he hath enough.

Clytem.

Ah me! my lord, my loved Ægisthus dead!

Orest.

Dost love this man? then thou shalt sleep with him,
In the same tomb. He was thy bedmate living,
Be thou his comrade, dead.

Clytem.

Hold thee, my son!
Look on this breast, to which with slumbrous eyes
Thou oft hast clung, the while thy baby gum
Sucked the nutritious milk.

Orest.

What say’st thou, Pylades?
Shall I curtail the work, and spare my mother?

Pyl.

Bethink thee well; the Loxian oracles,
Thy sure-pledged vows, where are they, if she live?
Make every man thy foe, but fear the gods.

Orest.

Thy voice shall rule in this; thou judgest wisely.
Follow this man, here, side by side with him,
I’ll butcher thee. Seemed he a fairer man
Than was my father when my father lived?
Sleep thou, where he sleeps; him thou lovest well,
And whom thou chiefly shouldst have loved thou hatedst.

Clytem.

The stone that sepulchres the dead art thou,
And I the tear on’t.

Orest.

Cease: I voyaged here,
With a fair breeze; my father’s murder brought me.

Clytem.

Ah me! I nursed a serpent on my breast.

Orest.

Thou hadst a prophet in thy dream, last night;
And since thou kill’d the man thou shouldst have spared,
The man, that now should spare thee, can but kill.

[He drives her into the house, and there murders her.

Chorus.

There’s food for sorrow here; but rather, since
Orestes could not choose but scale the height
Of bloody enterprise, our prayer is this:
That he, the eye of this great house, may live.63

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Hall of old Priam, with sorrow unbearable,
Vengeance hath come on the Argive thy foe;
A pair of grim lions, a double Mars terrible,64
Comes to his palace, that levelled thee low.
Chanced hath the doom of the guilty precisely,
Even as Phœbus foretold it, and wisely
Where the god pointed, was levelled the blow.
Lift up the hymn of rejoicing; the lecherous,
Sin-laden tyrant shall lord it no more;
No more shall the mistress so bloody and treacherous
Lavish the plundered Pelopidan store.

STROPHE II.
Sore chastisement65 came on the doomed and devoted,
With dark-brooding purpose and fair-smiling show;
And the daughter of Jove the eternal was noted,
Guiding the hand that inflicted the blow—
Bright Justice, of Jove, the Olympian daughter;
But blasted they fell with the breath of her slaughter
Whose deeds of injustice made Justice their foe.
Her from his shrine sent the rock-throned Apollo,66
The will of her high-purposed sire to obey,
The track of the blood-stained remorseless to follow,
Winged with sure death, though she lag by the way.

EPODE.
Ye rulers on Earth, fear the rulers in Heaven,
No aid by the gods to the froward is given;
For the bonds of our thraldom asunder are riven,
And the day dawns clear.
Lift up your heads; from prostration untimely
Ye halls of the mighty be lifted sublimely!
All-perfecting Time shall bring swift restitution,
And cleanse the hearth pure from the gory pollution,
Now the day dawns clear.
And blithely shall welcome them Fortune the fairest,67
The brother and sister, with omens the rarest;
Each friend of this house show the warm love thou bearest,
Now the day dawns clear!

EnterOrestes,with the body ofClytemnestra.

Orest.

Behold this tyrant pair, my father’s murderers,
Usurpers of this land, and of this house
Destroyers. They this throne did use in pride,
And now in love, as whoso looks may guess,
They lie together, all their vows fulfilled.
Death to my hapless father, and to lie
Themselves on a common bier—this was their vow;
And they have vowed it well. Behold these toils,
Wherewith they worked destruction to my father,
Chained his free feet, and manacled his hands.
There—spread it forth—approach—peruse it nicely.
This mortal vest, that so the father—not
My father, but the Sun that fathers all
With light68 —may see what godless deed was done
Here by my mother. Let him witness duly,
That not unjustly I have spilt this blood—
My mother’s; for Ægisthus recks me not;
As an adulterer should, he died: but she,
That did devise such foul detested wrong
Against the lord, to whom beneath her zone
She bore a burden, once so valued, now
A weight that damns her; what was she?—a viper
Or a torpedo—that with biteless touch
Strikes numb who handles.69 Harsh the smoothest phrase
To name the bold unrighteous will she used.
And for this fowler’s net—this snare—this trap—
This cloth to wrap the dead70 —this veil to curtain
A bloody bath—teach me a name for it!
Such murderous toils the ruffians use, who spill
Their neighbour’s blood, that they may seize his gold,
And warm their heart with plenty not their own.
Lodge no such mate with me! Sooner may I
Live by high Heaven accursed, and childless die.

Chorus.

A sorry work—alas! alas!
A dismal death she found.
Nor sorrow quite from man may pass
That lives above the ground.

Orest.

A speaking proof! Behold, Ægisthus’ sword
Hath left its witness on this robe; the time
Hath paled the murtherous spot, but where it was
The sumptuous stole hath lost its radiant dye.
Alas! I know not, when mine eyes behold
This father-murdering web, if I should own
Joy lord, or grief. Let grief prevail. I grieve
Our crimes, our woes, our generation doomed,
Our tearful trophies blazoned with a curse.

Chorus.

The gods so will that, soon or late,
Each mortal taste of sorrow;
A frown to-day from surly Fate,
A biting blast to-morrow.

Orest.

Others ’twixt hope and fear may sway, my fate
Is fixed and scapeless.71 Like a charioteer,
Dragged from his course by steeds that spurned the rein,
Thoughts past control usurp me. Terror lifts,
Even now, the prelude to her savage hymn,
Within my heart exultant. But, while yet
My sober mind remains, witness ye all
My friends, this solemn abjuration! Not
Unjustly, when I slew, I slew my mother—
That mother, with my father’s blood polluted,
Of every god abhorred. And I protest
The god that charmed me to the daring point
Was Loxias, with his Pythian oracles,
Pledging me blameless, this harsh work once done,
Not done, foredooming what I will not say;
All thoughts most horrible undershoot the mark.
And now behold me, as a suppliant goes,
With soft-wreathed wool, and precatory branch,72
Addressed for Delphi, the firm-seated shrine
Of Loxias, navel of earth, where burns the flame
Of fire immortal named.73 For I must flee
This kindred blood, and hie me where the god
Forespoke me refuge. Once again I call
On you, and Argive men of every time,
To witness my great griefs. I go an exile
From this dear soil. Living, or dead, I leave
These words, the one sad memory of my name.

Chorus.

Thou hast done well; yoke not thy mouth this day
To evil words. Thou art the liberator
Of universal Argos, justly greeted,
Who from the dragon pair the head hath lopped.

[TheFuriesappear in the background.

Orest.

Ah, me! see there! like Gorgons! look! look there!
All dusky-vested, and their locks entwined
With knotted snakes. Away! I may not stay.

Chorus.

O son, loved of thy sire, be calm, nor let
Vain phantoms fret thy soul, in triumph’s hour.

Orest.

These are no phantoms, but substantial horrors;
Too like themselves they show, the infernal hounds
Sent from my mother!

Chorus.

’Tis the fresh-gouted blood
Upon thy hand, that breeds thy brain’s distraction.

Orest.

Ha! how they swarm! Apollo! more—yet more!
And from their fell eyes droppeth murderous gore.

Chorus.

There is atonement.74 Touch but Loxias’ altar,
And he from bloody stain shall wash thee clean.

Orest.

Ye see them not. I see them.75 There!—Away!
The hell-hounds hunt me: here I may not stay.

Chorus.

Nay, but with blessing go. From fatal harm
Guard thee the god whose eyes in love behold thee!76
Blown hath now the third harsh tempest,
O’er the proud Atridan palace,
Floods of family woe!
First thy damned feast, Thyestes,
On thy children’s flesh abhorrent;
Then the kingly man’s prostration,
And thy warlike pride, Achaia,
Butchered in a bath,
Now he, too, our greeted Saviour
Red with this new woe!
When shall Fate’s stern work be ended,
When shall cease the boisterous vengeance,
Hushed in slumbers low?

NOTES TO THE CHOEPHORÆ

Here we have a notable example of the terms of that sort of excommunication which the religious and social feeling of the ancients passed against the perpetrators of atrocious crimes. See Introductory Remarks to the Eumenides.

“προς γαρ Διος ἐισιν ἂπαντες
ξεινοί τε πτωχοί τε.”

ἄλγεα
Πολλὰ μἀλ’ δσσα τε μητρὸς Ἐριννύες ἐκτελέουσιν.
Odyssey xi. 289.

My solitude is solitude no more,
But peopled with the Furies
Byron.

PERSONS

The Pythoness of the Temple of Apollo in Delphi.

Apollo.

Hermes (Mute).

The Shade of Clytemnestra.

Chorus of Furies.

Pallas Athena.

Judges of the Court of Areopagus (Mute).

Convoy of the Furies.

Scene—First at Delphi in the Temple of Apollo; then on the Hill of Mars, Athens.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

Πολλὰ κατηρατο, στυγερὰς δ’ ἐπίκεκλετ Εριννῠς,

In order to understand thoroughly the situation of the matricide Orestes, in the present play, we must consider further the ancient doctrine of pollution attaching to an act of murder, and the consequent necessity of purification to the offender. The nature of this is distinctly set forth by Orestes himself in a reply to his sister Iphigenia, put into his mouth by Euripides. “Loxias,” he says, “first sent me to Athens, and

There first arrived, no host would entertain me,
As being hated of the immortal gods,
And some, who pitied me, before me placed
Cold entertainment on a separate board;
Beneath the same roof though I lodged with them,
No interchange of living voice I knew,
But sat apart and ate my food alone.”
Iphig. Taur. 954.

Like an unclean leper among the Jews, the man polluted with human blood wandered from land to land, as with a Cain’s mark upon his brow, and every fellow-being shrank from his touch as from a living plague.

“For wisely thus our ancestors ordained,
That the blood-tainted man should know no joy
From sight of fellow-mortal or from touch,
But with an horrid sanctitude protected
Range the wide earth an exile.”
Eurip. Orest. 512.

But Æschylus is not a patriot only, and a pious worshipper of his country’s gods in this play, he is also, to some small extent at least, manifestly a politician. The main feature of the constitutional history of Athens in the period immediately following the great Persian war, to which period our trilogy belongs, was the enlargement and the systematic completion of those democratic forms, of which the timocratic legislation of Solon, about a century and a-half before, had planted the first germs. Of these changes, Pericles, the man above all others who knew both to understand and to control his age, was the chief promoter; and in a policy whose main tendency was the substitution of a numerous popular for a narrow professional control of public business, it could not fail to be a main feature, that the authority of the judges of the old aristocratic courts was curtailed in favour of those bodies of paid jurymen, the institution of which is specially attributed to Pericles and his coadjutor Ephialtes.† Whether these changes were politic or not, in the large sense of that word, need not be inquired here; Mr. Grote has done much to lengthen the focus of those short-sighted national spectacles, through which the English eye has been accustomed to view the classic democracies; but let it be that Pericles kept within the bounds of a wise liberty in giving a fair and a large trial to the action of democratic principles at that time and place; or let it be, on the other hand, that he overstepped the line

“Which whoso passes, or who reaches not,
Misses the mark of right”—

in either case, where decision was so difficult, and discretion so delicate, no one can accuse the thoughtful tragic poet of a stolid conservatism, when he comes forward, in this play, as the advocate of the only court of high jurisdiction in Athens, now left unshaken by the great surge of those popular billows, that were yet swelling everywhere with the eager inspiration of Marathon and Salamis.* The court of Areopagus was not now, since the legislation of Solon, and the further democratic movement of Cleisthenes, in any invidious or exclusive sense an aristocratic assembly, such as the close corporations of the old Roman aristocracy before the series of popular changes introduced by Licinius Stolo; it was a council, in fact, altogether without that family and hereditary element, in which the principal offence of aristocracy has always lain; its members were composed entirely (not recruited merely like our House of Lords) of those superior magistrates—archons annually elected by the people—who had retired from office. To magnify the authority of such a body, and maintain intact the few privileges that had now been left it, was, when an obvious opportunity offered, not only excusable in a great national tragedian, but imperative. One thing his political attitude in this matter certainly proves, that he was not a vulgar hunter after popularity, delighting to swell to the point of insane exaggeration the cry of the hour, but one of those men of high purpose, who prove a greater strength of patriotism by stemming the popular stream, than by swimming with it.

Besides the championship of the Court of the Areopagus, there is another political element in this rich drama, which, though of less consequence, must not be omitted. No sooner had the Persian invaders been fairly driven back from the Hellenic shore, than that old spirit of narrow local jealousy, which was the worm at the heart of Grecian political existence, broke out with renewed vigour, and gave ominous indications in the untoward affair of Tanagra, of that terrible collision which shook the two great rival powers a few years afterwards in the famous Peloponnesian war. Sparta and Athens, opposed as they were by race, by geographical position, and by political character, after some public attempts at co-operation, in which Cimon was the principal actor, shrunk back, as in quiet preparation for the great trial of strength, into a state of isolated antagonism. But, though open hostility was deferred, wise precaution could not sleep; and, accordingly, we find the Athenians, about this time, anxious to secure a base of operations, so to speak, against Sparta in the Peloponnesus, by entering into an alliance with Argos. As a genuine Athenian, Æschylus, whatever his political feelings might be towards Cimon and the Spartan party, could not but look with pleasure on the additional strength which this Argive connection gave to Athens in the general council of Greece; and, accordingly, he dexterously takes advantage of the circumstance of Orestes being an Argive, to trace back the now historical union of the two countries to a period where Fancy is free to add what links she pleases to the brittle bonds of international association

Such is a rapid sketch of the principal religious and political relations, some notion of which is necessary to enable the general English reader to enter with sympathy on the perusal of the very powerful and singular drama of the Eumenides The professional student, of course, will not content himself with what he finds here, but will seek for complete satisfaction in the luminous pages of Thirlwall and Grote—in the learned articles of Dr. Smith’s Dictionary of Antiquities, in the notes of Schoemann, and, above all, in the rare Dissertations of Ottfried Muller, accompanying his edition of the Eumenides—a work which I have read once and again with mingled admiration and delight—from which I have necessarily drawn with no stinted hand in my endeavours to comprehend the Orestean trilogy for myself, and to make it comprehensible to others; and which I most earnestly recommend to all classical students as a pattern-specimen of erudite architecture raised by the hand of a master, from whom, even in his points of most baseless speculation (as what German is without such?), more is to be learned than from the triple-fanged certainties of vulgar commentators.

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THE EUMENIDES

Scene.—In front of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi.

The Pythoness.

Old Earth, primeval prophetess, I first
With these my prayers invoke; and Themis1 next,
Who doth her mother’s throne and temple both
Inherit, as the legend runs; and third
In lot’s due course, another Earth-born maid
The unforced homage of the land received,
Titanian Phœbe;* she in natal gift
With her own name her hoary right bequeathed
To Phœbus: he from rocky Delos’ lake2
To Attica’s ship-cruised bays was wafted, whence
He in Parnassus fixed his sure abode.
Hither with pious escort they attend him:
The Sons of Vulcan pioneer his path,3
Smoothing the rugged desert where he comes:
The thronging people own him, and king Delphos,
The land’s high helmsman, flings his portals wide.
Jove with divinest skill his heart inspires,
And now the fourth on this dread seat enthroned
Sits Loxias,† prophet of his father Jove.4
These be the gods, whom chiefly I invoke:
But thee, likewise, who ’fore this temple dwellest,5
Pallas, I pray, and you, ye Nymphs that love
The hollow Corycian rock,6 the frequent haunt
Of pleasant birds, the home of awful gods.
Thee, Bromius, too, I worship,7 not unweeting
How, led by thee, the furious Thyads rushed
To seize the godless Pentheus,8 ev’n as a hare
Is dogged to death. And you, the fountains pure
Of Pleistus,‡ and Poseidon’s§ mighty power9
I pray, and Jove most high, that crowns all things
With consummation. These the gods that lead me
To the prophetic seat, and may they grant me
Best-omened entrance; may consulting Greeks,
If any be, by custom’d lot approach;
For as the gods my bosom stir, I pour
The fateful answer.

[She goes into the Temple, but suddenly returns.

O horrid tale to tell! O sight to see
Most horrible! that drives me from the halls
Of Loxias, so that I nor stand nor run,
But, like a beast fourfooted stumble on,
Losing the gait and station of my kind,
A gray-haired woman, weaker than a child!10
Up to the garlanded recess I walked,
And on the navel-stone* behold! a man
With crime polluted to the altar clinging,
And in his bloody hand he held a sword
Dripping with recent murder, and a branch
Of breezy olive, with flocks of fleecy wool
All nicely tipt. Even thus I saw the man;
And stretched before him an unearthly host
Of strangest women, on the sacred seats
Sleeping—not women, but a Gorgon brood,
And worse than Gorgons, or the ravenous crew
That filched the feast of Phineus11 (such I’ve seen
In painted terror); but these are wingless, black,
Incarnate horrors, and with breathings dire
Snort unapproachable, and from their eyes
Pestiferous beads of poison they distil.
Such uncouth sisterhood, apparel’d so,12
From all affinity of gods or men
Divorced, from me and from the gods be far,
And from all human homes! Nor can the land,
That lends these unblest hags a home, remain
Uncursed by fearful scourges. But the god,
Thrice-potent Loxias himself will ward
His holiest shrine from lawless outrage. Him
Physician, prophet, soothsayer, we call,
Cleansing from guilt the blood-polluted hall.

[Exit.

The interior of the Delphic Temple is now presented to view.Orestesis seen clinging to the navel-stone; theEumenideslie sleeping on the seats around. In the backgroundHermesbesideOrestes.EnterApollo.

Apollo[to Orestes].

Trust me, I’ll not betray thee. Far or near,
Thy guardian I, and to thine every foe
No gentle god. Thy madded persecutors
Sleep-captured lie: the hideous host is bound.
Primeval virgins, hoary maids, with whom
Nor god, nor man, nor beast hath known communion.
For evil’s sake they are: in evil depth
Of rayless Tartarus, underneath the ground,
They dwell, of men and of Olympian gods
Abhorred. But hence! nor faint thy heart, though they
Are mighty to pursue from land to land
O’er measureless tracks, from rolling sea to sea,
And sea-swept cities. A bitter pasture truly
Was thine from Fate;13 but bear all stoutly. Hie thee
Away to Pallas’ city, and embrace
Her ancient image14 with close-clinging arms.
Just Judges there we will appoint to judge
Thy cause, and with soft-soothing pleas will pluck
The sting from thy offence, and free thee quite
From all thy troubles. Thou know’st that I, the god,
When thou didst strike, myself the blow directed.

Orest.

Liege lord Apollo, justice to the gods
Belongs; in justice, O remember me.
Thy power divine assurance gives that thou
Can’st make thy will a deed.

Apollo.

Fear nought. Trust me.
[To Hermes] And thou, true brother’s blood, true father’s son,
Hermes, attend, and to this mission gird thee.
Fulfil the happy omen of thy name,
The Guide,* and guide this suppliant on his way.
For Jove respects thy function and thy pride,
The prosperous convoy, and the faithful guide.

[ExitHermes,leadingOrestes. Apolloretires.

Enterthe Shade of Clytemnestra.

Clytem.

Sleeping? All sleeping! Ho! What need of sleepers?
While I roam restless, of my fellow-dead
Dishonoured and reproached, by fault of you,
That when I slew swift vengeance overtook me.
But being slain myself, my avengers sleep
And leave my cause to drift! Hear me, sleepers!
Such taunts I bear, such contumelious gibes,
Yet not one god is touched with wrath to avenge
My death, who died by matricidal hands.
Behold these wounds!15 look through thy sleep, and see!
Read with thy heart; some things the soul may scan
More clearly, when the sensuous lid hath dropt,
Nor garish day confounds.16 Full oft have ye
Of my libations sipped the wineless streams,
The soothings of my sober sacrifice,
The silent supper from the solemn altar,
At midnight hour when only ye are worshipped.
But now all this beneath your feet lies trampled.
The man is gone; fled like a hind! he snaps
The meshes of your toils, and makes—O shame!
Your Deity a mark for scoffers’ eyes
To wink at! Hear me, ye infernal hags,
Unhoused from hell! For my soul’s peace I plead,
Once Clytemnestra famous, now a dream.17

[TheChorusmoans.

Ye moan! the while the man hath fled, and seeks
For help from those that are no friends to me.18

[TheChorusmoans again.

Sleep-bound art thou. Hast thou no bowels for me?
My Furies sleep, and let my murderer flee.

[TheChorusgroans.

Groaning and sleeping! Up! What work hast thou
To do, but thine own work of sorrow? Rouse thee!

[TheChorusgroans again.

Sleep and fatigue have sworn a league to bind
The fearful dragon with strong mastery.

Chorus

[with redoubled groans and shrill cries].

Hold! seize him! seize him! seize there! there! there! hold!

Clytem.

Thy dream scents blood, and, like a dog that doth
In dreams pursue the chase, even so dost thou
At phantasms bark and howl. To work! to work!
Let not fatigue o’ermaster thus thy strength,
Nor slumber soothe the sense of sharpest wrong.
Torture thy liver with reproachful thoughts;
Reproaches are the pricks that goad the wise.
Up! blow a blast of bloody breath behind him!
Dry up his marrow with the fiery vengeance!
Follow! give chase! pursue him to the death!

Chorus,19starting up in hurry and confusion.

Voice 1.

Awake! awake! rouse her as I rouse thee!

Voice 2.

Dost sleep? arise! dash drowsy sleep away!
Brave dreams be prelude to brave deed! Ho, sisters!

STROPHE I.

Voice 1.

Shame, sisters, shame!
Insult and injury!
Shame, O shame!

Voice 2.

Shame on me, too: a bootless, fruitless shame!

Voice 1.

Insult and injury,
Sorrow and shame!
Burden unbearable,
Shame! O shame!

Voice 2.

The snare hath sprung: flown is the goodly game.

Voice 3.

I slept, and when sleeping
He sprang from my keeping;
Shame, O shame!

ANTISTROPHE I.

Voice 1.

O son of Jove, in sooth,
If thou wilt hear the truth,
Robber’s thy name!

Voice 2.

Thou being young dost overleap the old.20

Voice 1.

A suppliant, godless,
And bloodstained, I see,
And bitter to parents,
Harboured by thee.

Voice 2.

Apollo’s shrine a mother-murderer’s hold!

Voice 3.

Apollo rewardeth
Whom Justice discardeth,
And robber’s his name!

STROPHE II.

Voice 1.

A voice of reproach
Came through my sleeping,
Like a charioteer
With his swift lash sweeping.

Voice 2.

Thorough my heart,
Thorough my liver,
Keen as the cold ice
Shot through the river.

Voice 3.

Harsh as the headsman,
Ruthless exacter,
When tearless he scourges
The doomed malefactor.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Voice 1.

All blushless and bold
The gods that are younger
Would rule o’er the old,
With the right of the stronger.

Voice 2.

The Earth’s navel-stone
So holy reputed,
All gouted with blood,
With fresh murder polluted,
Behold, O behold!

Voice 3.

By the fault of the younger,
The holiest holy
Is holy no longer.

STROPHE III.

Voice 1.

Thyself thy hearth with this pollution stained
Thyself, a prophet, free and unconstrained

Voice 2.

O’er the laws of the gods
Thou hast recklessly ridden,
Dispensing to men
Gifts to mortals forbidden;

Voice 3.

Us thou hast reft
Of our name and our glory,
Us and the Fates,
The primeval, the hoary.

ANTISTROPHE III.

Voice 1.

I hate the god. Though underneath the ground
He hide my prey, there, too, he shall be found.

Voice 2.

I at each shrine
Where the mortal shall bend him,
Will jealously watch,
That no god may defend him.

Voice 3.

Go where he will,
A blood-guilty ranger,
Hotly will hound him still
I, the Avenger!

Apollo.

Begone! I charge thee, leave these sacred halls!
From this prophetic cell avaunt! lest thou
A feathered serpent in thy breast receive,
Shot from my golden bow; and, inly pained,
Thou vomit forth black froth of murdered men,
Belching the clotted slaughter by thy maw
Insatiate sucked. These halls suit not for thee;
But where beheading, eye-out-digging dooms,21
Abortions, butcheries, barrenness abound,
Where mutilations, flayings, torturings,
Make wretches groan, on pointed stakes impaled,
There fix your seats; there hold the horrid feasts,
In which your savage hearts exultant revel,
Of gods abominate—maids whose features foul
Speak your foul tempers plainly. Find a home
In some grim lion’s den sanguinolent, not
In holy temples which your breath pollutes.
Depart, ye sheep unshepherded, whom none
Of all the gods may own!

Chorus.

Liege lord, Apollo,
Ours now to speak, and thine to hear: thyself
Not aided only, but the single cause
Wert thou of all thou blamest.

Apollo.

Follow! but from this holy threshold keep
Unholy feet.

Chorus.

We, where we must go, go
By virtue of our office.

Apollo.

A goodly vaunt!
Your office what?

Chorus.

From hearth and home we chase
All mother-murderers.

Apollo.

She was murdered here,
That murdered first her husband.22

Chorus.

Yet should she
By her own body’s fruitage have been slain?

Apollo.

Thus speaking, ye mispraise the sacred rites
Of matrimonial Hera23 and of Jove,
Unvalued make fair Aphrodite’s grace,
Whence dearest joys to mortal man descend.
The nuptial bed, to man and woman fated,24
Hath obligation stronger than an oath,
And Justice guards it. Ye who watch our crimes,
If that loose reins to nuptial sins ye yield,
Offend, and grossly. If the murtherous wife
Escape your sharp-set vengeance, how can ye
Pursue Orestes justly? I can read
No even judgment in your partial scales,
In this more wrathful, and in that more mild.
She who is wise shall judge between us, Pallas.

Chorus.

The man is mine already. I will keep him.

Apollo.

He’s gone; and thou’lt but waste thy toil to follow.

Chorus.

Thy words shall not be swords, to cut my honors.

Apollo.

Crowned with such honors, I would tear them from me!

Chorus.

A mighty god beside thy father’s throne
Art thou, Apollo. Me this mother’s blood
Goads on to hound this culprit to his doom.

Apollo.

And I will help this man, champion and save him,
My suppliant, my client; should I not,
Both gods and men would brand the treachery.

The scene changes to the Temple of Pallas in Athens. A considerable interval of time is supposed to have elapsed between the two parts of the Play.

EnterOrestes.

Orest.

Athena queen, at Loxias’ hest I come.
Receive the suppliant with propitious grace.
Not now polluted, nor unwashed from guilt
I cling to the first altar; time hath mellowed
My hue of crime, and friendly men receive
The curse-beladen wanderer to their homes.
True to the god’s oracular command,
O’er land and sea with weary foot I fare,
To find thy shrine, O goddess, and clasp thine image;
And now redemption from thy doom I wait.

EnterChorus.

Chorus.

’Tis well. The man is here. His track I know.
The sure advisal of our voiceless guide
Follow; as hound a wounded stag pursues,
We track the blood, and snuff the coming death.
Soothly we pant, with life-outwearying toils
Sore overburdened! O’er the wide sea far
I came, and with my wingless flight outstripped
The couriers of the deep. Here he must lie,
In some pent corner skulking. In my nostrils
The scent of mortal blood doth laugh me welcome.

Chorus.25

Voice 1.

Look, sisters, look!

Voice 2.

On the right, on the left, and round about,
Search every nook!

Voice 3.

Warily watch him,
The blood-guilty ranger,
That Fraud may not snatch him,
From me the Avenger!

Voice 1.

At the shrine of the goddess,
He bendeth him lowly,
Embracing her image,
The ancient the holy.

Voice 2.

With hands crimson-reeking,
He clingeth profanely,
A free pardon seeking
From Pallas—how vainly!

Voice 3.

For blood, when it floweth,
For once and for ever
It sinks, and it knoweth
To mount again never.

Voice 1.

Thou shalt pay me with pain;
From thy heart, from thy liver
I will suck, I will drain
Thy life’s crimson river.

Voice 2.

The cup from thy veins
I will quaff it, how rarely!
I will wither thy brains,
Thou shalt pine late and early.

Voice 3.

I will drag thee alive,
For thy guilt matricidal,
To the dens of the damned,
For thy lasting abidal.

EPODE.

Tutti.

There imprisoned thou shalt see
All who living sinned with thee,
’Gainst the gods whom men revere,
’Gainst honoured guest, or parents dear;
All the guilty who inherited
Woe, even as their guilt had merited.
For Hades,* in his halls of gloom,
With a justly portioned doom,26
Binds them down securely:
All the crimes of human kind,
In the tablet of his mind,
He hath graven surely.

Orest.

By manifold ills I have been taught to know
All expiations; and the time to speak
I know, and to be silent. In this matter
As a wise master taught me, so my tongue
Shapes utterance. The curse that bound me sleeps,
My harsh-grained guilt is finer worn, the deep
Ensanguined stain washed to a softer hue;
Still reeking fresh with gore, on Phœbus’ hearth,
The blood of swine hath now wrought my lustration,*
And I have held communings with my kind
Once and again unharming. Time, that smooths
All things, hath smoothed the front of my offence.
With unpolluted lips I now implore
Thy aid, Athena, of this land the queen.
Myself, a firm ally, I pledge to thee,
Myself, the Argive people, and their land,
Thy bloodless prize. And whether distant far
On Libyan plains beside Tritonian pools,
Thy natal flood, with forward foot firm planted,
Erect, or with decorous stole high-seated,27
Thy friends thou aidest, or with practised eye
The ordered battle on Phlegrean fields
Thou musterest28 —come!—for gods can hear from far—
And from these woes complete deliverance send!

Chorus.

Not all Apollo’s, all Athena’s power
Shall aid thee. Thou, of gods and men forsook,
Shalt pine and dwindle, stranger to the name
Of joy, a wasted shadow, bloodless sucked
To fatten wrathful gods. Thou dost not speak,
But, as a thing devoted, standest dumb,
My prey, even mine! my living banquet thou,
My fireless victim. List, and thou shalt hear
My song, that binds thee with its viewless chain.

Chorus.

Deftly, deftly weave the dance!
Sisters lift the dismal strain!
Sing the Furies, justly dealing
Dooms deserved to guilty mortals;
Deftly, deftly lift the strain!
Whoso lifted hands untainted
Him no Furies’ wrath shall follow,
He shall live unharmed by me;
But who sinned, as this offender,
Hiding foul ensanguined hands,
We with him are present, bearing
Unhired witness for the dead;
We will tread his heels, exacting
Blood for blood, even to the end.

CHORAL HYMN.29
STROPHE I.
- Mother Night that bore me,
- A scourge, to go before thee,
- To scourge, with stripes delightless,
- The seeing and the sightless,30
- Hear me, I implore thee,
- O Mother Night!
- Mother Night that bore me,
- The son of Leto o’er me
- Rough rides, in thy despite.
- From me, the just pursuer,
- He shields the evil-doer,
- The son to me devoted,
- For mother-murder noted,
- He claims against the right.
- Where the victim lies,
- Let the death-hymn rise!
- Lift ye the hymn of the Furies amain!
- The gleeless song, and the lyreless strain,31
- That bindeth the heart with a viewless chain,
- With notes of distraction and maddening sorrow,
- Blighting the brain, and burning the marrow!
- Where the victim lies,
- Let the death-hymn rise,
- The hymn that binds with a viewless chain!

ANTISTROPHE I.
- Mother Night that bore me,
- The Fate that was before me,
- This portion gave me surely,
- This lot for mine securely,
- To bear the scourge before thee,
- O Mother Night!
- And, in embrace untender
- To hold the red offender,
- That sinned in gods’ despite,
- And wheresoe’er he wend him,
- His keepers close we tend him.
- In living or in dying,
- From us there is no flying,
- The daughters of the Night.
- Where the victim lies,
- Let the death-hymn rise!
- Lift ye the hymn of the Furies amain!
- The gleeless song, and the lyreless strain,
- That bindeth the heart with a viewless chain,
- With notes of distraction and maddening sorrow,
- Blighting the brain, and burning the marrow!
- Where the victim lies,
- Let the death-hymn rise,
- The hymn that binds with a viewless chain!

STROPHE II.
- From primal ages hoary,
- This lot, our pride and glory,
- Appointed was to us,
- To Hades’ gloomy portal,
- To chase the guilty mortal,
- But from Olympians, reigning
- In lucid seats,* abstaining,
- Their nectared feasts we taste not,
- Their sun-white robes invest not
- The maids of Erebus.
- But, with scourge and with ban,
- We prostrate the man,
- Who with smooth-woven wile,
- And a fair-faced smile,
- Hath planted a snare for his friend;
- Though fleet, we shall find him,
- Though strong, we shall bind him,
- Who planted a snare for his friend.

ANTISTROPHE II.
- This work of labour earnest,32
- This task severest, sternest,
- Let none remove from us.
- To all their due we render,
- Each deeply-marked offender
- Our searching eye reproveth,
- Though blissful Jove removeth,
- From his Olympian glory,
- Abhorr’d of all and gory,
- The maids of Erebus.
- But, swift as the wind,
- We follow and find,
- Till he stumbles apace,
- Who had hoped in the race,
- To escape from the grasp of the Furies!
- And we trample him low,
- Till he writhe in his woe,
- Who had fled from the chase of the Furies.

STROPHE III.
The thoughts heaven-scaling
Of men haughty-hearted,
At our breath, unavailing
Like smoke they departed.
Our jealous foot hearing,
They stumble before us,
And bite the ground, fearing
Our dark-vested chorus.

ANTISTROPHE III.
They fall, and perceive not
The foe that hath found them;
They are blind and believe not,
Thick darkness hath bound them.
From the halls of the fated,
A many-voiced wailing
Of sorrow unsated
Ascends unavailing.

STROPHE IV.
For the Furies work readily
Vengeance unsparing,
Surely and steadily
Ruin preparing.
Dark crimes strictly noted,
Sure-memoried they store them;
And, judgment once voted,
Prayers vainly implore them.
For they know no communion
With the bright-throned union
Of the gods of the day;
Where the living appear not,
Where the pale Shades near not,
In regions delightless,
All sunless and sightless,
They dwell far away.

ANTISTROPHE IV.
What mortal reveres not
Our deity awful?
When he names us, who fears not
To work deeds unlawful?
From times hoary-dated,
This statute for ever
Divinely was fated;
Time takes from it never.
For dishonour we bear not,
Though the bright thrones we share not
With the gods of the day.
Our right hoary-dated
We claim unabated,
Though we dwell, where delightless
No sun cheers the sightless,
’Neath the ground far away.

EnterAthena.

Athena.

The cry that called me from Scamander’s banks33
I heard afar, even as I hied to claim
The land for mine which the Achæan chiefs
Assigned me, root and branch, my portion fair
Of the conquered roods, a goodly heritage
To Theseus’ sons. Thence, with unwearied foot,
I journeyed here by these high-mettled steeds
Car-borne, my wingless ægis in the gale
Full-bosomed whirring. And now, who are ye,
A strange assembly, though I fear you not,
Here gathered at my gates? I speak to both,
To thee the stranger, that with suppliant arms
Enclasps my statue—Whence art thou? And you,
Like to no generation seed-begotten,
Like to no goddess ever known of gods,
Like to no breathing forms of mortal kind;
But to reproach with contumelious phrase
Who wrong not us, nor courtesy allows,
Nor Themis wills. Whence are ye?

Chorus.

Daughter of Jove,
’Tis shortly said: of the most ancient Night
The tristful daughters we, and our dread name,
Even from the fearful Curse we bear, we borrow.*

Athena.

What mightier fear, what strong necessity
Spurred him to this?

Chorus.

What fear so strong that it
Should prompt a mother’s murder?

Athena.

I shall be judge, betwixt this man and thee
To speak the doom.

Chorus.

Even thou. Thy worthy deeds
Give thee the worth in this high strife to judge.

Athena.

Now, stranger, ’tis thy part to speak. Whence come,
Thy lineage what, and what thy fortunes, say,
And then refute this charge against thee brought.
For well I note the sacredness about thee,
That marks the suppliant who atonement seeks,
In old Ixíon’s guise;35 and thou hast fled
For refuge, to my holy altar clinging.
Answer me this, and plainly tell thy tale.

Orest.

Sovran Athena, first from these last words
A cause of much concernment be removed.
I seek for no atonement; no pollution
Cleaves to thy sacred image from my touch.
Of this receive a proof. Thou know’st a murderer
Being unatoned a voiceless penance bears,
Till, from the hand of friendly man, the blood
Of a young beast from lusty veins hath sprent him,
Cleansing from guiltiness. These sacred rites
Have been performed: the blood of beasts hath sprent me,
The lucent lymph hath purged the filthy stain.
For this enough. As for my race, I am
An Argive born: and for my father, he
Was Agamemnon, king of men, by whom
The chosen admiral of the masted fleet,
The ancient city of famous Priam thou
Didst sheer uncity.36 Sad was his return;
For, with dark-bosomed guile, my mother killed him,
Snared in the meshes of a tangled net,
And of the bloody deed the bath was witness.
I then, returning to my father’s house
After long exile—I confess the deed—
Slew her who bore me, a dear father’s murder
With murder quitting. The blame—what blame may be—
I share with Loxias, who fore-augured griefs
To goad my heart if, by my fault, such guilt
Should go unpunished. I have spoken. Thou
What I have done, if justly or unjustly,
Decide. Thy doom, howe’er it fall, contents me.

Athena.

In this high cause to judge, no mortal man
May venture; nor may I divide the law
Of right and wrong, in such keen strife of blood.
For thee, in that thou comest to my halls,37
In holy preparation perfected,
A pure and harmless suppliant, I, as pledged
Already thy protector, may not judge thee.
For these, ’tis no light thing to slight their office.
For, should I send them hence uncrowned with triumph,
Dripping fell poison from their wrathful breasts,
They’d leave a noisome pestilence in the land
Behind them. Thus both ways I’m sore perplexed;
Absent or present, they do bring a curse.
But since this business needs a swift decision,
Sworn judges I’ll appoint, and they shall judge
Of blood in every age. Your testimonies
And proofs meanwhile, and all that clears the truth,
Provide. Myself, to try this weighty cause,
My choicest citizens will choose, and bind them
By solemn oath to judge a righteous judgment.

CHORAL HYMN.38
STROPHE I.
Ancient rights and hoary uses
Now shall yield to young abuses,
Right and wrong together chime,
If the vote
Fail to note
Mother-murder for a crime.
Murder now, made nimble-handed,
Wide shall rage without control;
Sons against their parents banded
Deeds abhorred
With the sword
Now shall work, while ages roll.

ANTISTROPHE I.
Now no more, o’er deeds unlawful,
Shall the sleeping Mænads* awful
Watch, with jealous eyes to scan;
Free and chainless,
Wild and reinless,
Stalks o’er Earth each murtherous plan.
Friend to friend his loss deploreth,
Lawless rapine, treacherous wound,
But in vain his plaint he poureth;
To his bruises
Earth refuses
Balm; no balm on Earth is found.

STROPHE II.
Now no more, from grief’s prostration,
Cries and groans
Heaven shall scale with invocation—
“Justice hear my supplication,
Hear me, Furies, from your thrones!”
From the recent sorrow bleeding,
Father thus or mother calls,
Vainly with a piteous pleading,
For the House of Justice falls.

ANTISTROPHE II.
Blest the man in whose heart reigneth
Holy Fear;
Fear his heart severely traineth;
Blest, from troublous woe who gaineth
Ripest fruits of wisdom clear;*
But who sports, a careless liver,39
In the sunshine’s flaunting show,
Holy Justice, he shall never
Thy severest virtue know.

STROPHE III.
Lordless life, or despot-ridden,
Be they both from me forbidden.
To the wise mean strength is given,40
Thus the gods have ruled in heaven;
Gods, that gently or severely
Judge, discerning all things clearly.
Mark my word, I tell thee truly,
Pride, that lifts itself unduly,41
Had a godless heart for sire.
Healthy-minded moderation
Wins the wealthy consummation,
Every heart’s desire.

ANTISTROPHE III.
Yet, again, I tell thee truly,
At Justice’ altar bend thee duly.
Wean thine eye from lawless yearning
After gain; with godless spurning
Smite not thou that shrine most holy.
Punishment, that travels slowly,
Comes at last, when least thou fearest.
Yet, once more; with truth sincerest,
Love thy parents and revere,
And the guest, that to protect him,
Claims thy guardian roof, respect him,
With an holy fear.*

STROPHE IV.
Whoso, with no forced endeavour,
Sin-eschewing liveth,
Him to hopeless ruin never
Jove the Saviour giveth.
But whose hand, with greed rapacious,
Draggeth all things for his prey,
He shall strike his flag audacious,
When the god-sent storm shall bray,
Winged with fate at last;
When the stayless sail is flapping,
When the sail-yard swings, and, snapping,
Crashes to the blast.

ANTISTROPHE IV.
He shall call, but none shall hear him,
When dark ocean surges;
None with saving hand shall near him,
When his prayer he urges.
Laughs the god, to see him vainly
Grasping at the crested rock;
Fool, who boasted once profanely
Firm to stand in Fortune’s shock;
Who so great had been
His freighted wealth with fearful crashing,
On the rock of Justice dashing,
Dies, unwept, unseen.

EnterAthena,behind a Herald.

Athena.

Herald, proclaim the diet, and command
The people to attention; with strong breath
Give the air-shattering Tyrrhene trump free voice,42
To speak shrill-throated to the assembled throngs;
And, while the judges take their solemn seats,
In hushed submission, let the city hear
My laws that shall endure for aye; and these,
In hushed submission, wait the righteous doom.

EnterApollo.43

Chorus.

Sovran Apollo, rule where thou art lord;
But here what business brings the prophet? Speak.

Apollo.

I come a witness of the truth; this man
Is suppliant to me, he on my hearth
Found refuge, him I purified from blood.
I, too, am patron of his cause, I share
The blame, if blame there be, in that he slew
His mother. Pallas, order thou the trial.

Athena [to the Furies].

Speak ye the first, ’tis wiseliest ordered thus,
That, who complains, his plaint set forth in order,
Point after point, articulately clear.

Chorus.

Though we be many, yet our words are few.
Answer thou singly, as we singly ask;
This first—art thou the murderer of thy mother?

Orest.

Is the son’s blood all to the mother kin,
None to the father?

Chorus.

Peace, thou sin-stained monster!
Dost thou abjure the dearest blood, the mother’s
That bore thee ’neath her zone?

Orest. [to Apollo].

Be witness thou.
Apollo, speak for me, if by the rule
Of Justice she was murdered. That the deed
Was done, and by these hands, I not deny;
If justly or unjustly blood was spilt,
Thou knowest. Teach me how to make reply.

Apollo.

I speak to you, Athena’s mighty council;
And what I speak is truth: the prophet lies not.
From my oracular seat was published never
To man, to woman, or to city aught
By my Olympian sire unfathered* Ye
How Justice sways the scale will wisely weigh;
But this remember—what my father wills
Is law. Jove’s will is stronger than an oath.

Chorus.

Jove, say’st thou, touched thy tongue with inspiration,
To teach Orestes that he might avenge
A father’s death by murdering a mother?

Apollo.

His was no common father—Agamemnon,
Honoured the kingly sceptre god-bestowed
To bear—he slain by a weak woman, not
By furious Amazon with far-darting bow,
But in such wise as I shall now set forth
To thee, Athena, and to these that sit
On this grave bench of judgment. Him returning
All prosperous from the wars, with fairest welcome
She hailed her lord, and in the freshening bath
Bestowed him; there, ev’n while he laved, she came
Spreading death’s mantle out, and, in a web
Of curious craft entangled, stabbed him. Such
Was the sad fate of this most kingly man,
Of all revered, the fleet’s high admiral.
A tale it is to prick your heart with pity,
Even yours that seal the judgment.

Chorus.

Jove, thou sayest,
Prefers the father: yet himself did bind
With bonds his hoary-dated father Kronos.44
Make this with that to square, and thou art wise.
Ye judges, mark me, if I reason well.

Apollo.

O odious monsters, of all gods abhorred!
A chain made fast may be untied again.
This ill hath many cures; but, when the dust
Hath once drunk blood, no power can raise it. Jove
Himself doth know no charm to disenchant
Death; other things he turns both up and down,
At his good pleasure, fainting not in strength.

Chorus.

Consider well whereto thy words will lead thee.
How shall this man, who spilt his mother’s blood,
Dwell in his father’s halls at Argos? How
Devoutly kneel at the public altar? How
With any clanship share lustration?45

Apollo.

This
Likewise I’ll answer. Mark me! whom we call
The mother begets not;46 she is but the nurse,
Whose fostering breast the new-sown seed receives.
The father truly gets; the dam but cherishes
A stranger-bud, that, if the gods be kind,
May blossom soon, and bear. Behold a proof!
Without a mother may a child be born,
Not so without a father. Which to witness
Here is this daughter of Olympian Jove,
Not nursed in darkness, in the womb, and yet
She stands a goddess, heavenly mother ne’er
Bore greater. Pallas, here I plight my faith
To magnify thy city and thy people;
And I this suppliant to thy hearth hath sent,
Thy faithful ally ever. May the league
Here sworn to-day their children’s children bind!

Athena

Now judges, as your judgment is, I charge you, So vote the doom. Words we have had enough.

Chorus.

Our quiver’s emptied. We await the doom.

Athena

How should the sentence fall to keep me free Of your displeasure?

Chorus.

What we said we said.
Even as your heart informs you, nothing fearing,
So judges justly vote, the oath revering.

Athena.

Now, hear my ordinance, Athenians!47 Ye,
In this first strife of blood, umpires elect,
While age on age shall roll, the sons of Aegeus
This Council shall revere. Here, on this hill,
The embattled Amazons pitched their tents of yore,48
What time with Theseus striving, they their tents
Against these high-towered infant walls uptowered.
To Mars they sacrificed, and, to this day,
This Mars’ Hill speaks their story. Here, Athenians,
Shall reverence of the gods, and holy fear,
That shrinks from wrong, both night and day possess.
A place apart, so long as fickle change
Your ancient laws disturbs not; but, if this
Pure fount with muddy streams ye trouble, ye
Shall draw the draught in vain From anarchy
And slavish masterdom alike my ordinance
Preserve my people! Cast not from your walls
All high authority; for where no fear
Awful remains, what mortal will be just?
This holy reverence use, and ye possess
A bulwark, and a safeguard of the land,
Such as no race of mortals vaunteth, far
In Borean Scythia, or the land of Pelops.*
This council I appoint intact to stand
From gain, a venerated conclave, quick
In pointed indignation, when all sleep
A sleepless watch These words of warning hear,
My citizens for ever. Now ye judges
Rise, take your pebbles, and by vote decide,
The sacred oath revering. I have spoken.

TheAeropagitesadvance; and, as each puts his pebble into the urn, theChorusandApolloalternately address them as follows:

Chorus.

I warn ye well: the sisterhood beware,
Whose wrath hangs heavier than the land may bear.

Apollo.

I warn ye well: Jove is my father; fear
To turn to nought the words of me, his seer.

Chorus.

If thou dost plead, where thou hast no vocation,
For blood, will men respect thy divination?

Apollo.

Must then my father share thy condemnation,
When first he heard Ixion’s supplication?

Chorus.

Thou say’st.49 But I, if justice be denied me,
Will sorely smite the land that so defied me.

Apollo.

Among the gods the elder, and the younger,
Thou hast no favour; I shall prove the stronger.

Chorus.

Such were thy deeds in Pheres’ house,50 deceiving
The Fates, and mortal men from death reprieving.

Apollo.

Was it a crime to help a host? to lend
A friendly hand to raise a sinking friend?

Chorus.

Thou the primeval Power didst undermine,
Mocking the hoary goddesses with wine.

Apollo.

Soon, very soon, when I the cause shall gain,
Thou’lt spit thy venom on the ground in vain.

Chorus.

Thou being young, dost jeer my ancient years
With youthful insolence; till the doom appears,
I’ll patient wait; my hot-spurred wrath I’ll stay,
And even-poised betwixt two tempers sway.

Athena.

My part remains; and I this crowning pebble
Drop to Orestes; for I never knew
The mother’s womb that bore me.* I give honor,
Save in my virgin nature, to the male
In all things; all my father lives in me.51
Not blameless be the wife, who dared to slay
Her husband, lord and ruler of her home.
My voice is for Orestes; though the votes
Fall equal from the urn, my voice shall save him.
Now shake the urn, to whom this duty falls,
And tell the votes.

Orest.

O Phœbus, how shall end
This doubtful issue?

Chorus.

O dark Night, my mother,
Behold these things!

Orest.

One moment blinds me quite,
Or to a blaze of glory opes my eyes.

Chorus.

We sink to shame, or to more honor rise.

Apollo.

Judges, count well the pebbles as they fall,
And with just jealousy divide them. One
Being falsely counted works no simple harm.
One little pebble saves a mighty house.

Athena.

Hear now the doom. This man from blood is free.
The votes are equal; he escapes by me.

Orest.

O Pallas, Saviour of my father’s house,
Restorer of the exile’s hope, Athena,
I praise thee! Now belike some Greek will say,
The Argive man revisiteth the homes
And fortunes of his father, by the aid
Of Pallas, Loxias, and Jove the Saviour
All-perfecting, who pled the father’s cause,
Fronting the wrathful Furies of the mother!
I now depart: and to this land I leave,
And to this people, through all future time,
An oath behind me, that no lord of Argos
Shall ever brandish the well-pointed spear
Against this friendly land.† When, from the tomb,
I shall perceive who disregards this oath
Of my sons’ sons, I will perplex that man
With sore perplexities inextricable;
Ways of despair, and evil-birded paths*
Shall be his portion, cursing his own choice.
But if my vows be duly kept, with those
That in the closely-banded league shall aid
Athena’s city, I am present ever.
Then fare thee well, thou and thy people! Never
May foe escape thy grasp! When thou dost struggle,
Safety and victory attend thy spear!

[Exit.

Chorus.

Curse on your cause,
Ye gods that are younger!
O’er the time-hallowed laws
Rough ye ride as the stronger.
Of the prey that was ours
Ye with rude hands bereave us,
’Mid the dark-dreaded Powers
Shorn of honor ye leave us.
Behold, on the ground
From a heart of hostility,
I sprinkle around
Black gouts of sterility!
A plague I will bring,
With a dry lichen spreading;
No green blade shall spring
Where the Fury is treading.
To abortion I turn
The birth of the blooming,
Where the plague-spot shall burn
Of my wrath, life-consuming.
I am mocked,† but in vain
They rejoice at my moaning;
They shall pay for my pain,
With a fearful atoning,
Who seized on my right,
And, with wrong unexampled,
On the daughters of Night
High scornfully trampled.

Athena

Be ruled by me your heavy-bosomed groans
Refrain Not vanquished thou, but the fair vote
Leapt equal from the urn, with no disgrace
To thee. From Jove himself clear witness came;
The oracular god that urged the deed, the same
Stood here to vouch it, that Orestes might not
Reap harm from his obedience. Soothe ye, therefore;
Cast not your bolted vengeance on this land,
Your gouts of wrath divine distil not, stings
Of pointed venom, with keen corrosive power
Eating life’s seeds, all barrenness and blight.
A home within this land I pledge you, here
A shrine, a refuge, and a hearth secure,
Where ye on shining thrones shall sit, my city
Yielding devoutest homage to your power.

Chorus.

Curse on your cause,
Ye gods that are younger!
O’er the time-hallowed laws
Rough ye ride, as the stronger.
Of the prey that was ours
Ye with rude hands bereave us,
’Mid the dark-dreaded Powers
Shorn of honor ye leave us.
Behold, on the ground
From a heart of hostility,
I sprinkle around
Black gouts of sterility!
A plague I will bring
With a dry lichen spreading;
No green blade shall spring
Where the Fury is treading.
To abortion I turn
The birth of the blooming,
Where the plague-spot shall burn
Of my wrath, life-consuming.
I am mocked, but in vain
They rejoice at my moaning;
They shall pay for my pain,
With a fearful atoning,
Who seized on my right,
And, with wrong unexampled,
On the daughters of Night
High scornfully trampled.

Athena.

Dishonoured are ye not: Spit not your rancour
On this fair land remediless. Rests my trust
On Jove, the mighty, I of all the gods
Sharing alone the strong keys that unlock
His thunder-halls:53 but this I name not here.
Yield thou: cast not the seed of reckless speech
To crop the land with woe Soothing the waves
Of bitter anger darkling in thy breast,
Dwell in this land, thy dreadful deity
Sistered with me. When thronging worshippers .
Henceforth shall cull choice firstlings for thine altars,
Praying thy grace to bless the wedded rite,
And the child-bearing womb—then honoured so,
How wise my present counsel thou shalt know.

Chorus.

Voice 1.

I to dwell ’neath the Earth
All clipt of my glory,
In the dark-chambered Earth,
I, the ancient, the hoary!

Voice 2.

I breathe on thee curses,
I cut through thy marrow,
For the insult that pierces
My heart like an arrow.

Voice 3.

Hear my cry, mother Night,
’Gainst the gods that deceived me!
With their harsh-handed might
Of my right they bereaved me.

Athena.

Thy anger I forgive; for thou’rt the elder
But though thy years bring wisdom, to me also
Jove gave a heart, not undiscerning. You—
Mark well my words—if now some foreign land
Ye choose, will rue your choice, and long for Athens.
The years to be shall float more richly fraught
With honor to my citizens; thou shalt hold
An honoured seat beside Erectheus’ home,54
Where men and women in marshalled pomp shall pay thee
Such homage, as no land on Earth may render.
But cast not ye on this my chosen land
Whetstones of fury, teaching knives to drink
The blood of tender bowels, madding the heart
With wineless drunkenness, that men shall swell
Like game cocks for the battle; save my city
From brothered strife, and from domestic brawls.55
Without the walls, and far from kindred hearths
Rage war, where honor calls, and glory crowns.
A bird of blood within the house I love not.
Use thine election; wisely use it; give
A blessing, and a blessing take; with me
May this land dear to the gods be dear to thee!

Chorus.

Voice 1.

I to dwell ’neath the Earth
All clipt of my glory,
In the dark-chambered Earth
I, the ancient, the hoary!

Voice 2.

I breathe on thee curses,
I cut through thy marrow,
For the insult that pierces
My heart like an arrow.

Voice 3.

Hear my cry, mother Night,
’Gainst the gods that deceived me!
With their harsh-handed might
Of my right they bereaved me.

Athena

To advise thee well I faint not. Never more
Shalt thou, a hoary-dated power, complain
That I, a younger, or my citizens,
From our inhospitable gates expelled thee
Of thy due honors shortened. If respect
For sacred Peitho’s* godhead, for the honey
And charming of the tongue may move thee, stay;
But, if ye will go, show of justice none
Remains, with rancour, wrath, and scathe to smite
This land and people. Stands your honoured lot
With me for ever, so ye scorn it not.

STROPHE I.

Chorus.

Pallas, thy welcome so kindly compelling
Hath moved me; I scorn not to mingle my dwelling
With thine, and with Jove’s, the all-ruling, thy sire.
The city I scorn not, where Mars guards the portals,
The fortress of gods,56 the fair grace of Immortals.
I bless thee prophetic; to work thy desire
To the Sun, when he shines in his full-flooded splendour,
Her tribute to thee may the swelling Earth render,
And bounty with bounty conspire!

Athena.

Athens, no trifling gain I’ve won thee.
With rich blessing thou shalt harbour,
Through my grace, these much-prevailing
Sternest-hearted Powers. For they
Rule, o’er human fates appointed,
With far-reaching sway.
Woe to the wretch, by their wrath smitten!57
With strokes he knows not whence descending,
Not for his own, for guilt inherited,58
They with silent-footed vengeance
Shall o’ertake him: in the dust,
Heaven with piercing cries imploring,
Crushed the sinner lies.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Chorus.

Far from thy dwelling, and far from thy border,
By the grace of my godhead benignant I order
The blight that may blacken the bloom of thy trees.
Far from thy border, and far from thy dwelling
Be the hot blast that shrivels the bud in its swelling,
The seed-rotting taint, and the creeping disease!
Thy flocks still be doubled, thy seasons be steady,
And, when Hermes is near thee,59 thy hand still be ready
The Heaven-dropt bounty to seize!

Athena.

Hear her words, my city’s warders,
Fraught with blessing; she prevaileth
With Olympians and Infernals,
Dread Erinnys much revered.
Mortal fates she guideth plainly
To what goal she pleaseth, sending
Songs to some, to others days
With tearful sorrows dulled.

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

Far from your dwelling
Be death’s early knelling,
When falls in his green strength the strong
Your virgins, the fairest,
To brave youths the rarest
Be mated, glad life to prolong!
Ye Fates, high-presiding,60
The right well dividing,
Dread powers darkly mothered with me;
Our firm favour sharing,
From judgment unsparing
The homes of the just man be free!
But the guilty shall fear them,
When in terror shall near them
The Fates, sternly sistered with me.

Athena.

Work your perfect will, dread maidens,
O’er my land benignly watching!
I rejoice. Blest be the eyes
Of Peitho, that with strong persuasion
Armed my tongue, to soothe the fierce
Refusal of these awful maids.
Jove, that rules the forum, nobly
In the high debate hath conquered.61
In the strife of blessing now,
You with me shall vie for ever.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus

Far from thy border
The lawless disorder,
That sateless of evil shall reign!
Far from thy dwelling
The dear blood welling,
That taints thy own hearth with the stain,
When slaughter from slaughter
Shall flow, like the water,
And rancour from rancour shall grow!
But joy with joy blending
Live, each to all lending,
And hating one-hearted the foe!
When bliss hath departed,
From will single-hearted,
A fountain of healing shall flow.

Athena.

Wisely now the tongue of kindness
Thou hast found, the way of love;
And these terror-speaking faces
Now look wealth to me and mine.
Her so willing, ye more willing
Now receive, this land and city,
On ancient right securely throned,
Shall shine for evermore

STROPHE III

Chorus.

Hail, and all hail! mighty people be greeted!
On the sons of Athena shine sunshine the clearest!
Blest people, near Jove the Olympian seated,
And dear to the virgin his daughter the dearest.
Timely wise ’neath the wings of the daughter ye gather;
And mildly looks down on her children the father.

Athena.

Hail, all hail to you! but chiefly
Me behoves it now to lead you
To your fore-appointed homes.
Go, with holy train attendant,
With sacrifice, and torch resplendent.
Underneath the ground.
Go, and with your potent godhead
Quell the ill that threats the city,
Spur the good to victory’s goal.
Lead the way ye sons of Cranaus,*
To these strangers, strange no more;
Their kindly thoughts to you remember,
Grateful evermore.

ANTISTROPHE III.

Chorus.

Hail, yet again, with this last salutation,
Ye sons of Athena, ye citizens all!
On gods, and on mortals, in high congregation
Assembled, my blessing not vainly shall fall.
O city of Pallas, while thou shalt revere me,
Thy walls hold the pledge that no harm shall come near thee.

Athena.

Well hymned. My heart chimes with you, and I send
The beamy-twinkling torches to conduct you
To your dark-vaulted chambers ’neath the ground.
They who attend my shrine, with pious homage,
Shall be your convoy. The fair eye of the land,
The marshalled host of Theseus’ sons shall march
In festive train with you, both man and woman,
Matron and maid, green youth and hoary age.
Honor the awful maids, clad with the grace
Of purple-tinctured robes; and let the flame
March ’fore their path bright-rayed; and, evermore,
With populous wealth smile every Attic rood
Blessed by this gracious-minded sisterhood.62

Convoy,conducting theEumenidesin festal pomp to their subterranean temple, with torches in their hands:

STROPHE I.
Go with honor crowned and glory,
Of hoary Night the daughters hoary,
To your destined hall.
Where our sacred train is wending,
Stand, ye pious throngs attending,
Hushed in silence all.

ANTISTROPHE I.
Go to hallowed habitations,
’Neath Ogygian* Earth’s foundations:
In that darksome hall
Sacrifice and supplication
Shall not fail. In adoration
Silent worship all.

STROPHE II.
Here, in caverned halls, abiding,
High on awful thrones presiding,
Gracious ye shall reign.
March in torches’ glare rejoicing!
Sing, ye throngs, their praises, voicing
Loud the exultant strain!

ANTISTROPHE II.
Blazing torch, and pure libation
From age to age this pious nation
Shall not use in vain.
Thus hath willed it Jove all-seeing,
Thus the Fate. To their decreeing
Shout the responsive strain!

NOTES TO THE EUMENIDES

[Back to Table of Contents]

PROMETHEUS BOUND

A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE

Δη̂σε δ’ἀλυκτοπέδ[Editor: illegible character]σι Προμηθέα ποικιλόβουλην
Δεσμοɩ̂ς ἀργαλέοισι.
Hesiod.

Neither to change, nor flatter, nor repent.
Shelley.

PERSONS

Might and Force, Ministers of Jove.

Hephaesthus or Vulcan, the God of Fire.

Prometheus, Son of Iapetus, a Titan.

Chorus of Oceanides.

Oceanus.

Io, Daughter of Inachus, King of Argos.

Hermes, Messenger of the Gods.

Scene—A Rocky Desert in European Scythia.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

Vain the wit is of the wisest to deceive the mind of Jove;
Not Prometheus, son of Iapetus, though his heart was moved by love,
Might escape the heavy anger of the god that rules the skies,
But, despite of all his cunning, with a strong chain bound he lies.
Theog. 613.

Those who are acquainted with the philological learning on this subject, which I have discussed elsewhere,* or even with the common ideas on the legend of Prometheus brought into circulation by the productions of modern poetry, are aware that the view just given of the moral significance of this weighty old myth, is not the current one, and that we are rather accustomed to look upon Prometheus as a sort of proto-martyr of liberty, bearing up with the strength of a god against the punishment unjustly inflicted on him by the celestial usurper and tyrant, Jove But Hesiod, we have just seen, looks on the matter with very different eyes, and the unquestioned supremacy of Jove that stands out everywhere, from the otherwise not always consistent theological system of the Iliad, leads plainly to the conclusion that Homer also, had he had occasion to introduce this legend, would have handled it in a spirit altogether different from our Shelleys and Byrons, and other earth-shaking and heaven-scaling poets of the modern revolutionary school. As little is there any ground (see the life of Æschylus, vol. I.) for the supposition that our tragedian has taken up different theological ground in reference to this myth, from that which belonged to the two great expositors of the popular creed, not to mention the staring absurdity of the idea, that a grave tragic poet in a serious composition, at a public religious festival, should have dared, or daring, should have been allowed, to hold up their supreme deity to a nation of freemen in the character of a cruel and unjust tyrant. Thrown back, therefore, on the original Hesiodic conception of the myth, we are led to observe that the imperfect and unsatisfactory ideas so current on this subject in modern times, have taken their rise from the practice (so natural under the circumstances) of looking on the extant piece as a complete whole, whereas nothing is more certain than that it is only a fragment; the second part, in fact, of a dramatic trilogy similar in conception and execution to that, of which we have endeavoured to present a reflection in the preceding pages. Potter, in his translation published a hundred years ago, prefaced his version of the present piece with the well-known fact, that Æschylus wrote three plays on this subject—the Fire-bringing Prometheus, the Prometheus Bound, and the Prometheus Unbound—but this intimation was not sufficient to prevent his readers, with the usual hastiness of human logic, from judging of what they saw, as if it were an organic whole, containing within itself every element necessary for forming a true conception of its character. The consequence was, that the hero of the piece, who, of course, tells his own story in the most favourable way for himself, was considered as having passed a final judgment on the case, as the friend and representative of man, he naturally seemed entitled to the gratitude of men; while Jove, being now only an idol in the world (perhaps a devil), and having no advocate in the heart of the modern reader, was made to stand—on the representation of the same Prometheus—as the type of heartless tyranny, and the impersonation of absolute power combined with absolute selfishness. This is Shelley’s view; but that such was not the view of Æschylus we may be assured, both from the consideration already mentioned, and from the poet’s method of reconciling apparently incompatible claims of opposite celestial powers, so curiously exhibited in the Eumenides. In the trilogy of the preceding pages, Orestes stands in a situation, so far as the development of the plot is concerned, precisely analogous to that of Prometheus in the present piece. His conduct, as submitted to the moral judgment of the spectator, produces the same conflict of contrary emotions of which his own bosom is the victim. With the one-half of our heart we approve of his avenging his father’s murder; with the other half, we plead that a son shall, on no ground of offence, allow his indignation to proceed so far as to imbrue his hands in the blood of her whose milk he had sucked. This contrariety of emotions excited in the second piece of the trilogy, produces the tragic knot, which it is the business of the poet to unloose, by the worthy interposition of a god. “Nec Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus.”—Exactly so in the second piece of the Promethean trilogy, our moral judgment praises the benevolence of the god, who, to elevate our human race from brutish degradation, dared to defy omnipotent power, and to deceive the wisdom of the omniscient; while, at the same time, we cannot but condemn the spirit of unreined independence that would shake itself free from the great centre of moral cohesion, and the reckless boldness that casts reproach in the face of the great Ruler of the universe. In this state of suspense, represented by the doubtful attitude of the Chorus* through the whole play, the present fragment of the great Æschylean Promethiad leaves the well-instructed modern reader; and it admits not, in my view, of a doubt that, in the concluding piece, it remained for the poet to effect a reconciliation between the contending interests and clashing emotions, somewhat after the fashion of which we possess a specimen in the Eumenides. By what agency of individuals or of arguments this was done, it is hopeless now to inquire; the fragmentary notices that remain are too meagre to justify a scientific restoration of the lost drama; they who wish to see what erudite imagination can do in this direction may consult Welcker and Schoemann—Welcker, in the shape of prose dissertation in his Trilogie, p. 28; and Schoemann, in the shape of a poetical restoration of the lost poem, in the Appendix to his very valuable edition of this play. About one thing only can we be certain, that, in the ultimate settlement of disputed claims, neither will Prometheus, on the one hand, be degraded from the high position on which the poet has planted him as a sort of umpire between gods and men, nor will Jove yield one whit of his supreme right to exact the bitterest penalties from man or god who presumes to act independently of, and even in opposition to his will. The tragic poet will duly exercise his grand function of keeping the powers of the celestial world—as he does the contending emotions of the human mind—in due equipoise and subordination.*

The plot of the Prometheus Bound is the simplest possible, being not so much the dramatic progression of a course of events, as a single dramatic situation presented through the whole piece under different aspects. The theft of fire from Heaven, or (as the notice of Cicero seems to indicate) from the Lemnian volcano of Mosychlos,† having been perpetrated in the previous piece, Might and Force, two allegorical personages, the ministers of Jove’s vengeance, are now introduced, along with Hephaestus, the forger of celestial chains, nailing the benevolent offender to a cold craggy rock in the wastes of European Scythia. In this condition when, after a long silence, he at length gives vent to his complaint, certain kindred divine persons—first, the Oceanides, or daughters of Ocean, and then their hoary sire himself, are brought on the scene, with words of solace and friendly exhortation to the sufferer.‡ When all the arguments that these parties have to advance are exhausted in vain, another mythic personage, of a different character, and for a different purpose, appears. This is Io, the daughter of Inachus, the primeval king of Argos, who, having enjoyed the unblissful distinction of stirring the heart of Jove with love, is, by the jealous wrath of Hera, transmuted into the likeness of a cow,* and sent wandering to the ends of the Earth, fretted into restless distraction by the stings of a malignant insect. This character serves a threefold purpose. First, as a sufferer, tracing the origin of all her misery from Jove, she both sympathizes strongly with Prometheus, and exhibits the character of Jove in another unfavourable aspect; secondly, with her wild maniac cries and reinless fits of distraction, she presents a fine contrast to the calm self-possession with which the stout-hearted Titan endures the penalty of his pride; and, in the third place, as the progenitrix of the Argive Hercules, the destined instrument of the delivery of Prometheus, she connects the middle with the concluding piece of the trilogy. Last of all, when this strange apparition has vanished, appears on the scene the great Olympian negotiator, Hermes; who, with the eloquence peculiar to himself, and the threatened terrors of his supreme master, endeavours to break the pride and to bend the will of the lofty-minded offender. In vain. The threatened terrors of the Thunderer now suddenly start into reality; and, amid the roar of contending elements, the pealing Heaven and the quaking Earth, the Jove-defying son of Iapetus descends into Hell.

The superhuman grandeur and high tragic sublimity which belongs to the very conception of this subject, has suffered nothing in respect of treatment from the genius of the bard who dared to handle it. The Prometheus Bound, though inferior in point of lyric richness and variety to the Agamemnon, and though somewhat overloaded with narrative in one place, is nevertheless felt throughout to be one of the most powerful productions of one of the most powerful minds that the history of literature knows. No work of a similar lofty character certainly has ever been so extensively popular. The Prometheus Unbound of Shelley, and Lord Byron’s Manfred, bear ample witness, of which we may well be proud, to the relationship which exists between the severe Melpomene of ancient Greece, and the lofty British Muse.

PROMETHEUS BOUND

EnterMightandForce,leading inPrometheus; Hephaestus,with chains.

Might.

At length the utmost bound of Earth we’ve reached,
This Scythian soil, this wild untrodden waste.1
Hephaestus now Jove’s high behests demand
Thy care; to these steep cliffy rocks bind down
With close-linked chains of during adamant
This daring wretch2 For he the bright-rayed fire,
Mother of arts, flower of thy potency,
Filched from the gods, and gave to mortals. Here,
Just guerdon of his sin shall find him; here
Let his pride learn to bow to Jove supreme,
And love men well, but love them not too much.

Heph.

Ye twain, rude Might and Force, have done your work
To the perfect end; but I—my heart shrinks back
From the harsh task to nail a kindred god3
To this storm-battered crag. Yet dare I must.
Where Jove commands, whoso neglects rebels,
And pays the traitor’s fine. High-counselled son
Of right-decreeing Themis,4 I force myself
No less than thee, when to this friendless rock
With iron bonds I chain thee, where nor shape
Nor voice of wandering mortal shall relieve
Thy lonely watch; but the fierce-burning sun
Shall parch and bleach thy fresh complexion. Thou,
When motley-mantled Night* hath hid the day,
Shalt greet the darkness, with how short a joy!
For the morn’s sun the nightly dew shall scatter,
And thou be pierced again with the same pricks
Of endless woe—and saviour shall be none.5
Such fruits thy forward love to men hath wrought thee.
Thyself a god, the wrath of gods to thee
Seemed little, and to men thou didst dispense
Forbidden gifts. For this thou shalt keep watch
On this delightless rock, fixed and erect,
With lid unsleeping, and with knee unbent.
Alas! what groans and wails shalt thou pour forth,
Fruitless. Jove is not weak that he should bend,6
For young authority must ever be
Harsh and severe.

Might

Enough of words and tears.
This god, whom all the gods detest, wilt thou
Not hate, thou, whom his impious larceny
Did chiefly injure?

Heph.

But, my friend, my kinsman—

Might.

True, that respect; but the dread father’s word
Respect much more. Jove’s word respect and fear.

Heph.

Harsh is thy nature, and thy heart is full
Of pitiless daring.

Might.

Tears were wasted here,
And labour lost is all concern for him

Heph.

O thrice-cursed trade, that e’er my hand should use it!

Might.

Curse not thy craft; the cunning of thy hand
Makes not his woes; he made them for himself.

Heph.

Would that some other hand had drawn the lot
To do this deed!

Might.

All things may be, but this
To dictate to the gods.7 There’s one that’s free,
One only, Jove.

Heph

I know it, and am dumb.

Might

Then gird thee to the work, chain down the culprit,
Lest Jove thy laggard zeal behold, and blame.

Heph.

The irons here are ready.

Might.

Take them, and strike
Stout blows with the hammer; nail him to the rock.

Heph.

The work speeds well, and lingers not.

Might.

Strike! strike!
With ring, and clamp, and wedge make sure the work.
He hath a subtle wit will find itself
A way where way is none.

Heph.

This arm is fast.

Might.

Then clasp this other. Let the sophist know,
Against great Jove how dull a thing is wit.

Heph

None but the victim can reprove my zeal.

Might.

Now take this adamantine bolt, and force
Its point resistless through his rebel breast.

Heph.

Alas! alas! Prometheus, but I pity thee!

Might.

Dost lag again, and for Jove’s enemies weep
Fond tears? Beware thou have no cause to weep
Tears for thyself.

Heph.

Thou see’st no sightly sight
For eyes to look on.

Might.

I behold a sower
Reaping what thing he sowed. But take these thongs,
And bind his sides withal.

Heph.

I must! I must!
Nor needs thy urging.

Might.

Nay, but I will urge,
Command, and bellow in thine ear! Proceed,
Lower—yet lower—and with these iron rings
Enclasp his legs.

Heph.

’Tis done, and quickly done.

Might.

Now pierce his feet through with these nails. Strike hard!
There’s one will sternly prove thy work, and thee.

Heph.

Harsh is thy tongue, and, like thy nature, hard.

Might.

Art thou a weakling, do not therefore blame
The firm harsh-fronted will that suits my office.

Heph.

Let us away. He’s fettered limb and thew.

Might.

There lie, and feed thy pride on this bare rock,
Filching gods’ gifts for mortal men. What man
Shall free thee from these woes? Thou hast been called
In vain the Provident:8 had thy soul possessed
The virtue of thy name, thou hadst foreseen
These cunning toils, and hadst unwound thee from them.

[Exeunt all, exceptPrometheus,who is left chained.

Prom.

O divine ether, and swift-winged winds,
And river-fountains, and of ocean waves
The multitudinous laughter,10 and thou Earth,
Boon mother of us all, and thou bright round
Of the all-seeing Sun, you I invoke!
Behold what ignominy of causeless wrongs
I suffer from the gods, myself a god.
See what piercing pains shall goad me
Through long ages myraid-numbered!
With such wrongful chains hath bound me
This new leader of the gods.
Ah me! present woes and future
I bemoan. O! when, O! when
Shall the just redemption dawn.
Yet why thus prate? I know what ills await me.
No unexpected torture can surprise
My soul prophetic; and with quiet mind
We all must bear our portioned fate, nor idly
Court battle with a strong necessity.
Alas! alas! ’tis hard to speak to the winds;
Still harder to be dumb! my well-deservings
To mortal men are all the offence that bowed me
Beneath this yoke. The secret fount of fire
I sought, and found, and in a reed concealed it;11
Whence arts have sprung to man, and life hath drawn
Rich store of comforts For such deed I suffer
These bonds, in the broad eye of gracious day,
Here crucified Ah me! ah me! who comes?12
What sound, what viewless breath, thus taints the air,
God sent, or mortal, or of mingled kind?
What errant traveller ill-sped comes to view
This naked ridge of extreme Earth, and me?
Whoe’er thou art, a hapless god thou see’st
Nailed to this crag, the foe of Jove thou seest.
Him thou see’st, whom all the Immortals
Whoso tread the Olympian threshold,
Name with hatred; thou beholdest
Man’s best friend, and, therefore, hated
For excess of love.
Hark, again! I hear the whirring
As of winged birds approaching;
With the light strokes of their pinions
Ether pipes ill-boding whispers!—
Alas! alas! that I should fear
Each breath that nears me.

TheOceanidesapproach, borne through the air in a winged car.

STROPHE I.

Chorus.

Fear nothing; for a friendly band approaches;
Fleet rivalry of wings
Oar’d us to this far height, with hard consent
Wrung from our careful sire
The winds swift-sweeping bore me: for I heard
The harsh hammer’s note deep deep in ocean caves,
And, throwing virgin shame aside, unshod
The winged car I mounted.

Prom.

Ah! ah!
Daughters of prolific Tethys,13
And of ancient father Ocean,
With his sleepless current whirling
Round the firm ball of the globe
Look! with rueful eyes behold me
Nailed by adamantine rivets,
Keeping weary watch unenvied
On this tempest-rifted rock!

ANTISTROPHE I.

Chorus.

I look, Prometheus, and a tearful cloud
My woeful sight bedims,
To see thy goodliest form with insult chained,
In adamantine bonds,
To this bare crag, where pinching airs shall blast thee.
New gods now hold the helm of Heaven; new laws
Mark Jove’s unrighteous rule; the giant trace
Of Titan times hath vanished.14

Prom.

Deep in death-receiving Hades
Had he bound me, had he whelmed me
In Tartarean pit, unfathomed,
Fettered with unyielding bonds!
Then nor god nor man had feasted
Eyes of triumph on my wrongs,
Nor I, thus swung in middle ether,*
Moved the laughter of my foes.

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

Which of the gods hath heart so hard
To mock thy woes? Who will withhold
The fellow-feeling and the tear,
Save only Jove But he doth nurse
Strong wrath within his stubborn breast,
And holds all Heaven in awe.
Nor will he cease till his hot rage is glutted,
Or some new venture shakes his stable throne.

Prom.

By my Titan soul, I swear it!
Though with harsh chains now he mocks me,
Even now the hour is ripening,
When this haughty lord of Heaven
Shall embrace my knees, beseeching
Me to unveil the new-forged counsels
That shall hurl him from his throne.15
But no honey-tongued persuasion,
No smooth words of artful charming,
No stout threats shall loose my tongue,
Till he loose these bonds of insult,
And himself make just atonement
For injustice done to me.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus.

Thou art a bold man, and defiest
The keenest pangs to force thy will.
With a most unreined tongue thou speakest;
But me—sharp fear hath pierced my heart.
I fear for thee: and of thy woes
The distant, doubtful end
I see not. O, ’tis hard, most hard to reach
The heart of Jove!16 prayer beats his ear in vain.

Prom

Harsh is Jove, I know—he frameth
Justice for himself; but soon,
When the destined arm o’ertakes him,
He shall tremble as a child.
He shall smooth his bristling anger,
Courting friendship shunned before,
More importunate to unbind me
Than impatient I of bonds.

Chorus

Speak now, and let us know the whole offence
Jove charges thee withal, for which he seized,
And with dishonor and dire insult loads thee.
Unfold the tale, unless, perhaps, such sorrow
Irks thee to tell.

Prom.

To tell or not to tell
Irks me the same; which way I turn is pain.
When first the gods their fatal strife began,
And insurrection raged in Heaven—some striving
To cast old Kronos from his hoary throne,
That Jove might reign, and others to crush i’ the bud
His swelling mastery—I wise counsel gave
To the Titans, sons of primal Heaven and Earth;
But gave in vain Their dauntless stubborn souls
Spurned gentle ways, and patient-working wiles,
Weening swift triumph with a blow. But me,
My mother Themis, not once but oft, and Earth
(One shape of various names),17 prophetic told
That violence and rude strength in such a strife
Were vain—craft haply might prevail. This lesson
I taught the haughty Titans, but they deigned
Scarce with contempt to hear my prudent words.
Thus baffled in my plans, I deemed it best,
As things then were, leagued with my mother Themis,
To accept Jove’s proffered friendship. By my counsels
From his primeval throne was Kronos* hurled
Into the pit Tartarean, dark, profound,
With all his troop of friends. Such was the kindness
From me received by him who now doth hold
The masterdom of Heaven; these the rewards
Of my great zeal: for so it hath been ever.
Suspicion’s a disease that cleaves to tyrants,
And they who love most are the first suspected.18
As for your question, for what present fault
I bear the wrong that now afflicts me, hear.
Soon as he sat on his ancestral throne
He called the gods together, and assigned
To each his fair allotment, and his sphere
Of sway supreme; but, ah! for wretched man!
To him nor part nor portion fell: Jove vowed
To blot his memory from the Earth, and mould
The race anew.† I only of the gods
Thwarted his will;19 and, but for my strong aid,
Hades had whelmed, and hopeless ruin swamped
All men that breathe. Such were my crimes: these pains
Grievous to suffer, pitiful to behold,
Were purchased thus; and mercy’s now denied
To him whose crime was mercy to mankind:
And here I lie, in cunning torment stretched,20
A spectacle inglorious to Jove.

Chorus.

An iron-heart were his, and flinty hard,
Who on thy woes could look without a tear,
Prometheus; I had liefer not so seen thee,
And seeing thee fain would call mine eyesight liar.

Prom.

Certes no sight am I for friends to look on.

Chorus.

Was this thy sole offence?

Prom.

I taught weak mortals
Not to foresee harm, and forestall the Fates.

Chorus.

A sore disease to anticipate mischance:
How didst thou cure it?

Prom.

Blind hopes of good I planted
In their dark breasts.21

Chorus.

That was a boon indeed,
To ephemeral man.

Prom.

’Tis a light thing for him whose foot’s unwarped
By misadventure’s meshes to advise
And counsel the unfortunate. But I
Foreknew my fate, and if I erred, I erred
With conscious purpose, purchasing man’s weal
With mine own grief. I knew I should offend
The Thunderer, though deeming not that he
Would perch me thus to pine ’twixt Earth and Sky,
Of this wild wintry waste sole habitant.
But cease to weep for ills that weeping mends not;
Descend, and I’ll discourse to thee at length
Of chances yet to come. Nay, do not doubt;
But leave thy car, nor be ashamed to share
The afflictions of the afflicted; for Mishap,
Of things that lawless wander, wanders most;
With me to-day it is with you to-morrow.

Chorus.

Not to sluggish ears, Prometheus,
Hast thou spoken thy desire,
From our breeze-borne car descending,
With light foot we greet the ground.
Leaving ether chaste, smooth pathway
Of the gently-winnowing wing,
On this craggy rock I stand,
To hear the tale, while thou mayst tell it,
Of thy sorrows to the end.

EnterOcean.23

Ocean.

From my distant caves cerulean24
This fleet-pinioned bird hath borne me;
Needed neither bit nor bridle,
Thought instinctive reined the creature;
Thus, to know thy griefs, Prometheus,
And to grieve with thee I come
Soothly strong the tie of kindred
Binds the heart of man and god;
But, though no such tie had bound me,
I had wept for thee the same.
Well thou know’st not mine the cunning
To discourse with glozing phrase:
Tell me how I may relieve thee,
I am ready to relieve;
Friend thou boastest none than Ocean
Surer, in the hour of need.

Prom.

How now, old Ocean? thou too come to view
My dire disasters?—how shouldst thou have dared,
Leaving the billowy stream whose name thou bearest,
Thy rock-roofed halls, and self-built palaces,
To visit this Scythian land, stern mother of iron,
To know my sorrows, and to grieve with me?
Look on this sight—thy friend, the friend of Jove,
Who helped him to the sway which now he bears,
Crushed by the self-same god himself exalted.

Ocean.

I see, Prometheus; and I come to speak
A wise word to the wise; receive it wisely.
Know what thou art, and make thy manners new;
For a new king doth rule the subject gods.
Compose thy speech, nor cast such whetted words
’Gainst Jove, who, though he sits apart sublime,
Hath ears, and with new pains may smite his victim,
To which his present wrath shall seem a toy.
Listen to me, slack thy fierce ire, and seek
Speedy deliverance from these woes. Trite wisdom
Belike I speak, Prometheus; but thou knowest
A lofty-sounding tongue with passionate phrase
Buys its own ruin. Proud art thou, unyielding,
And heap’st new woes tenfold on thine own head.
Why should’st thou kick against the pricks? Jove reigns
A lord severe, and of his acts need give
Account to none. I go to plead for thee,
And, what I can, will try to save my kinsman;
But be thou calm the while, curb thy rash speech,
And let not fame report, that one so wise
Fell by the forfeit of a foolish tongue.

Prom.

Count thyself happy, Ocean, being free
From blame, who shared and dared with me. Be wise,
And what thy meddling aids not, let alone.
In vain thou plead’st with him; his ears are deaf.
Look to thyself: thy errand is not safe.

Ocean.

Wise art thou, passing wise, for others’ weal,
For thine own good most foolish. Prithee do not
So stretch thy stubborn whim to pull against
The friends that pull for thee. ’Tis no vain boast;
I know that Jove will hear me.

Prom.

Thou art kind;
And for thy kind intent and friendly feeling
Have my best thanks. But do not, I beseech thee,
Waste labour upon me. If thou wilt labour,
Seek a more hopeful subject. Thou wert wiser,
Being safe, to keep thee safe. I, when I suffer,
Wish not that all my friends should suffer with me.
Enough my brother Atlas’ miseries grieve me.25
Who in the extreme West stands, stoutly bearing
The pillars of Heaven and Earth upon his shoulders,26
No lightsome burden. Him too, I bewail,
That made his home in dark Cilician caverns.
The hostile portent, Earth-born, hundred-headed
Impetuous Typhon,27 quelled by force, who stood
Alone, against the embattled host of gods,
Hissing out murder from his monstrous jaws;
And from his eyes there flashed a Gorgon glare,
As he would smite the tyranny of great Jove
Clean down; but he, with sleepless thunder watching,
Hurl’d headlong a flame-breathing bolt, and laid
The big-mouthed vaunter low. Struck to the heart
With blasted strength, and shrunk to ashes, there
A huge and helpless hulk, outstretched he lies,
Beside the salt sea’s strait, pressed down beneath
The roots of Ætna, on whose peaks Hephaestus
Sits hammering the hot metal. Thence, one day,
Shall streams of liquid fire, swift passage forcing,
With savage jaws the wide-spread plains devour
Of the fair-fruited Sicilly. Such hot shafts,
From the flame-breathing ferment of the deep,
Shall Typhon cast with sateless wrath, though now
All scorched and cindered by the Thunderer’s stroke,
Moveless he lies. But why should I teach thee?
Thou art a wise man, thine own wisdom use
To save thyself. For me, I’ll even endure
These pains, till Jove shall please to slack his ire.

Ocean.

Know’st thou not this, Prometheus, that mild words
Are medicines of fierce wrath?28

Prom

They are, when spoken
In a mild hour; but the high-swelling heart
They do but fret the more.

Ocean.

But, in the attempt
To ward the threatened harm, what evil see’st thou?

Prom.

Most bootless toil, and folly most inane.

Ocean.

Be it so; but yet ’tis sometimes well, believe me,
That a wise man should seem to be a fool.

Prom.

Away! farewell; and may the prudent thoughts,
That sway thy bosom now, direct thee ever.

Ocean.

I go, and quickly. My four-footed bird
Brushes the broad path of the limpid air
With forward wing: right gladly will he bend
The wearied knee on his familiar stall.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Thy dire disasters, unexampled wrongs,
I weep, Prometheus.
From its soft founts distilled the flowing tear
My cheek bedashes.
’Tis hard, most hard! By self-made laws Jove rules,
And ’gainst the host of primal gods he points
The lordly spear.

ANTISTROPHE I.
With echoing groans the ambient waste bewails
Thy fate, Prometheus;
The neighbouring tribes of holy Asia weep
For thee, Prometheus;29
For thee and thine! names mighty and revered
Of yore, now shamed, dishonoured, and cast down,
And chained with thee.

STROPHE II.
And Colchis, with her belted daughters, weeps
For thee, Prometheus,
And Scythian tribes, on Earth’s remotest verge,
Where lone Mæotis* spreads her wintry waters,
Do weep for thee.

ANTISTROPHE II.
The flower of Araby’s wandering warriors weep
For thee, Prometheus;30
And they who high their airy holds have perched
On Caucasus’ ridge, with pointed lances bristling,
Do weep for thee.

EPODE.
One only vexed like thee, and even as thou,
In adamant bound,
A Titan, and a god scorned by the gods,
Atlas I knew.
He on his shoulders the surpassing weight
Of the celestial pole stoutly upbore,
And groaned beneath.
Roars billowy Ocean, and the Deep sucks back
Its waters when he sobs; from Earth’s dark caves
Deep hell resounds,
The fountains of the holy-streaming rivers
Do moan with him.

Prom.

Deem me not self-willed, nor with pride high-strung,
That I am dumb, my heart is gnawed to see
Myself thus mocked and jeered. These gods, to whom
Owe they their green advancement but to me?
But this ye know, and, not to teach the taught,
I’ll speak of it no more. Of human kind,
My great offence in aiding them, in teaching
The babe to speak, and rousing torpid mind
To take the grasp of itself—of this I’ll talk;
Meaning to mortal men no blame, but only
The true recital of mine own deserts.
For, soothly, having eyes to see they saw not,31
And hearing heard not, but like dreamy phantoms,
A random life they led from year to year,
All blindly floundering on. No craft they knew
With woven brick or jointed beam to pile
The sunward porch; but in the dark earth burrowed
And housed, like tiny ants in sunless caves.
No signs they knew to mark the wintry year.
The flower-strewn Spring, and the fruit-laden Summer,
Uncalendared, unregistered, returned—
Till I the difficult art of the stars revealed,
Their risings and their settings Numbers, too,
I taught them (a most choice device)32 and how
By marshalled signs to fix their shifting thoughts,
That Memory, mother of Muses, might achieve
Her wondrous works. I first slaved to the yoke
Both ox and ass. I, the rein-loving steeds
(Of wealth’s gay-flaunting pomp the chiefest pride)
Joined to the car; and bade them ease the toils
Of labouring men vicarious. I the first
Upon the lint-winged car of mariner
Was launched, sea-wandering. Such wise arts I found
To soothe the ills of man’s ephemeral life;
But for myself, plunged in this depth of woe,
No prop I find.

Chorus.

Sad chance! Thy wit hath slipt
From its firm footing then when needed most,
Like some unlearned leech who many healed,
But being sick himself, from all his store,
Cannot cull out one medicinal drug.

Prom.

Hear me yet farther, and in hearing marvel,
What arts and curious shifts my wit devised.
Chiefest of all, the cure of dire disease
Men owe to me. Nor healing food, nor drink,
Nor unguent knew they, but did slowly wither
And waste away for lack of pharmacy,
Till taught by me to mix the soothing drug,
And check corruption’s march. I fixed the art
Of divination with its various phase
Of dim revealings, making dreams speak truth,
Stray voices, and encounters by the way
Significant; the flight of taloned birds
On right and left I marked—these fraught with ban,
With blissful augury those; their way of life,
Their mutual loves and enmities, their flocks,
And friendly gatherings; the entrails’ smoothness,
The hue best liked by the gods, the gall, the liver
With all its just proportions. I first wrapped
In the smooth fat the thighs; first burnt the loins,
And from the flickering flame taught men to spell
No easy lore, and cleared the fire-faced signs33
Obscure before. Yet more: I probed the Earth,
To yield its hidden wealth to help man’s weakness—
Iron, copper, silver, gold None but a fool,
A prating fool, will stint me of this praise.
And thus, with one short word to sum the tale,
Prometheus taught all arts to mortal men.

Chorus.

Do good to men, but do it with discretion.
Why shouldst thou harm thyself? Good hope I nurse
To see thee soon from these harsh chains unbound,
As free, as mighty, as great Jove himself.

Prom.

This may not be; the destined course of things
Fate must accomplish; I must bend me yet
’Neath wrongs on wrongs, ere I may ’scape these bonds.
Though Art be strong, Necessity is stronger.

Chorus.

There’s some dread mystery in thy chary speech,
Close-veiled.

Prom.

Urge this no more: the truth thou’lt know
In fitting season; now it lies concealed
In deepest darkness! for relenting Jove
Himself must woo this secret from my breast.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Never, O never may Jove,
Who in Olympus reigns omnipotent lord,
Plant his high will against my weak opinion!36
Let me approach the gods
With blood of oxen and with holy feasts,
By father Ocean’s quenchless stream, and pay
No backward vows:
Nor let my tongue offend; but in my heart
Be lowly wisdom graven.

ANTISTROPHE I.
For thus old Wisdom speaks:
Thy life ’tis sweet to cherish, and while the length
Of years is thine, thy heart with cheerful hopes
And lightsome joys to feed.
But thee—ah me! my blood runs cold to see thee,
Pierced to the marrow with a thousand pains.
Not fearing Jove,
Self-willed thou hast respect to man, Prometheus,
Much more than man deserveth.

STROPHE II.
For what is man?* behold!
Can he requite thy love—child of a day—
Or help thy extreme need? Hast thou not seen
The blind and aimless strivings,
The barren blank endeavour,
The pithless deeds, of the fleeting dreamlike race?
Never, O nevermore,
May mortal wit Jove’s ordered plan deceive.

ANTISTROPHE II.
This lore my heart hath learned
From sight of thee, and thy sharp pains, Prometheus.
Alas! what diverse strain I sang thee then,
Around the bridal chamber,
And around the bridal bath,
When thou my sister fair, Hesione,
Won by rich gifts didst lead37
From Ocean’s caves thy spousal bed to share.

Enter Io.38

What land is this?—what race of mortals
Owns this desert? who art thou,
Rock-bound with these wintry fetters,
And for what crime tortured thus?
Worn and weary with far travel,
Tell me where my feet have borne me!
O pain! pain! pain! it stings and goads me again,
The fateful brize!—save me, O Earth!39 —Avaunt
Thou horrible shadow of the Earth-born Argus!
Could not the grave close up thy hundred eyes,
But thou must come,
Haunting my path with thy suspicious look,
Unhoused from Hades?
Avaunt! avaunt!—why wilt thou hound my track,
The famished wanderer on the waste sea-shore?

STROPHE.
Pipe not thy sounding wax-compacted reed
With drowsy drone at me! Ah wretched me!
Wandering, still wandering o’er wide Earth, and driven
Where? where? O tell me where?
O Son of Kronos, in what damned sin
Being caught hast thou to misery yoked me thus,
Pricked me to desperation, and my heart
Pierced with thy furious goads?
Blast me with lightnings! bury me in Earth! To the gape
Of greedy sea-monsters give me! Hear, O hear
My prayer, O King!
Enough, enough, these errant toils have tried me;
And yet no rest I find: nor when, nor where
These woes shall cease may know.

Chorus.

Dost hear the plaint of the ox-horned maid?

Prom

How should I not? the Inachian maid who knows not,
Stung by the god-sent brize? the maid who smote
Jove’s lustful heart with love: and his harsh spouse
Hounds her o’er Earth with chase interminable.

ANTISTROPHE.

Io

My father’s name thou know’st, and my descent!
Who art thou? god or mortal? Speak! what charm
Gives wretch like thee, the certain clue to know
My lamentable fate?
Aye, and the god-sent plague thou know’st; the sting
That spurs me o’er the far-stretched Earth; the goad
That mads me sheer, wastes, withers, and consumes,
A worn and famished maid,
Whipt by the scourge of jealous Hera’s wrath!
Ah me! ah me! Misery has many shapes,
But none like mine.
O thou, who named my Argive home, declare
What ills await me yet; what end, what hope?
If hope there be for Io

Chorus.

I pray thee speak to the weary way-worn maid.

Prom.

I’ll tell thee all thy wish, not in enigmas
Tangled and dark, but in plain phrase, as friend
Should speak to friend Thou see’st Prometheus, who
To mortal men gifted immortal fire.

Io

O thou, to man a common blessing given,
What crime hath bound thee to this wintry rock?

Prom.

This not to know
Were better than to learn

Io.

Nay, do not hide
This thing from me!

Prom.

If ’tis a boon, believe me,
I grudge it not.

Io.

Then why so slow to answer?

Prom.

I would not crush thee with the cruel truth.

Io

Fear not; I choose to hear it.

Prom.

Listen then.

Chorus.

Nay, hear me rather. With her own mouth this maid
Shall first her bygone woes rehearse; next thou
What yet remains shalt tell.

Prom.

Even so. [To Io.] Speak thou;
They are the sisters of thy father, Io;41
And to wail out our griefs, when they who listen
Our troubles with a willing tear requite,
Is not without its use.

Io

I will obey,
And in plain speech my chanceful story tell;
Though much it grieves me to retrace the source,
Whence sprung this god-sent pest, and of my shape
Disfigurement abhorred. Night after night
Strange dreams around my maiden pillow hovering
Whispered soft temptings. “O thrice-blessed maid,
Why pin’st thou thus in virgin loneliness,
When highest wedlock courts thee? Struck by the shaft
Of fond desire for thee Jove burns, and pants
To twine his loves with thine. Spurn not, O maid,
The proffered bed of Jove, but hie thee straight
To Lerne’s bosomed mead,42where are the sheep-folds
And ox-stalls of thy sire, that so the eye
Of Jove, being filled with thee, may cease from craving.”
Such nightly dreams my restless couch possessed
Till I, all tears, did force me to unfold
The portent to my father. He to Pytho*
Sent frequent messengers, and to Dodona,
Searching the pleasure of the gods, but they
With various-woven phrase came back, and answers
More doubtful than the quest. At length, a clear
And unambiguous voice came to my father,
Enjoining, with most strict command, to send me
Far from my home, and from my country far,
To the extreme bounds of Earth an outcast wanderer,
Else that the fire-faced bolt of Jove should smite
Our universal race. By such responses,
Moved of oracular Loxias, my father
Reluctant me reluctant drove from home,
And shut the door against me. What he did
He did perforce; Jove’s bit was in his mouth.
Forthwith my wit was frenzied, and my form
Assumed the brute. With maniac bound I rushed,
Horned as thou see’st, and with the sharp-mouthed sting
Of gad-fly pricked infuriate to the cliff
Of Lerne, and Cenchréa’s limpid wave;
While Argus, Earth-born cow-herd, hundred-eyed,
Followed the winding traces of my path
With sharp observance. Him swift-swooping Fate
Snatched unexpected from his sleepless guard;
But I from land to land still wander on,
Scourged by the wrath of Heaven’s relentless Queen.
Thou hast my tale; the sequel, if thou know’st it,
Is thine to tell; but do not seek, I pray thee,
In pity for me, to drop soft lies, for nothing
Is worse than the smooth craft of practised phrase.

Chorus.

Enough, enough! Woe’s me that ever
Such voices of strange grief should rend my ear!
That such a tale of woe,
Insults, and wrongs, and horrors, should freeze me through,
As with a two-edged sword!
O destiny! destiny! woes most hard to see,
More hard to bear! Alas! poor maid for thee!

Prom.

Thy wails anticipate her woes; restrain
Thy trembling tears till thou hast heard the whole.

Chorus.

Proceed: to know the worst some solace brings
To the vexed heart.

Prom.

Your first request I granted,
And lightly; from her own mouth, ye have heard
The spring of harm, the stream expect from me,
How Hera shall draw out her slow revenge.
Meanwhile, thou seed of Inachus, lend an ear
And learn thy future travel. First to the east43
Turn thee, and traverse the unploughed Scythian fields,
Whose wandering tribes their wattled homes transport
Aloft on well-wheeled wains, themselves well slung
With the far-darting bow. These pass, and, holding
Thy course by the salt sea’s sounding surge, pass through
The land; next, on thy left, thou’lt reach the Chalybs,
Workers in iron. These too avoid—for they
Are savage, and harsh to strangers. Thence proceeding,
Thou to a stream shalt come, not falsely named
Hubristes: but the fierce ill-forded wave
Pass not till Caucasus, hugest hill, receives thee,
There where the flood its gushing strength foams forth
Fresh from the rocky brow. Cross then the peaks
That neighbour with the stars, and thence direct
Southward thy path to where the Amazons
Dwell, husband-hated, who shall one day people
Thermódon’s bank, and Themiscyre, and where
Harsh Salmydessus whets his ravening jaws,
The sailor’s foe, stepmother to the ships.
These maids shall give thee escort. Next thou’lt reach
The narrow Cimmerian isthmus, skirting bleak
The waters of Mæotis. Here delay not,
But with bold breast cross thou the strait Thy passage
Linked with the storied name of Bosphorus
Shall live through endless time. Here, leaving Europe,
The Asian soil receives thee. Now, answer me,
Daughters of Ocean, doth not Jove in all things
Prove his despotic will?—In lawless love
Longing to mingle with this mortal maid,
He heaps her with these woes A bitter suitor,
Poor maid, was thine, and I have told thee scarce
The prelude of thy griefs

Io

Ah! wretched me!

Prom.

Alas, thy cries and groans!—What wilt thou do,
When the full measure of thy woes is told thee?

Chorus.

What! more? her cup of woes not full?

Prom

’Twill flow
And overflow, a sea of whelming woes.

Io.

Why do I live? Why not embrace the gain
That, with one cast, this toppling cliff secures,
And dash me headlong on the ground, to end
Life and life’s sorrows? Once to die is better
Than thus to drag sick life.

Prom.

Thou’rt happy, Io,
That death from all thy living wrongs may free thee;
But I, whom Fate hath made immortal, see
No end to my long-lingering pains appointed,
Till Jove from his usurping sway be hurled.

Io.

Jove from his tyranny hurled—can such thing be?

Prom.

Doubtless ’twould feast thine eyes to see’t?

Io.

Ay, truly,
Wronged as I am by him.

Prom

Then, learn from me
That ne is doomed to fall.

Io.

What hand shall wrest
Jove’s sceptre?

Prom.

Jove’s own empty wit.

Chorus.

Nay, divide the choice;
One half to her concede, to me the other,
Thus doubly gracious: to the maid her toils,
To me thy destined Saviour tell.

Prom

So be it!
Being thus whetted in desire, I would not
Oppose your wills. First Io, what remains
Of thy far-sweeping wanderings hear, and grave
My words on the sure tablets of thy mind.
When thou hast crossed the narrow stream that parts45
The continents, to the far flame-faced East
Thou shalt proceed, the highway of the Sun;
Then cross the sounding Ocean, till thou reach
Cisthené and the Gorgon plains, where dwell
Phorcys’ three daughters, maids with frosty eld
Hoar as the swan, with one eye and one tooth
Shared by the three; them Phœbus beamy-bright
Beholds not, nor the nightly Moon. Near them
Their winged sisters dwell, the Gorgons dire,
Man-hating monsters, snaky-locked, whom eye
Of mortal ne’er might look upon and live
This for thy warning. One more sight remains,
That fills the eye with horror: mark me well;
The sharp-beaked Griffins, hounds of Jove, avoid.
Fell dogs that bark not; and the one-eyed host
Of Arimaspian horsemen with swift hoofs
Beating the banks of golden-rolling Pluto.
A distant land, a swarthy people next
Receives thee: near the fountains of the Sun
They dwell by Aethiops’ wave. This river trace
Until thy weary feet shall reach the pass
Whence from the Bybline heights the sacred Nile
Pours his salubrious flood46 The winding wave
Thence to triangled Egypt guides thee, where
A distant home awaits thee, fated mother
Of no unstoried race And now, if aught
That I have spoken doubtful seem or dark,
Repeat the question, and in plainer speech
Expect reply. I feel no lack of leisure.

Chorus.

If thou hast more to speak to her, speak on;
Or aught omitted to supply, supply it;
But if her tale is finished, as thou say’st,
Remember our request

Prom.

Her tale is told,
But for the more assurance of my words
The path of toils through which her feet had struggled
Before she reached this coast I will declare,
Lightly, and with no cumbrous comment, touching
Thy latest travel only, wandering Io.
When thou hadst trod the Molossian plains, and reached
Steep-ridged Dodona, where Thesprotian Jove
In council sits, and from the articulate oaks
(Strange wonder!) speaks prophetic, there thine ears
This salutation with no doubtful phrase
Received: “All hail, great spouse of mighty Jove
That shall be!”—say, was it a pleasing sound?
Thence by the sting of jealous Hera goaded,
Along the coast of Rhea’s bosomed sea*
Thy steps were driven thence with mazy course
Tossed hither;47 gaining, if a gain, this solace,
That future times, by famous Io’s name,
Shall know that sea† These things may be a sign
That I, beyond the outward show, can pierce
To the heart of truth What yet remains, I tell
To thee and them in common, tracing back
My speech to whence it came There is a city
In extreme Egypt, where with outspread loam
Nile breasts the sea, its name Canopus. There
Jove to thy sober sense shall bring thee back,
Soft with no fearful touch, and thou shalt bear
A son, dark Epaphus, whose name shall tell
The wonder of his birth,48 he shall possess
What fruitful fields fat Nile broad-streaming laves.
Four generations then shall pass; the fifth
In fifty daughters* glorying shall return
To ancient Argos, fatal wedlock shunning
With fathers’ brothers’ sons; these, their wild hearts
Fooled with blind lust, as hawks the gentle doves,
Shall track the fugitive virgins; but a god
Shall disappoint their chase, and the fair prey
Save from their lawless touch, the Apian soil
Shall welcome them to death, and woman’s hands
Shall dare the deed amid the nuptial watches.
Each bride shall rob her lord of life, and dip
The sharp steel in his throat. Such nuptial bliss
May all my enemies know! Only one maid
Of all the fifty, with a blunted will,
Shall own the charm of love, and spare her mate,
And of two adverse reputations choose
The coward, not the murderess. She shall be
The mother of a royal race in Argos.
To tell what follows, with minute remark,
Were irksome; but from this same root shall spring
A hero, strong in the archer’s craft, whose hand
Shall free me from these bonds. Such oracle spake
Titanian Themis, my time-honoured mother,
But how and why were a long tale to tell,
Nor being told would boot thine ear to hear it.

Io.

Ah me! pain! pain! ah me!
Again the fevered spasm hath seized me,
And the stroke of madness smites!
Again that fiery sting torments me,
And my heart doth knock my ribs!
My aching eyes in dizziness roll,
And my helmless feet are driven
Whither gusty frenzy blows!
And my tongue with thick words struggling
Like a sinking swimmer plashes
’Gainst the whelming waves of woe!

[Exit.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE.
Wise was the man, most wise,
Who in deep-thoughted mood conceived, and first
In pictured speech and pregnant phrase declared
That marriage, if the Fates shall bless the bond,
Must be of like with like;
And that the daughters of an humble house
Shun tempting union with the pomp of wealth
And with the pride of birth.

ANTISTROPHE.
Never, O! never may Fate,
All-powerful Fate which rules both gods and men,
See me approaching the dread Thunderer’s bed,
And sharing marriage with the Olympian king,
An humble Ocean-maid!
May wretched Io, chased by Hera’s wrath,
Unhusbanded, unfriended, fill my sense
With profitable fear.

EPODE.
Me may an equal bond
Bind with my equal: never may the eye
Of a celestial suitor fix the gaze
Of forceful love on me.
This were against all odds of war to war,
And in such strife entangled I were lost;
For how should humble maid resist the embrace,
Against great Jove’s decree?

Prom

Nay, but this Jove, though insolent now, shall soon
Be humbled low. Such wedlock even now
He blindly broods, as shall uptear his kingdom,
And leave no trace behind; then shall the curse,
Which Kronos heaped upon his ingrate son,
When hurled unjustly from his hoary throne,
Be all fulfilled. What remedy remains
For that dread ruin I alone can tell;
I only know. Then let him sit aloft,
Rolling his thunder, his fire-breathing bolt
Far-brandishing; his arts are vain; his fall,
Unless my aid prevent, his shameful fall,
Is doomed. Against himself to life he brings
A champion fierce, a portent of grim war,
Who shall invent a fiercer flame than lightning,
And peals to outpeal the thunder, who shall shiver
The trident mace that stirs the sea, and shakes
The solid Earth, the spear of strong Poseidon.
Thus shall the tyrant learn how much to serve
Is different from to sway.

Chorus.

Thou dost but make
Thy wishes father to thy slanderous phrase.

Prom.

Worship, and pray, fawn on the powers that be;
But Jove to me is less than very nothing.
Let him command, and rule his little hour
To please himself; long time he cannot sway.
But lo! where comes the courier of this Jove,
The obsequious minion of this upstart King,
Doubtless the bearer of some weighty news.

EnterHermes.

Hermes

Thee, cunning sophist, dealing bitter words
Most bitterly against the gods, the friend
Of ephemeral man, the thief of sacred fire,
Thee, Father Jove commands to curb thy boasts,
And say what marriage threats his stable throne.
Answer this question in plain phrase, no dark
Tangled enigmas; do not add, Prometheus,
A second journey to my first: and, mark me!
Thy obduracy cannot soften Jove

Prom.

This solemn mouthing, this proud pomp of phrase
Beseems the lackey of the gods. New gods
Ye are, and, being new, ye ween to hold
Unshaken citadels. Have I not seen
Two Monarchs ousted from that throne? the third
I yet shall see precipitate hurled from Heaven
With baser, speedier, ruin. Do I seem
To quail before this new-forged dynasty?
Fear is my farthest thought. I pray thee go
Turn up the dust again upon the road
Thou cam’st. Reply from me thou shalt have none.

Hermes.

This haughty tone hath been thy sin before:
Thy pride will strand thee on a worser woe.

Prom.

And were my woe tenfold what now it is,
I would not barter it for thy sweet chains;
For liefer would I lackey this bare rock
Than trip the messages of Father Jove.
The insolent thus with insolence I repay.

Hermes.

Thou dost delight in miseries; thou art wanton.

Prom.

Wanton! delighted! would my worst enemies
Might wanton in these bonds, thyself the first!

Hermes.

Must I, too, share the blame of thy distress?

Prom.

In one round sentence, every god I hate
That injures me who never injured him.

Hermes.

If thou art not the bought and sold of folly,
Dare to learn wisdom from thy present ills.

Prom.

Speak to the waves: thou speak’st to me as vainly!
Deem not that I, to win a smile from Jove,
Will spread a maiden smoothness o’er my soul,
And importune the foe whom most I hate
With womanish upliftings of the hands.
Thou’lt see the deathless die first!

Hermes.

I have said
Much, but that much is vain: thy rigid nature
To thaw with prayer is hopeless. A young colt
That frets the bit, and fights against the reins,
Art thou, fierce-champing with most impotent rage;
For wilful strength that hath no wisdom in it
Is less than nothing.50 But bethink thee well;
If thou despise my words of timely warning,
What wintry storm, what threefold surge of woes
Whelms thee inevitable. Jove shall split
These craggy cliffs with his cloud-bosomed bolt,
And sink thee deep: the cold rock shall embrace thee;
There thou shalt lie, till he shall please to bring thee
Back to the day, to find new pains prepared:
For he will send his Eagle-messenger,
His winged hound,* in crimson food delighting,
To tear thy rags of flesh with bloody beak,
And daily come an uninvited guest
To banquet on thy gory liver. This,
And worse expect, unless some god endure
Vicarious thy tortures,51 and exchange
His sunny ether for the rayless homes
Of gloomy Hades, and deep Tartarus.
Consider well. No empty boast I speak,
But weighty words well weighed: the mouth of Jove
Hath never known a lie, and speech with him
Is prophet of its deed. Ponder and weigh,
Close not thy stubborn ears to good advice.

Chorus.

If we may speak, what Hermes says is wise,
And fitting the occasion. He advises
That stubborn will should yield to prudent counsel.
Obey: thy wisdom should not league with folly.

Prom.

Nothing new this preacher preaches:
Seems it strange that foe should suffer
From the vengeance of his foe?
I am ready. Let him wreathe
Curls of scorching flame around me;
Let him fret the air with thunder,
And the savage-blustering winds!
Let the deep abysmal tempest
Wrench the firm roots of the Earth!
Let the sea upheave her billows,
Mingling the fierce rush of waters
With the pathway of the stars!
Let the harsh-winged hurricane sweep me
In its whirls, and fling me down
To black Tartarus: there to lie
Bound in the iron folds of Fate.
I will bear . but cannot die.

Hermes.

Whom the nymphs have struck with madness
Raves as this loud blusterer raves;
Seems he not a willing madman,
Let him reap the fruits he sowed!52
But ye maids, who share his sorrows,
Not his crimes, with quick removal
Hie from this devoted spot,
Lest with idiocy the thunder
Harshly blast your maundering wits.

Chorus.

Wouldst thou with thy words persuade us,
Use a more persuasive speech;
Urge no reasons to convince me
That an honest heart must hate.
With his sorrows I will sorrow:
I will hate a traitor’s name,
Earth has plagues, but none more noisome
Than a faithless friend in need.

Hermes.

Ponder well my prudent counsel,
Nor, when evil hunts thee out,
Blame great Jove that he doth smite thee
With an unexpected stroke.
Not the gods; thy proper folly
Is the parent of thy woes.*
Jove hath laid no trap to snare thee,
But the scapeless net of ruin
Thou hast woven for thyself.

Prom.

Now his threats walk forth in action,
And the firm Earth quakes indeed.
Deep and loud the ambient Thunder
Bellows, and the flaring Lightning
Wreathes his fiery curls around me,
And the Whirlwind rolls his dust;
And the Winds from rival regions
Rush in elemental strife,
And the Ocean’s storm-vexed billows
Mingle with the startled stars!
Doubtless now the tyrant gathers
All his hoarded wrath to whelm me.
Mighty Mother, worshipped Themis,
Circling Ether that diffusest
Light, a common joy to all,
Thou beholdest these my wrongs!

NOTES TO PROMETHEUS BOUND

[Back to Table of Contents]

THE SUPPLIANTS

A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE

Be not forgetful to entertain strangers; for thereby
Some have entertained angels unawares.
St. Paul.

πρὸς γὰρ Διός ἐισιν ἅπαντες
Ξεɩ̂νοί τε πτωχόι τε.
Homer.

PERSONS

Chorus of Danaides.

Danaus.

Pelasgus, King of Argos, and Attendants.

Herald.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

Considered by itself, the action of this piece is the most meagre that can be conceived, and, as the poet has handled it, contains little that can stir the deeper feelings of the heart, or strike the imagination strongly That the king of the Argives should feel serious doubts as to the propriety of receiving such a band of foreigners into his kingdom, formidable not in their own strength, indeed, but in respect of the pursuing party, by whom they were claimed, was most natural; equally natural, however, and, in a poetic point of view, necessary, that his political fears should finally be outweighed by his benevolent regard for the rights of unprotected virgins, and his pious fear of the wrath of Jove, the protector of suppliants The alternation of mind between these contending feelings, till a final resolve is taken on the side of the right, affords no field for the higher faculty of the dramatist to display itself As we have it, accordingly, the Suppliants is, perhaps, the weakest performance of Æschylus. But the fact is, there is the best reason to believe that the great father of tragedy never meant this piece to stand alone, but wrote it merely to usher in the main action, which followed in the other pieces of a trilogy; the names of which pieces—Ἀιγύπτιοι, and Δαναίδες—are preserved in the list of the author’s pieces still extant. Of this, the whole conclusion of the present piece, and especially the latter half of the last choral chaunt, furnishes the most conclusive evidence.

The remainder of the story, which formed the main action of the trilogy, is well known. Immediately after the reception of the fugitives, by the Argives, their pursuers arrive, and land on the coast This arrival is announced in the last scene of the present piece. On this, Danaus, unwilling to lead his kind host into a war, pretends to yield to the suit still as eagerly pressed, and the marriage is agreed on. But a terrible revenge had been devised. At the very moment that he hands over his unwilling but obedient daughters to the subjection of their hated cousins, he gives them secret instructions to furnish themselves each with a dagger, and, during the watches of the nuptial night, to dip the steel in the throats of their unsuspecting lords. The bloody deed was completed. Only one of all the fifty daughters, preferring the fame of true womanhood to the claims of filial homage, spared her mate Hypermnestra saved her husband Lynceus. This conduct, of course, brought the daughter into collision with her father and her father’s family; and one of those strifes of our mysterious moral nature was educed, which, as we have seen in the trilogy of the Orestiad, it was one great purpose of the Æschylean drama to reconcile. If the murder occupied the second piece, as the progress of the story naturally brings with it, a third piece, according to the analogy of the Eumenides, would be necessary to bring about the reconciliation, and effect that purifying of the passions which Aristotle points out as the great moral result of tragic composition That Aphrodite was the great celestial agent employed in the finale of the Suppliants, as Pallas Athena is in the Furies, has been well divined; a beautiful fragment in celebration of love, and in favour of Hypermnestra remains; but to attempt a reconstruction of these lost pieces at the present day, though an amusement of which the learned Germans are fond, is foreign to the habits of the British mind. Those who feel inclined to see what ingenuity may achieve in this region, are referred to Welcker’s Trilogie, and Gruppe’s Ariadne.

The moral tone and character of this piece is in the highest degree pleasing and satisfactory. The Supreme Jove, whose prominent attribute is power, here receives a glorification as the protector of the persecuted, and the refuge of the distressed On the duty of hospitality, under the sanction of Ζεύς ξἑνιος and ἱκεσιος, as practised among the ancient Greeks, I refer the reader with pleasure to Grote’s History of Greece, Vol. II., p. 114

“The scene,” says Potter, “is near the shore, in an open grove, close to the altar and images of the gods presiding over the sacred games, with a view of the sea and ships of Egyptus on one side, and of the town of Argos on the other, with hills, and woods, and vales, a river flowing between them: all, together with the persons of the drama, forming a picture that would have well employed the united pencils of Poussin and Claude.”

Chorus,entering the stage in procession. March time.

Chorus

Jove, the suppliant’s high protector,1
Look from Heaven, benignly favouring
Us the suppliant band, swift-oared
Hither sailing, from the seven mouths
Of the fat fine-sanded Nile!2
From the land that fringes Syria,
Land divine, in flight we came,
Not by public vote forth-driven,
Not by taint of blood divorced
From our native state,* but chastely
Our abhorrent foot withdrawing
From impure ungodly wedlock
With Ægyptus’ sons, too nearly
Cousined with ourselves. For wisely,
This our threatened harm well-weighing,
Danaus, our sire, prime counsellor,
And leader of our sistered band,
Timely chose this least of sorrows
O’er the salt-sea wave to flee;
And here on Argive soil to plant us,
Whence our race its vaunted spring
Drew divinely, when great Jove
Gently thrilled the brize-stung heifer3
With his procreant touch, and breathed
Godlike virtue on her womb.
Where on Earth should we hope refuge
On more friendly ground than this,
In our hands these green boughs bearing
Wreathed with precatory wool?†
Ye blissful gods supremely swaying4
Land and city, and lucid streams;
And ye in sepulchres dark, severely
Worshipped ’neath the sunless ground;
And thou, the third, great Jove the Saviour,
Guardian of all holy homes,
With your spirit gracious-wafted,
Breathe fair welcome on this band
Of suppliant maids But in the depth
Of whirling waves engulph the swarm
Of insolent youths, Ægyptus’ sons,
Them, and their sea-cars swiftly oared,
Ere this slimy shore receive
Their hated footprint. Let them labour,
With wrath-spitting seas confronted.
By the wild storm wintry-beating,
Thunder-crashing, lightning flashing,
By the tyrannous blast shower-laden
Let them perish, ere they mount
Marriage beds which right refuses,5
Us, their father’s brother’s daughters
To their lawless yoke enthralling!

TheChorusassemble in a band round the centre of the Orchestra, and sing the Choral Hymn.

STROPHE I.
Give ear to our prayer, we implore thee,
Thou son, and the mother that bore thee—
The calf and the heifer divine!*
From afar be thine offspring’s avenger,
Even thou, once a beautiful ranger
O’er these meads with the grass-cropping kine!
And thou, whom she bore to her honor,
When the breath of the Highest was on her,
And the touch of the finger divine;
Thine ear, mighty god, we implore thee
To the prayer of thine offspring incline!

ANTISTROPHE I.
O Thou who with blessing anointed,
Wert born when by Fate ’twas appointed,
With thy name to all ages a sign!†
In this land of the mother that bore thee,
Her toils we remember before thee,
Where she cropped the green mead with the kine.
O strange were her fortunes, and stranger
The fate that hath chased me from danger
To the home of the heifer divine.
O son, with the mother that bore thee,
Stamp my tale with thy truth for a sign!

STROPHE AND ANTISTROPHE II.
While we cry, should there haply be near us
An Argive, an augur,* to hear us,
When our shrill-piercing wail
His ear shall assail,
’Tis the cry he will deem, and none other,
Of Procne, the woe-wedded mother,
The hawk-hunted nightingale;†
Sad bird, when its known streams it leaveth,
And with fresh-bleeding grief lonely grieveth,
And telleth the tale,
With a shrill-voiced wail,
How the son that she loved, and none other,
Was slain by his fell-purposed mother,
The woe-wedded nightingale!

STROPHE III.
Even so from the Nile summer-tinted,
With Ionian wailings unstinted,6
My cheek with the keen nail I tear;
And I pluck, where it bloweth,
Grief’s blossom that groweth
In this heart first acquainted with care;
And I fear the fierce band,
From the far misty land,7
Whom the swift ships to Argos may bear.

ANTISTROPHE III.
Ye gods of my race, seeing clearly
The right which ye cherish so dearly,
To the haughty your hatred declare!
’Gainst the right ye will never
Chaste virgins deliver,
The bed of the lawless to share;
From the god-fenced altar
Each awe-struck assaulter
Back shrinks. Our sure bulwark is there.

STROPHE IV.
O would that Jove might show to men
His counsel as he planned it,
But ah! he darky weaves the scheme,
No mortal eye hath scanned it.
It burns through darkness brightly clear
To whom the god shall show it;
But mortal man, through cloudy fear,
Shall search in vain to know it.

ANTISTROPHE IV.
Firm to the goal his purpose treads,
His will knows no frustration;
When with his brow the mighty god
Hath nodded consummation
But strangely, strangely weave their maze
His counsels, dusky wending,
Concealed in densely-tangled ways
From human comprehending.

STROPHE V.
From their high-towering hopes the proud
In wretched rout he casteth.
No force he wields; his simple will,
His quiet sentence blasteth.
All godlike power is calm;8 and high
On thrones of glory seated,
Jove looks from Heaven with tranquil eye,
And sees his will completed.

ANTISTROPHE V.
Look down, O mighty god, and see
How this harsh wedlock planning,
That dry old tree in saplings green,
The insolent lust is fanning!
Madly he hugs the frenzied plan
With perverse heart unbending,
Hot-spurred, till Ruin seize the man,
Too late to think of mending.

STROPHE VI.
Ah! well-a-day! ah! well-a-day!9
Thus sadly I hymn the sorrowful lay,
With a shrill-voiced cry,
With a sorrow-streaming eye,
Well-a-day, woe’s me!
Thus I grace my own tomb with the wail pouring free,
Thus I sing my own dirge, ah me!*
Ye Apian hills, be kind to me,
And throw not back the stranger’s note,
But know the Libyan wail.
Behold how, rent to sorrow’s note,
My linen robes all loosely float,
And my Sidonian veil.

ANTISTROPHE VI.
Ah! well-a-day! ah! well-a-day!
My plighted vows I’ll duly pay,
Ye gods, if ye will save
From the foe, and from the grave
My trembling life set free!
Surges high, surges high, sorrow’s many-billowed sea,
And woe towers on woe. Ah me!
Ye Apian hills,10 be kind to me,
And throw not back the stranger’s note
But know the Libyan wail!
Behold how, rent to sorrow’s note,
My linen robes all loosely float,
And my Sidonian veil!

STROPHE VII.
And yet, in that slight timbered house, well-armed
With frequent-plashing oar,
Stiff sail and cordage straining, all unharmed
By winter’s stormy roar,
We reached this Argive shore.
Safely so far. May Jove, the all-seeing, send
As the beginning, so the prosperous end.
And may he grant, indeed,
That we, a gracious mother’s gracious seed,
By no harsh kindred wooed,
May live on Apian ground unyoked and unsubdued!

ANTISTROPHE VII.
May she, the virgin daughter of high Jove,*
Our virgin litany hear,
Our loving homage answering with more love!
She that, with face severe,
Repelled, in awful fear,
Each rude aggressor, in firm virtue cased,
Nor knew the lustful touch divinely chaste.
And may she grant, indeed,
That we, a gracious mother’s gracious seed,
By no harsh kindred wooed,
May live on Apian ground unyoked and unsubdued.

STROPHE VIII.
But if no aid to us may be,
Libya’s swart sun-beaten daughters,
The rope shall end our toils; and we,
Beneath the ground, shall fare to thee,
Thou many-guested Jove,†
To thee our suppliant boughs we’ll spread,
Thou Saviour of the weary Dead,
Far from the shining thrones of blissful gods above.
Ah, Jove too well we know
What wrath divine scourged ancient Io, wailing
Beneath thy consort’s anger heaven-scaling;
And even so,
On Io’s seed may blow
A buffeting blast from her of black despairful woe.

ANTISTROPHE VIII.
O Jove, how then wilt thou be free
From just reproach of Libya’s daughters,
If thou in us dishonoured see
Him whom the heifer bore to thee
Whom thou didst chiefly love.
If thou from us shalt turn thy face,
What suppliant then shall seek thy grace?
O hear my prayer enthroned in loftiest state above!
For well, too well, we know
What wrath divine scourged ancient Io, wailing
Beneath thy consort’s anger heaven-scaling;
And even so,
On Io’s seed may blow
A buffeting blast from her of black despairful woe

EnterDanaus.

Danaus.

Be wise, my daughters. In no rash flight with me,
A hoary father, and a faithful pilot,
Ye crossed the seas; nor less is wisdom needful
Ashore; be wise, and on your heart’s true tablet
Engrave my words. For lo! where mounts the dust,
A voiceless herald of their coming; hear
Their distant-rumbling wheels! A host I see
Of bright shield-bearing and spear-shaking men,
Swift steeds, and rounded cars.11 Of our here landing,
Timely apprised, the chiefs that rule this country
Come with their eyes to read us. But be their coming
Harmless, or harsh with fell displeasure, here
On this high-seat of the Agonian gods12
Is safety for my daughters; for an altar
Is a sure tower of strength, a shield that bears
The rattling terror dintless. Go ye, therefore,
Embrace these altars, in your sistered hands13
These white-wreathed precatory boughs presenting,
Which awful Jove reveres; and with choice phrase
Wisely your pity-moving tale-commend
When they shall ask you; as becomes the stranger,
The bloodless motive of your flight declaring
With clear recital The bold tongue eschewing,
With sober-fronted face and quiet eye
Your tale unfold. The garrulous prate, the length
Of slow-drawn speech beware. Such fault offends
This people sorely. Chiefly know to yield:
Thou art the weaker—a poor helpless stranger—
The bold-mouthed phrase suits ill with thy condition.

Chorus.

Father, thou speakest wisely: nor unwisely
Thy words would we receive, in memory’s ward
Storing thy hests; ancestral Jove be witness!

Danaus.

Even so; and with benignant eye look down!14

EnterKing.

King.

Whom speak we here? Whence come? Certes no Greeks.
Your tire rich-flaunting with barbaric pride
Bespeaks you strangers. Argos knows you not,
Nor any part of Greece. Strange surely ’tis
That all unheralded, unattended all,
And of no host the acknowledged guest, unfearing
Ye tread this land.19 If these boughs, woolly-wreathed,
That grace the altars of the Agonian gods
Speak what to Greeks they should speak, ye are suppliants.
Thus much I see: what more remains to guess
I spare; yourselves have tongues to speak the truth.

Chorus.

That we are strangers is most true; but whom
See we in thee? a citizen? a priest?
A temple warder with his sacred wand?
The ruler of the state?

King.

Speak with a fearless tongue, and plainly. I
Of old earth-born Palæcthon am the son,20
My name Pelasgus, ruler of this land;
And fathered with my name the men who reap
Earth’s fruits beneath my sway are called Pelasgi;
And all the land where Algos flows, and Strymon,21
Toward the westering sun my sceptre holds.
My kingdom the Perrhæbians bound, and those
Beyond high Pindus, by Pæonia, and
The Dodonéan heights; the briny wave
Completes the circling line; within these bounds
I rule; but here, where now thy foot is planted,
The land is Apia, from a wise physician
Of hoary date so called. He, from Naupactus,
Apollo’s son, by double right, physician
And prophet both,22 crossed to this coast, and freed it
By holy purifyings, from the plague
Of man-destroying monsters, which the ground
With ancient taint of blood polluted bore.
This plague his virtue medicinal healed,
That we no more unfriendly fellowship
Hold with the dragon-brood. Such worthy service
With thankful heart the Argive land received,
And Apis lives remembered in her prayers.
Of this from me assured, now let me hear
Your whence, and what your purpose. Briefly speak;
This people hates much phrase.

Chorus.

Our tale is short.
We by descent are Argives, from the seed
Of the heifer sprung, whose womb was blest in bearing;
And this in every word we can confirm
By manifest proofs.

King.

That ye are Argives, this
My ear receives not; an unlikely tale!
Like Libyan women rather; not a line
I trace in you that marks our native race.
Nile might produce such daughters; ye do bear
A Cyprian character in your female features,
The impressed likeness of some plastic male.*
Of wandering Indians I have heard, that harness
Camels for mules, huge-striding, dwelling near
The swarthy Æthiop land; ye may be such;
Or, had ye war’s accoutrement, the bow,
Ye might be Amazons, stern, husband-hating,
Flesh-eating maids. But speak, that I may know
The truth. How vouch ye your descent from Argos?

Chorus.

They say that Io, on this Argive ground,
Erst bore the keys to Hera,23 then ’tis said,
So runs the general rumour—24

King.

I have heard.
Was it not so, Jove with the mortal maid
Mingled in love?

Chorus.

Even so; in love they mingled,
Deceiving Hera’s bed.

King.

And how then ended
The Olympian strife?

Chorus.

Enraged, the Argive goddess
To a heifer changed the maid.

King.

And the god came
To the fair horned heifer?

Chorus.

Like a leaping bull,
Transformed he came,25 so the hoar legend tells.

King.

Argives in sooth ye seem,
By old descent participant of the soil;
But by what stroke of sore mischance harsh-smitten,
Dared ye to wander from your native seats?

Chorus.

Pelasgian prince, a motley-threaded web
Is human woe; a wing of dappled plumes.
Past hope and faith it was that we, whose blood
From Argive Io flows, to Io’s city,
In startled flight, should measure back our way,
To escape from hated marriage.

King.

How say’st thou?
To escape from marriage thou art here, displaying
These fresh-cropt branches, snowy-wreathed, before
The Agonian gods?

Chorus

Ay! Never, never may we
Be thralled to Ægyptus’ sons!

King.

Speak’st thou of hate
To them, or of a bond your laws forbid?

Chorus.

Both this and that.27 Who should be friends were foes,
And blood with blood near-mingled basely flows

King.

But branch on branch well grafted goodlier grows

Chorus.

Urge not this point; but rather think one word
From thee the wretched rescues.

King.

How then shall I
My friendly disposition show?

Chorus.

We ask
But this—from our pursuers save us.

King.

What!
Shall I for unknown exiles breed a war?

Chorus.

Justice will fight for him who fights for us.

King.

Doubtless; if Justice from the first hath stamped
Your cause for hers.

Chorus[pointing to the altar].

The state’s high poop here crowned Revere.

King.

This green environment of shade,
Mantling the seats of the gods I see, and shudder.

Chorus.

The wrath of suppliant Jove28 is hard to bear.

STROPHE I.
O hear my cry, benignly hear!
Thou son of Palæcthon, hear me!
The fugitive wandering suppliant hear!
Thou king of Pelasgians, hear me!
Like a heifer young by the wolf pursued29
O’er the rocks so cliffy and lonely,
And loudly it lows to the herdsman good,
Whose strength can save it only.

King

My eyes are tasked; there, ’neath the shielding shade
Of fresh-lopt branches I behold you clinging
To these Agonian gods; but what I do
Must spare the state from harm. I must provide
That no unlooked-for unprepared event
Beget new strife; of this we have enough.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Chorus.

Great Jove that allotteth their lot to all,
By his sentence of right shall clear thee,
Dread Themis that heareth the suppliants’ call,
No harm shall allow to come near thee.
Though I speak to the old with the voice of the young,
Do the will of the gods, and surely
Their favour to thee justly weighed shall belong,
When thy gifts thou offerest purely.

King.

Not at my hearth with precatory boughs
Ye lie. The state, if guilty taint from you
Affect the general weal, will for the state
Take counsel. I nor pledge nor promise give,
Till all the citizens hear what thou shalt say.

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

Thou art the state, and the people art thou,30
The deed that thou doest who judges?
The hearth and the altar before thee bow,
The grace that thou grantest who grudges?
Thou noddest, the will that thou willest is thine,
Thy vote with no voter thou sharest;
The throne is all thine, and the sceptre divine,
And thy guilt, when thou sinnest, thou bearest.

King

Guilt lie on those that hate me! but your prayers
Harmless I may not hear; and to reject them
Were harsh. To do, and not to do alike
Perplex me; on the edge of choice I tremble.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus.

Him worship who sitteth a watchman in Heaven,
And looks on this life of our labour;
Nor looketh in vain, when the wretched is driven
From the gate of his pitiless neighbour.
On our knees when we fall, and for mercy we call,
If his right thou deny to the stranger,
Jove shall look on thy home, from his thunder dome,
Sternly wrathful, the suppliants’ avenger.

King.

But if Ægyptus’ sons shall claim you, pleading
Their country’s laws, and their near kinship, who
Shall dare to stand respondent? You must plead
Your native laws, so the laws plead for you,
And speak you free from who would force your love.

STROPHE III.

Chorus.

Ah ne’er to the rough-handed youth let me yield,
But rather alone, ’neath the wide starry field,
Let me wander, an outcast, a stranger!
The ill-sorted yoke I abhor: and do thou,
With Justice to second thee, judge for me now,
And fear Him above, the Avenger!

King.

Not I shall judge: it is no easy judgment.
What I have said, I said. Without the people
I cannot do this thing;31 being absolute king,
I would not. Justly, if mischance shall follow,
The popular tongue will blame the ruler, who,
To save the stranger, ruined his own flock.

ANTISTROPHE III.

Chorus.

Where kindred with kindred contendeth in war,
Jove looks on the strife, and decides from afar,
Where he holdeth the scales even-handed,*
O why wilt thou doubt to declare for the right?
He blesseth the good, but in anger will smite,
Where the sons of the wicked are banded.

King.

To advise for you in such confounding depths,
My soul should be a diver, to plunge down
Far in the pool profound with seeing eye,
And feel no dizziness. ’Tis no light matter
Here to unite your safety and the state’s.
If that your kindred claim you as their right,
And we withstand, a bloody strife ensues.
If from these altars of the gods we tear you,
Your chosen refuge, we shall surely bring
The all-destroying god, the stern Alastor,*
To house with us, whom not the dead in Hades
Can flee. Is here no cause to ponder well?

STROPHE I.

Chorus.

Ponder well,
With thee to dwell,
A righteous-minded host receive us!
Weary-worn,
Exiles lorn,
From the godless men that grieve us
Save to-day;
Nor cast-a-way
Homeless, houseless, hopeless leave us!

ANTISTROPHE I.
Shall rash assaulters
From these altars
Rudely drag the friendless stranger?
Thou art king,
’Neath thy wing
Cowers in vain the weak from danger?
Thy terror show
To our fierce foe,
Fear, O fear our High Avenger!

STROPHE II.
Where they see
The gods and thee,
Shall their lawless will not falter?
Shall they tear
My floating hair,
As a horse dragged by the halter?
Wilt thou bear
Him to tear
My frontlets fair,
My linen robes—the bold assaulter?

ANTISTROPHE II.
One the danger,
If the stranger
Thou reject, or welcome wisely;
For thee and thine
To Mars a fine
Thou shalt pay the same precisely:
From Egypt far
Fearing war,
Thou shalt mar
Thy peace with mighty Jove, not wisely.

King.

Both ways I’m marred. Even here my wits are stranded.
With these or those harsh war to make, strong Force
Compels my will. Nailed am I like a vessel
Screwed to the dock, beneath the shipwright’s tool.
Which way I turn is woe. A plundered house
By grace of possessory Jove32 may freight
New ships with bales that far outweigh the loss;
And a rash tongue that overshoots the mark
With barbéd phrase that harshly frets the heart,
With one smooth word, may charm the offence away.
But ere the sluice of kindred blood be opened,
With vows and victims we must pray the gods
Importunate, if perchance such fateful harm
They may avert. Myself were little wise
To mingle in this strife: of such a war
Most ignorant is most blest: but may the gods
Deceive my fears, and crown your hopes with blessing!

Chorus.

These gods shall see me
Here hanging from their shrines.

King.

Hush, maiden! Hush!
Thy words pierce through my marrow!

Chorus.

Thou hast heard
No blind enigma now. I gave it eyes.

King.

Alas! with vast environment of ills
I’m hedged all round. Misfortune, like a sea,
Comes rushing in: the deep unfathomed flood
I fear to cross, and find no harbour nigh.
Thy prayer if I refuse, black horror rises
Before me, that no highest-pointed aim
May overshoot. If posted fore these walls
I give thy kindred battle, I shall be
Amerced with bitter loss, who reckless dared
For woman’s sake to incarnadine the plain
With brave men’s blood. Yet I perforce must fear
The wrath of suppliant Jove, than which no terror
Awes human hearts more strongly. Take these branches,
Thou aged father of these maids, and place them
On other altars of the native gods,
Where they may speak, true heralds of thy mission,
To all the citizens: and, mark me, keep
My words within thy breast: for still the people
To spy a fault in whoso bears authority
Have a most subtle sight. Trust your good cause.
Thy pitiful tale may move their righteous ire
Against your haughty-hearted persecutors,
And ’neath their wings they’ll shield you. The afflicted
Plead for themselves: their natural due is kindness.

Danaus.

Your worth we know to prize, and at their weight
Our high protector’s friendly words we value.
But send, we pray, attendant guides to show us
The pillar-compassed seats divine,33 the altars
That stand before their temples, who protect
This city and this land, and to insure
Our safety mid the people: for our coming
(Being strangers from the distant Nile, and not
Like you that drink the stream of Inachus
In features or in bearing) might seem strange.
Too bold an air might rouse suspicion; men
Oft-times have slain their best friends unawares.

King[to the Attendants].

See him escorted well! conduct him
hence
To the altars of the city, to the shrines
Of the protecting gods, wasting no speech
On whom you meet. Attend the suppliant stranger!

[Exeunt Attendants withDanaus.

Chorus.

These words to him: and, with his sails well trimmed,
Fair be his voyage! But I, what shall I do,
My anchor where?

King.

Here leave these boughs that prove
Thy sorrows.

Chorus.

Here at thy rever’d command
I leave them.

King.

Thy father will return anon, meanwhile
I go to call the assembly of the people,34
And in thy favour move them, if I can.
Thy father, too, I’ll aptly train, how he
Should woo their favour. Wait ye here, and pray
The native gods to crown your heart’s desire
I go to speed the business; may Persuasion
And Chance, with happy issue pregnant, guide me!

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
King of all kings, high-blest above
Each blest celestial nature,
Strength of the strong, all-glorious Jove,
All crowning Consummator!35
Hear thou our prayer: the proud confound;
With hate pursue the hateful,
And plunge in purpling pools profound
The black-bench’d bark, the fateful!

ANTISTROPHE I.
Our ancient line from thee we trace
Our root divinely planted;
Look on these sisters with the grace
To that loved maid once granted,
Our mother Io; and renew
Sweet memory in the daughters
Of her thy gentle touch who knew
By Nile’s deep-rolling waters.

STROPHE II.
Here, even here, where ’mid the browsing kine,
My Argive mother fed her eye divine,
With rich mead’s flowery store,
My Libyan foot I’ve planted; hence by the brize36
Divinely fretted with fitful oar she hies37
From various shore to shore,
God-madded wanderer. Twice the billowy wave
She crossed; and twice her fated name she gave
To the wide sea’s straitened roar.

ANTISTROPHE II.
Spurred through the Asian land with swiftest speed
She fled, where Phrygian flocks far-pasturing feed
Then restless travelled o’er
Mysia, where Teuthras holds his fortress high,
Cilician and Pamphylian heights, and nigh
Where roaring waters pour
From fountains ever fresh their torrent floods,
And Aphrodite’s land whose loamy roods
Swell with the wheaten store.*

STROPHE III.
Thence by her wingéd keeper stung, she speeds
To the land divine, the many-nurturing meads,
And to the snow-fed stream,
Which like impetuous Typhon,† vasty pours
Its purest waves, that the salubrious shores
From pestilent taint redeem.‡
Here from harsh Hera’s madly-goading pest,
From hattering chase of undeserved unrest,
At length by the holy stream

ANTISTROPHE III.
She rests. Pale terror smote their hearts who saw
The unwonted sight beheld with startled awe
The thronging sons of Nile;
Nor dared to approach this thing of human face,38
Portentous-mingled with the lowing race,
Treading the Libyan soil.
Who then was he, the brize-stung Io’s friend,
With charms of soothing virtue strong to end
Her weary-wandering toil?

STROPHE IV.
Jove, mighty Jove, Heaven’s everlasting king,
He soft-inspiring came,
And with fond force innocuous heals her ills;
She from her eyes in lucent drops distils
The stream of sorrowful shame,
And in her womb from Jove a burden bore,
A son of blameless fame,
Who with his prosperous life long blessed the Libyan shore

ANTISTROPHE IV.
Far-pealed the land with jubilant shout—from Jove,
From Jove it surely came,
This living root of a far-branching line!
For who but Jove prevailed, with power divine,
Harsh Hera’s wrath to tame?
Such the great work of Jove; and we are such,
O Jove, our race who claim
From him whose name declares the virtue of thy touch.

STROPHE V.
For whom more justly shall my hymn be chaunted
Than thee, above all gods that be, high-vaunted,
Root of my race, great Jove;
Prime moulder from whose plastic-touching hand
Life leaps: thine ancient-minded counsels stand,
Thou all-devising Jove.

ANTISTROPHE V.
High-throned above the highest as the lowest,
Beyond thee none, and mightier none thou knowest,
The unfearing, all-feared one.
When his deep thought takes counsel to fulfil,
No dull delays clog Jove’s decided will,39
He speaks, and it is done.

EnterDanaus.

Danaus.

Be of good cheer, my daughters! All is well,
The popular voice hath perfected our prayers.

Chorus.

Hail father, bearer of good news: but say,
How was the matter stablished? and how far
Prevailed the people’s uplifted hands to save us?

Danaus.

Not doubtingly, but with a bold decision,
That made my old heart young again to see’t.
With one acclaim, a forest of right hands
Rose through the hurtled air. These Libyan exiles—
So ran the popular will—shall find a home
In Argos, free, and from each robber hand
Inviolate, the native or the stranger,
And, whoso holding Argive land refuses
To shield these virgins from the threatened force,
Disgrace shall brand him, and the popular vote
Oust him from Argos. Such response the king
Persuasive forced, with wise admonishment;
Urging the wrath of Jove, which else provoked
Would fatten on our woes, and the twin wrong
To you the stranger, and to them the city,
Pollution at their gate, a fuel to feed
Ills without end. These words the Argive people
Answered with suffragating hands, nor waited
The herald’s call to register their votes:
Just eloquence ruled their willing ear, and Jove
Crowned their fair purpose with the perfect deed.

[Exit.

Chorus.

Come then, sisters, pour we freely
Grateful prayers for Argive kindness;
Jove, the stranger’s friend, befriend us,
While from stranger’s mouth sincerest
Here we voice the hymn,
To a blameless issue, surely,
Jove will guide the fate.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Jove-born gods, benignly bending,
Look, we pray, with eyes befriending,
On these Argive halls!
Ne’er may Mars, the wanton daring,
With his shrill trump, joyless-blaring,
Wrap, in wild flames, fiercely flaring,
These Pelasgian walls!
Go! thy gory harvest reaping
Far from us: thy bloody weeping
Distant tribes may know.
Bless, O Jove, this Argive nation!
They have heard the supplication
Of thy suppliants low;
Where the swooping Fate abased us,
They with Mercy’s vote upraised us
From the prostrate woe!

ANTISTROPHE I.
Not with the male, the stronger, erring,
But, woman’s weaker cause preferring,
Stood their virtue proof:
Wisely Jove, the Avenger, fearing,
To the chastened eye appearing,
High his front of wrath up-rearing
’Gainst the guilty roof.
For heavily, heavily weighs the Alastor,
Scapeless, and, with sore disaster,
Sinks the sinner low.
Bless, O Jove, this Argive nation,
That knew their kindred’s supplication,
And saved them from the foe:
And when their vows they pay, then surely
Gifts from clean hands offered purely
Thou in grace shalt know.

STROPHE II.
High these suppliant branches raising,
Sisters, ancient Argos praising,
Pour the grateful strain!
Far from thy Pelasgian portals
Dwell black Plague, from drooping mortals
Ebbing life to drain!
May’st thou see the crimson river
From fierce home-bred slaughter, never
Flowing o’er thy plain!
Far from thee the youth-consuming
Blossom-plucking strife!
The harsh spouse of Aphrodite,
Furious Mars in murder mighty,
Where he sees thy beauty blooming,
Spare his blood-smeared knife!

ANTISTROPHE II
May a reverend priesthood hoary
Belt thy shrines, their chiefest glory,
With an holy band!
By the bountiful libation,
By the blazing pile, this nation
Shall securely stand.
Jove, the great All-ruler, fearing,
Jove, the stranger’s stay, revering,
Ye shall save the land;
Jove, sure-throned above all cavil,
Rules by ancient right,
May just rulers never fail thee!
Holy Hecate’s aid avail thee,40
To thy mothers when in travail
Sending labours light!

STROPHE III.
May no wasting march of ruin
Work, O Argos, thine undoing!
Never may’st thou hear
Cries of Mars, the shrill, the lyreless!
Ne’er may tearful moans, and quireless,
Wake the sleeper’s ear!
Far from thee the shapes black-trooping
Of disease, delightless-drooping!
May the blazing death-winged arrow
Of the Sun-god spare the marrow
Of thy children dear!

ANTISTROPHE III.
Mighty Jove, the gracious giver,
With his full-sheaved bounty ever
Crown the fruited year!
Flocks that graze before thy dwelling
With rich increase yearly swelling
The prosperous ploughman cheer!
May the gods no grace deny thee,
And the tuneful Muses nigh thee,
With exuberant raptures brimming,
From virgin throats thy praises hymning
Hold the charmèd ear!

STROPHE IV.
O’er the general weal presiding,
They that rule with far-providing
Wisdom sway, and stably-guiding,
Changeful counsels mar!
Timely with each foreign nation
Leagues of wise conciliation
Let them join, fierce wars avoiding,
From sharp losses far!

ANTISTROPHE IV.
The native gods, strong to deliver,
With blood of oxen free-poured ever,
With laurel-branches failing never,
Piously adore!
Honour thy parents: spurn not lightly
This prime statute sanctioned rightly,
Cling to this, a holy liver,
Steadfast evermore!

Re-enterDanaus.

Danaus.

Well hymned, my daughters! I commend your prayers;
But brace your hearts, nor fear, though I, your father,
Approach the bearer of unlooked-for news.
For from this consecrated hold of gods
I spy the ship; too gallantly it peers
To cheat mine eye. The sinuous sail I see,
The bulging fence-work on each side,41 the prow
Fronted with eyes to track its watery way,42
True to the steerman’s hint that sits behind,
And with no friendly bearing On the deck
Appear the crew, their swarthy limbs more swart
By snow-white vests revealed: a goodly line
Of succour in the rear: but in the van
The admiral ship, with low-furled sail makes way
By the swift strokes of measured-beating oars.
Wait calmly ye, and with well-counselled awe
Cling to the gods; the while ye watch their coming,
Myself will hence, and straight return with aid
To champion our need.43 For I must look for
Some herald or ambassador claiming you,
Their rightful prey, forthwith; but fear ye not,
Their harsh will may not be. This warning take
Should we with help be slow, remain you here
Nor leave these gods, your strength. Faint not: for surely
Comes the appointed hour, and will not stay,
When godless men to Jove just fine shall pay.

STROPHE I.

Chorus.

Father, I tremble, lest the fleet-winged ships,
Ere thou return, shall land—soon—very soon!
O father, I tremble to stay, and not flee,
When the bands of the ruthless are near!
My flight to foreclose from the chase of my foes!
O father, I faint for fear!

Danaus.

Fear not, my children. The accomplished vote
Of Argos saves you. They are champions sworn.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Chorus.

They come—destruction’s minions mad with hate,
Of fight insatiate: well thou know’st the men.
With their host many-counted, their ships dark-fronted,44
They are near, O father, how near!
Their ships stoutly-timbered, their crews swarthy-membered,
Triumphant in wrath I fear!

Danaus.

Even let them come. They’ll find their match in Argos;
A strong-limbed race with noon-day sweats well hardened.45

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

Only not leave me! Pray thee, father, stay!
Weak is a lonely woman. No Mars is in her.46
Dark-counselled, false, cunning-hearted are they,
Unholy, as obscene crows
On the feast of the altar that filthily prey;
They fear not the gods, my foes!

Danaus.

’Twill make our cause the stronger, daughters, if
Their crime be sacrilege, and their foes the gods.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus.

The trident and the sacred blazonry
Will not repel their violent hands, O father!
They are proud, haughty-hearted, a high-blown race;
They are hot, they are mad for the fray!
With the hound in their heart, and the dog in their face,
They will tear from the altar their prey.

Danaus.

Dogs let them be, the world has wolves to master them!
And good Greek corn is better than papyrus.47

Chorus.

Being reasonless as brutes, unholy monsters,
And spurred with wrath we must beware their fury.

Danaus.

’Tis no light work to land a fleet. To find
Safe roads, sure anchorage, and to make fast
The cables, this not with mere thought is done.
The shepherds of the ships48 are slow to feel
Full confidence, the more that on this coast
Harbours are few.49 Besides, thou see’st the sun
Slants to the night; and still a prudent pilot
Fears in the dark. No man will disembark,
Trust me, till all are firmly anchored. Thou
Through all thy terrors still cling to the gods,
Thy most sure stay. Thy safety’s pledged. For me
I’m old, but with the tongue of fluent youth
I’ll speak for thee, a pleader without blame.

[Exit.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
O hilly land, high-honoured land,
What wait we now, poor fugitive band?
Some dark, dark cave
Show me, within thy winding strand,
To hide and save!
Would I might vanish in smoke, ascending
To Heaven, with Jove’s light clouds dim-blending
In misty air,
Like wingless, viewless dust, and ending
In nothing there!

ANTISTROPHE I.
’Tis more than heart may bear. Quick Fear
My quaking life with dusky drear
Alarm surroundeth!
My father spied my ruin: sheer
Despair confoundeth.
Sooner, high-swung from fatal rope,
Here may I end both life and hope,
And strong Death bind me,
Than hated hearts shall reach their scope,
And shame shall find me!

STROPHE II.
Would I were throned in ether high,
Where snows are born, and through the sky
The white rack skurries! Would that I
Might sit sublime
On a hanging cliff where lone winds sigh,50
Where human finger never showed
The far-perched vultures’ drear abode,
Nor goat may climb!
Thence sheer to leap, and end for ever
My life and name,
Ere forceful hands this heart deliver
To married shame!

ANTISTROPHE II.
There, where no friendly foot may stray,
There let me lie, my limbs a prey
To dogs and birds: I not gainsay:
’Twas wisely said,
Free from much woe who dies to-day
Shall be to-morrow. Rather than wedded
To whom I hate, let me be bedded
Now with the dead!
Or if there be, my life to free,
A way, declare it,
Ye gods!—a surgeon’s cut for me,
My heart shall bear it!

STROPHE III.
Voice ye your sorrow! with the cry
Of doleful litany pierce the sky!
For freedom, for quick rescue cry
To him above!
Ruler of Earth, look from thy throne,
With eyes of love!
These deeds of violence wilt thou own,
Nor know thy prostrate suppliant’s groan,
Almighty Jove?

ANTISTROPHE III.
Ægyptus’ sons, a haughty race,
Follow my flight with sleepless chase,
With whoop and bay they scent my trace
To force my love
Thy beam is true; both good and ill
Thy sure scales prove,
Thou even-handed! Mortals still
Reap fair fulfilment from thy will,
All-crowning Jove.

Chorus,in separate voices, and short hurried exclamations:51

Voice 1.

Ah me! he lands! he leaps ashore!
He strides with ruffian hands to hale us!

Voice 2.

Cry, sisters, cry! swift help implore!
If here to cry may aught avail us!

Voice 3.

Ah me! ’tis but the muffled roar
Of forceful storms soon to assail us!

Voice 1.

Flee to the gods! to the altars cling!

Voice 2.

By sea, by land, the ruthless foe
Grimly wantons in our woe!

Voice 3.

Beneath thy wing shield us, O king!

EnterHerald.

Herald.

Hence to the ships! to the good ships fare ye!52
Swiftly as your feet may bear ye!

Chorus.

Tear us! tear us!
Rend us rather,
Torture and tear us!
From this body
Cut the head!
Gorily gather
Us to the dead!

Herald.

Hence to the ships, away! away!
A curse on you, and your delay!
O’er the briny billowy way
Thou shalt go to-day, to-day!
Wilt thou stand, a mulish striver,
I can spur, a forceful driver;
Deftly, deftly, thou shalt trip
To the stoutly-timbered ship!
If to yield thou wilt not know,
Gorily, gorily thou shalt go!
An’ thou be not madded wholly,
Know thy state, and quit thy folly!

Chorus.

Help, ho! help, ho! help!

Herald.

To the ships! to the ships away with me!
These gods of Argos what reck we?

Chorus.

Never, O never
The nurturing river,
Of life the giver,
The healthful flood
That quickens the blood
Let me behold!
An Argive am I,*
From Inachus old,
These gods deny
Thy claim. Withhold!

Herald.

To the ships, to the ships, with march not slow,
Will ye, nill ye, ye must go!
Quickly, quickly, hence away!
Know thy master and obey!
Ere a worse thing thou shalt know—
Blows and beating—gently go!

STROPHE I.

Chorus.

Worse than worsest
May’st thou know!
As thou cursest,
Curst be so!
The briny billow
O’er thee flow!
On sandy pillow
Bedded low,
’Neath Sarpedon’s breezy brow,*
With the shifting sands shift thou!

Herald.

Scream—rend your robes in rags!—call on the gods!
The Egyptian bark thou shalt not overleap.
Pour ye the bitter bootless wail at will!

ANTISTROPHE I.

Chorus.

With fierce heart swelling
To work my woe,
With keen hate yelling
Barks the foe.
Broad Nile welling
O’er thee flow!
Find thy dwelling
Bedded low,
’Neath the towering Libyan waters,
Towering thou ’gainst Libya’s daughters!

Herald.

To the ships! to the ships! the swift ships even-oared!
Quickly! no laggard shifts! the hand that drags thee
Will lord it o’er thy locks, not gently handled!

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

O father, oh!
From the altar
The assaulter
Drags me to my woe!
Step by step, a torturing guider,
Like the slowly-dragging spider,
Cruel-minded so
Like a dream,
A dusky dream,
My hope away doth go!
O Earth, O Earth,
From death redeem!
O Earth, O Jove deliver!

Herald.

Your Argive gods I know not; they nor nursed
My infant life, nor reared my riper age.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus.

O father, oh!
From the altar
The assaulter
Drags me to my woe!
A snake two-footed fiercely fretted
Swells beside me! from his whetted
Fangs, black death doth flow!
Like a dream,
A dusky dream,
My hope is vanished so!
O Earth, O Earth,
From death redeem!
O Earth, O Jove deliver!

Herald.

To the ships! to the ships! Obey! I say, obey!
Pity thy robes, if not thy flesh—away!

STROPHE III.

Chorus.

Ye chiefs of the city,
By force they subdue me!

Herald.

Well! I must drag thee by the hair! come! come!
Point thy dull ears, and hear me!—come! come! come!

ANTISTROPHE III.

Chorus.

I’m lost! I’m ruined!
O king, they undo me!

Herald.

Thou shalt see kings enough anon, believe me,
Ægyptus’ sons—kingless thou shalt not die.

EnterKingwith Attendants.

King.

Fellow, what wouldst thou? With what purpose here
Dost flout this land of brave Pelasgian men?
Deem’st thou us women? A barbarian truly
Art thou, if o’er the Greek to sport it thus
The fancy tempts thee. Nay, but thou art wrong
Both root and branch in this

Herald.

How wrong? Speak plainly.

King.

Thou art a stranger here, and dost not know
As a stranger how to bear thee.

Herald.

This I know,
I lost my own, and what I lost I found.

King.

Thy patrons* who, on this Pelasgian ground?

Herald.

To find stray goods the world all over, Hermes
Is prince of patrons53

King.

Hermes is a god,
Thou, therefore, fear the gods

Herald.

And I do fear
The gods of the Nile.

King.

We too have gods in Argos.

Herald.

So be it: but, in Argos or in Africk,
My own’s my own

King.

Who touches these reaps harm,
And that right soon

Herald.

No friendly word thou speak’st,
To welcome strangers.

King.

Strangers are welcome here;
But not to spoil the gods.

Herald.

These words of thine
To Ægyptus’ sons be spoken, not to me

King.

I take no counsel, or from them, or thee.

Herald.

Thou—who art thou? for I must plainly make
Rehearsal to my masters—this my office
Enforces—both by whom, and why, unjustly
I of this kindred company of women
Am robbed. A serious strife it is; no bandying
Of words from witnesses, no silver passed
From hand to hand will lay such ugly strife;
But man for man must fall, and noblest souls
Must dash their lives away.

King.

For what I am,
You, and your shipmates, soon enough shall know me
These maids, if with the softly suasive word
Thou canst prevail, are thine; to force we never
Will yield the suppliant sisters; thus the people
With one acclaim have voted; ’tis nailed down
Thus to the letter. So it must remain.
Thou hast my answer, not in tablets graven,
Or in the volumed scroll, all stamped and sealed,
But from a free Greek mouth. Dost understand me?
Hence quickly from my sight!

Herald.

Of this be sure,
A war thou stirrest, in which, when once begun,
The males will be the stronger.

King.

We, too, have males
In Argos, lusty-blooded men, who drink
Good wine, not brewed from barley.* As for you,
Ye virgins, fearless follow where these guides
Shall lead. Our city strongly girt with wall,
And high-reared tower receives you. We can boast
Full many a stately mansion; stateliest piled
My palace stands, work of no feeble hands.
Right pleasant ’tis in populous floors to lodge
With many a fellow-tenant: some will find
A greater good in closely severed homes,
That have no common gates: of these thou hast
The ample choice: take what shall like thee most
Know me thy patron, and in all things know
My citizens thy shield, whose vote hath pledged
Thy safety; surer guarantee what wouldst thou?

Chorus.

Blessing for thy blessing given,
Flow to thee, divine Pelasgian!
But for our advisal forthwith
Send, we pray thee, for our father;
He the firm, the far foreseeing,
How to live, and where to lodge us,
Duly shall direct. For ever
Quick to note the faults of strangers
Sways the general tongue; though we
Hope all that’s good and best from thee.

King[to the attendant maids]:

Likewise you, ye maids attendant
For his daughters’ service, wisely
Portioned by the father, here
Be your home secure,
Far from idle-bruited babblings,
’Neath my wing to dwell!

EnterDanaus,attended by an Argive guard.

Danaus.

Daughters! if so the Olympian gods deserve
Your sacrifices, your libations, surely
Argos no less may claim them! Argos truly
Your Saviour in worst need! With eager ears
They drank my tale, indignant the foul deeds
Of our fell-purposed cousinship they heard,
And for my guard this goodly band they set me
Of strong spear-bearing men, lest being slain
By the lurking lance of some insidious foe
My death bring shame to Argos. Such high honor,
From hearts where kindness moves the friendly deed,
They heaped the sire withal, that you, the daughters,
In father’s stead should own them. For the rest,
To the chaste precepts graven on your heart
That oft I gave, one timely warning add,
That time, which proveth all, approve your lives
Before this people; for ’gainst the stranger, calumny
Flows deftly from the tongue, and cheap traducement
Costs not a thought. I charge ye, therefore, daughters,
Your age being such that turns the eyes of men
To ready gaze, in all ye do consult
Your father’s honor: such ripe bloom as yours
No careless watch demands: so fair a flower
Wild beasts and men, monsters of all degrees,
Winged and four-footed, wantonly will tear.
Her luscious-dropping fruits the Cyprian* hangs
In the general view, and publishes their praise;54
That whoso passes, and beholds the pomp
Of shapeliest beauty, feels the charmed dart
That shoots from eye to eye, and vanquished falls
By strong desire. Give, therefore, jealous heed
That our long toils, and ploughing the deep sea
Not fruitless fall; but be your portment such
As breeds no shame to us, nor to our enemies
Laughter. A double lodgment for our use,
One from the state, the other from the king,
Rentless we hold. All things look bright. This only,
Your father’s word, remember. More than life
Hold a chaste heart in honor.

Chorus.

The high Olympians
Grant all thy wish! For us and our young bloom,
Fear nothing, father: for unless the gods
Have forged new counsels, we ev’n to the end
Will tread the trodden path, and will not bend.

CHORAL HYMN.55
STROPHE I.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Lift ye the solemn hymn!
High let your pæans brim!
Praise in your strain
Gods that in glory reign
High o’er the Argive plain,
High o’er each castled hold,
Where Erasinus old*
Winds to the main!

Semi-Chorus 2 [to the attendant maids]:

Sing, happy maids, with me!
Loud with responsive glee
Voice ye the strain!
Praise ye the Argive shore,
Praise holy Nile no more,
Wide where his waters roar,
Mixed with the main!

ANTISTROPHE I.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Lift ye the solemn hymn!
High let your pæans brim!
Praise in your strain
Torrents that bravely swell
Fresh through each Argive dell,
Broad streams that lazily
Wander, and mazily
Fatten the plain.

Semi-Chorus 2.

Sing, sisters, sing with me
Artemis chaste! may she
List to the strain!
Never, O never may
Marriage with fearful sway
Bind me; nor I obey
Hatefullest chain!

STROPHE II.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Yet, mighty praise be thine56
Cyprian queen divine!
Hera, with thee I join,
Nearest to Jove.
Subtly conceiving all,
Wiseliest weaving all,
Thy will achieving all
Nobly by love!

Semi-Chorus 2.

With thee Desire doth go;
Peitho,* with suasive flow
Bending the willing foe,
Marches with thee.
Lovely Harmonia57
Knows thee, and, smote with awc,
Strong kings obey the law
Whispered by thee.

STROPHE IV.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Yet must I fear the chase,58
Sail spread in evil race,
War with a bloody pace
Spurred after me.
Why to this Argive shore
Came they with plashing oar,
If not with sorrow’s store
Treasured for me?

Semi-Chorus 2.

Comes fated good or ill,
Wait we in patience still!
No power may thwart his will
Jove, mighty Jove.
Laden with sorrow’s store
Virgins in days of yore
Praised, when their grief was o’er,
Jove, mighty Jove.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Jove, mighty Jove, may he
From wedded force for me
Rescue prepare!

Semi-Chorus 2.

Fair fall our maiden lot!
But mighty Jove may not
Yield to thy prayer.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Know’st thou what woes may be
Stored yet by Fate for me?

Semi-Chorus 2.

Jove and his hidden plan
Sight of the sharpest man
Searcheth in vain;
Thou in thy narrow span
Wisely remain!

Semi-Chorus 1.

Wisely my thought may fare
Tell me, O tell me where?

Semi-Chorus 2.

’Gainst what the gods ordain
Fret not thy heart in vain

STROPHE

Semi-Chorus 1

Save me, thou chief of gods, great Jove,
From violent bonds of hated love,
Even as the Inachian maid of yore
Thy hand set free from labour sore,
What time thou soothed with touch divine
Her weary frame,
And with a friendly force benign
Thy healing came.

ANTISTROPHE.

Semi-Chorus 2.

May the woman’s cause prevail!
And, when two certain ills assail,
Be ours the less: and Justice fair
For the just shall still declare.
Ye mighty gods o’er human fates
Supremely swaying,
On you my prayer, my fortune waits,
Your will obeying.

NOTES TO THE SUPPLIANTS

[Back to Table of Contents]

THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES

A LYRICO-DRAMATIC SPECTACLE

I cannot think but curses climb the sky,
And there awake God’s gentle-sleeping peace.
Shakespere.

Alle Schuld rächt sich auf Erden.
Goethe.

PERSONS

Eteocles, Son of Oedipus.

Messenger.

Chorus of Theban Virgins.

Ismene, } Sisters of Eteocles.

Antigone, } Sisters of Eteocles.

Herald.

Scene—The Acropolis of Thebes.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

Sow not the seed of children, in despite
Of the gods: for if thou shalt beget a son,
Him who begat shall the begotten slay,
And all thy house in bloody ruin perish.*

With regard to the merits of the present piece, while its structure exhibits, in the most striking manner, the deficient skill of the early dramatists, its spirit is everywhere manly and noble, and instinct with the soul of the warlike actions which it describes. The best parts are epic, not dramatic—namely, those in which the Messenger describes the different characters and appearance of the seven chiefs posted each at a separate gate of the Cadmean city. The drama concludes with a Theban coronach or wall over the dead bodies of the self-slain brothers; for the proper relishing of which, the imaginative reproduction of some appropriate music is indispensable. The introduction after this of the Herald, announcing the decree of the Theban senate, whereby burial is denied to the body of Polynices, and the heroic display of sisterly affection on the part of Antigone, are—if this really was the last piece of a trilogy—altogether foreign both to the action and to the tone of the tragedy, and must be regarded as a blunder. If Schiller, and even Shakespeare, on occasions, could err in such matters, much more Æschylus.

THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES

Eteocles.

Ye citizens of Cadmus! he who sits
Holding the helm in the high poop of state,
Watchful, with sleepless eyes, must, when he speaks,
Speak words that suit the time. If we succeed,
The gods will have the praise; but should we fail
(Which may averting Jove from me avert,1
And from this Theban city!), I alone
Must bear the up-heaped murmurings of the whole,
A motley-voiced lament. Ye men of Thebes,
Not manhood’s vigour only, but ye also
Who lack ripe years, and ye whose green old age
Nurses unwithered strength,* arm, and redeem
Your country’s honor from a cruel blot.
Let not the citadel of your ancient sires,
The altars of your native gods, your children,
Nor the dear mother Earth, that nursed you, blame
The slackness of your love—the nurse who bore
Your creeping childhood on her fostering soil,
And through your slow growth up to firmer years,
Toiled that the strong arms of her faithful sons,
Might shield her need. Up to this hour the god
Inclines to us; though close hedged in by the foe,
The vantage hath been ours. But now the seer,
The shepherd of prophetic birds’ revolving
In his ear and inward sense deep-pondered truths,2
By no false art, though without help from fire,
Even he soothsaying sings that the Argive camp
Holds midnight council to attack the city.
Therefore be ready; mount the battlements;
Top every tower; crown every parapet;
Fence every gate with valiant-hearted men,
Well harnessed for the fight: and never fear
This trooping alien foe. The gods will give
A happy issue. Myself have sent out scouts,
Sure men, not wont to linger. Their advice
Shall shield us from surprise.

EnterMessenger.

Mess.

Eteocles,
Most excellent lord of Thebes! what I have seen
With mine own eyes, no idle unvouched tale,
I bring thee from the camp Seven warlike chiefs
I saw, in solemn sacrifice assembled:
Holding the head of the devoted ox,
Over the shield with iron rimmed they dipped
Their hands in the steaming blood, and swore an oath,
By Mars, Enýo, and blood-loving Terror,3
Either to raze the walls of Thebes, and plunder
The citadel of Cadmus, or else drench
This soil with Argive blood. Then, as for death
Prepared, they decked the chariot of Adrastus4
With choice love-tokens to their Argive kin,
Dropping a tear, but with their mouths they gave
No voice. An iron-hearted band are they,
Breathing hot war, like lions when their eye
Looks instant battle. Such my news; nor I
Slow to report; for in the camp I left them
Eager to share among their several bands
Our gates by lot. Therefore, bestir thee; fence
Each gate with the choicest men: dash all delay;
For now the Argive host, near and more near,
All panoplied comes on; the dark-wreathed dust
Rolls, and the snowy foam of snorting chargers
Stains the pure Theban soil. Like a wise pilot
That scents the coming gale, hold thou the city
Tight, ere the storm of Ares on our heads
Burst pitiless. Loud the mainland wave is roaring.
This charge be thine: myself, a sleepless spy,
Will bring thee sure word from the hostile camp:
Safe from without, so ye be strong within

[Exit.

Eteocles.

O Jove! O Earth! O Gods that keep the city!
And thou fell Fury of my father’s curse!*
Destroy not utterly this Cadméan seat
Rent, razed, deracinated by the foe!
Yield not our pious hearths, where the loved speech
Of Hellas echoes, to a stranger host!
Let not the free-born Theban bend the neck,
To slavery thralled, beneath a tyrant’s yoke!
Be ye our strength! our common cause we plead;
A prosperous state hath cause to bless the gods.

[Exit.

I.

TheChorus5enter the scene in great hurry and agitation.

- O wailing and sorrow, O wailing and woe!
- Their tents they have left, many-banded they ride,
- And onward they tramp with the prance of pride,
- The horsemen of the foe.
- The dark-volumed dust-cloud that rides on the gale,
- Though voiceless, declares a true messenger’s tale;
- With clattering hoofs, on and on still they ride,6
- It swells on my ear, loud it rusheth and roareth,
- As a fierce wintry torrent precipitous poureth,
- Rapidly lashing the mountain side.
- Hear me ye gods, and ye goddesses hear me!
- The black harm prevent that swells near and more near me!
- As a wave on the shore when the blast beats the coast,
- So breaks o’er the walls, from the white-shielded host,7
- The eager war-cry, the sharp cry of fear,
- As near still it rolls, and more near.

II.

TheChorusbecome more and more agitated. They speak one to another in short hurried exclamations, and in great confusion.

Chorus 1.

To which of the gods and the goddesses now
Shall I pay my vow?

Chorus 2.

Shall I cling to the altar, and kneeling embrace
The guardian gods of the Theban race?

Tutti.

Ye blissful Olympians, throned sublime,
In the hour of need, in the urgent time,
May the deep drawn sigh,
And the heart’s strong cry
Ascend not in vain to your seats sublime!

Chorus 1.

Heard ye the shields rattle, heard ye the spear?
In this dark day of dole,
With chaplet and stole8
Let us march to the temples, and worship in fear!

Chorus 2.

I heard the shield’s rattle, and spear clashed on spear
Came stunning my ear.

Tutti.

O Ares, that shines in the helmet of gold,9
Thine own chosen city wilt thou behold
To slavery sold?
O Ares, Ares, wilt thou betray
Thy Theban home to-day?

III.

TheChoruscrown the altars of the gods, and then, falling on their knees, sing the following Theban Litany, in one continuous chaunt.

Patron gods that keep the city,
Look, look down upon our woe,
Save this band of suppliant virgins
From the harsh-enslaving foe!
For a rush of high-plumed warriors
Round the city of the free,
By the blast of Ares driven,
Roars, like billows of the sea.
Father Jove the consummator,*
Save us from the Argive spear;
For their bristling ranks enclose us,
And our hearts do quake with fear,
And their steeds with ringing bridles10
Knell destruction o’er the land;
And seven chiefs, with lance in hand,
Fixed by lot to share the slaughter,
At the seventh gate proudly stand.
Save us, Pallas, war-delighting
Daughter of immortal Jove!
Save us, lord of billowy ocean!
God of pawing steeds, Poseidon,11
Join thine aid to his above,
And with thy fish-piercing trident
Still our hearts, our fears remove.
Save us Ares! father Ares,
Father now thy children’s need!
Save us Cypris, mother of Thebans,12
For we are thy blood indeed!
Save us, save us, Wolf-Apollo,13
Be a wolf against the foe!
Whet thine arrows, born of Leto,
Leto’s daughter bend thy bow!

V.

TheChorusunite again into a full band, and sing the Finale of the Litany in regular Strophe and Antistrophe.

STROPHE.
Gods and goddesses almighty!
Earthly and celestial powers!
Of all good things consummators,
Guardians of the Theban towers!
Save the spear-encompassed city
From a foreign-speaking foe!16
Hear the virgin band, that prays thee
With the out-stretched arms of woe!

ANTISTROPHE.
Gods and demigods! the city
Aid that on your aid depends,
Watch around us, and defend us;
He is strong whom God defends.
Bear the incense in remembrance
Of our public sacrifice;
From a people rich in offerings
Let no prayer unanswered rise!

Re-enterEteocles.

Eteocles.

Answer me this, insufferable brood!
Is this your wisdom, this your safety-note
To Theban soldiers, this your war-cry, thus
In prostrate woe clasping the guardian gods,
To scream and wail the vain lament of fools?
I pray the gods, in good or evil days,
May never fate be mine to lodge with women.
When fortune’s brave, their pride’s unbearable,
But, comes a thought of fear, both hall and forum
Must ring with their laments. Why run ye thus
From street to street, into the hearts of men
Scattering dastardy, and bruiting fear?
Nay, but ye chiefly help the enemy’s cause
Without the gate, and we by friends within
Are more besieged; such aid expect from women!
Thebans give ear; whoso shall disobey
My word in Thebes, man, woman, old, or young,
Whoe’er he be, against himself he writes
Black sentence to be stoned by the public hand.
Without the gates let brave men fight; within
Let women tend their children, and their webs.
Hear ye, or hear ye not? or do I speak
To the deaf?

STROPHE I.

Chorus.

Son of Oedipus be witness!
Should not terror rob our wits,
When we hear the roll of chariots,
Whirling wheels, and creaking axles,
And the unresting tramp of horses
Champing fierce their fire-forged bits?

Eteocles.

What then? when with the storm the good ship labours,
Shall the wise helmsman leave his proper post,
To clasp the painted gods upon the prow?17

ANTISTROPHE I.

Chorus.

When we heard war’s rattling hail-drift
Round our ramparts wildly rave,
Trusting to the gods of Cadmus,
Spurred by fear, we hither hurried,
Here to pray, and clasp the statues
Of the good gods strong to save.

Eteocles.

Pray that our well-manned walls be strong to save us,
Else will the gods help little. Who knows not
That, when a city falls, they pass to the Victor?18

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

Never, never may the council
Of the assembled gods desert us,
While I live, and look on day!
Never, never may the stranger
Rush through the streets, while midnight burning
Lights the robber to his prey!

Eteocles.

Weak prayers confound wise counsel. Know ye not
Obedience is the mother of success,
And pledge of victory. So the wise have spoken.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus.

But the gods are strong. When mortals
Stretch the arm in vain to save us,
Help is waiting from above.
When dark night enveils the welkin,
And thick-mantled ruin gathers,
They enclasp us round with love.

Eteocles.

Leave sacrifice and oracles to men,
And ’gainst the imminent foe pray to the gods.
Women should hold their tongues, and keep their homes.

STROPHE III.

Chorus.

By the strength of gods the city
Each rude tide hath learnt to stem;
Who shall charge us with offending,
When we make our vows to them?

Eteocles.

Your vows I grudge not, nor would stint your prayers;
But this I say, blow not your fears about,
Nor taint the general heart with apprehension.

ANTISTROPHE III.

Chorus.

Startled by the blare of battle,
Hearing clash of combat fell,
With a quaking heart I hied me
To this sacred citadel.

Eteocles.

And when ye hear that some are dead or wounded,
Drag not the news with wailings through the town;
For blood of mortals is the common food19
Of the war god.

[Exit.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Well thou speakest; but unsleeping
Terrors shake my virgin frame,
And the blasts of war around me
Fan my fears into a flame.
As the dove her dovelets nursing,
Fears the tree-encircling serpent,
Fatal neighbour of her nest;
Thus the foe, our walls enclosing,
Thrills with ceaseless fears my breast.
Hark! in hurrying throngs careering
Rude they beat our Theban towers,
And a rain of rock-torn fragments
On the roofs of Cadmus showers!
Save us, gods that keep the city,
Save us, Jove-begotten Powers!

ANTISTROPHE I.
Say what region shall receive ye,
When the Theban soil is waste?
When pure Dirce’s fount is troubled,
From what waters shall ye taste?
Theban soil, the deepest, richest,
That with fruits of joy is pregnant,
Dirce, sweetest fount that runs,
From Poseidon earth-embracing,
And from Tethys’ winding sons.21
Patron-gods maintain your glory,
Sit in might enthroned to-day:
Smite the foe with fear; fear stricken
Let them fling their arms away:
Hear our sharp shrill-piercing wailings,
When for Cadmus’ weal we pray!

STROPHE II.
Sad it were, and food for weeping,
To behold these walls Ogygian,
By the stranger spearman mounted,
Levelled by the Argive foe,
And these towers by god-sent vengeance
Laid in crumbling ashes low.
Sad it were to see the daughters,
And the sonless mothers grey,
Of old Thebes, with hair dishevelled,
And rent vestments, even as horses
Dragged by the mane, a helpless prey;
Sad to hear the victors’ clamour
Mingling with the captive’s moan,
And the frequent-clanking fetter
Struggling with the dying groan.

ANTISTROPHE II.
Sad, most sad, should hands unlicensed
Rudely pluck our opening blossom;
Sad—yea better far to die!
Changing nuptial torch and chamber
For dark homes of slavery.
Ah! my soul within me trembles,
When it shapes the sight of shame,
Swift the chase of lawless murder,
And the swifter chase of flame;
Black the surly smoke upwreathing,
Cries, confusion, choking heat;
Shrine-polluting, man-subduing
Mars, wild borne from street to street!

STROPHE III.
Towers and catapults surrounding,
And the greedy spear upswallowing
Man by man, its gory food:
And the sucking infants clinging
To the breasts that cannot bear them,
Cries to ears that cannot hear them
Mingle with their mother’s blood.
Plunder, daughter of Confusion,
Startles Plenty from his lair,
And the robber with the robber
Bargains for an equal share;
Gods! in such a night of terrors
How shall helpless maidens fare?

ANTISTROPHE III.
Planless is the strife of Plunder.
Fruits of patient years are trampled
Reckless in the moment’s grave;
And the maids that tend the household,
With a bitter eye of weeping,
See the treasured store of summers
Hurried by the barren wave.
Woe, deep woe, waits captive maidens,
To an untried thraldom led,
Bound, by chains of forced affection,
To some haughty husband’s bed:
Sooner, sooner may I wander
Sister of the sunless dead!

Semi-Chorus 1.

Methinks I see the scout sent by the king:
Doubtless he brings us news; his tripping feet
Come swift as wheels that turn on willing axles.

Semi-Chorus 2.

The king himself, the son of Oedipus,
Comes in the exact nick to hear his tidings:
With rapid and unequal steps he too
Urges the way.

EnterMessengerandEteoclesfrom opposite sides

Mess.

What I have seen I come
To tell; the movements of the foe, the station
That lot hath given each champion at the gates.
First at the Prœtian portal Tydeus stands,22
Storming against the seer, who wise forbids
To pass Ismenus’ wave, before the sacrifice
Auspicious smiles. But he, for battle burning,
Fumes like a fretful snake in the sultry noon,
Lashing with gibes the wise Oiclidan seer,23
Whose prudence he interprets dastardy,
Cajoling death away. Thus fierce he raves,
And shakes the overshadowing crest sublime,
His helmet’s triple mane, while ’neath his shield
The brazen bells ring fear.24 On his shield’s face
A sign he bears as haughty as himself,
The welkin flaming with a thousand lights,
And in its centre the full moon shines forth,
Eye of the night, and regent of the stars.
So speaks his vaunting shield: on the stream’s bank
He stands, loud-roaring, eager for the fight,
As some fierce steed that frets against the bit,
And waits with ruffling neck, and ears erect,
To catch the trumpet’s blare. Who will oppose
This man? what champion, when the bolts are broken,
Shall plant his body in the Prœtian gate?

Eteocles.

No blows I fear from the trim dress of war,
No wounds from blazoned terrors. Triple crests
And ringing bells bite not without the spear;
And for this braggart shield, with starry night
Studded, too soon for the fool’s wit that owns it
The scutcheon may prove seer. When death’s dark night
Shall settle on his eyes, and the blithe day
Beams joy on him no more, hath not the shield
Spoken significant, and pictured borne
A boast against its bearer? I, to match
This Tydeus, will set forth the son of Astacus,
A noble youth not rich in boasts, who bows
Before the sacred throne of Modesty,
In base things cowardly, in high virtue bold.
His race from those whom Ares spared he draws,25
Born from the sown field of the dragon’s teeth,
His name Melanippus. Mars shall throw the dice
Bravely for him, and Justice call him brother,
While girt he goes from his loved Theban mother
To ward the Argive spear.

STROPHE I.

Chorus.

May the gods protect our champion!
Be the cause of Right his shield!
But I fear to see the breathless
Bleeding bodies of true warriors
Strewn upon the battle field.

Mess.

Speed well your pious prayers! The lot hath placed
Proud Capaneus before the Electran gate,26
A giant warrior mightier than the first,
And boasting more than mortal. His high threats
May never Chance* fulfil! for with the aid
Of gods, or in the gods’ despite, he vows
To sack the city, and sets the bolted wrath
Of Jove at nought, his lightnings and his thunders
Recking no more—so speaks the vauntful tongue—
Than vulgar noonday heat. His orbéd shield
The blazon of a naked man displays,
Shaking a flaring torch with lofty threat
In golden letters—i will burn the city.
Such is the man: who shall not quail before
A pride that flings defiance to the gods?

Eteocles.

Here, too, we meet the strong with something stronger.
When men are proud beyond the mark of right,
They do proclaim with forward tongue their folly,
Themselves their own accuser. This brave Capaneus
With empty threats and wordy exercise,
Fights mortal ’gainst immortals, and upcasts
Loud billowy boasts in Jove’s high face But I
In Jove have faith that he will smite this boaster
With flaming bolts, to vulgar heat of noon
In no wise like. The gallant Polyphontus,
A man of glowing heart, against this blusterer
I’ll send, himself a garrison to pledge
Our safety, by the grace of Artemis,
And the protecting gods. Name now the others.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Chorus.

Perish, with his boasts, the boaster,
By strong thunder prostrate laid!
Never, never may I see him
Into holy homes of virgins
Rushing, with his godless blade!

Mess.

Hear more. The third lot to Eteocles
Leapt from the upturned brazen helm,27 and fixed him
At the Netaean gate.28 His eager steeds,
Their frontlets tossed in the breeze, their swelling nostrils
High-snorting with the impatient blast of war,
Their bridles flapping with barbaric clang,
He curbs, and furious ’gainst the city wheels them,
Even as a whirling storm. His breadth of shield,
Superbly rounded, shows an armed man
Scaling a city, with this proud device,
Not Mars himself shall hurl me from these towers.
Choose thou a champion worthy to oppose
This haughty chief, and pledge his country’s weal.

Eteocles.

Fear not: with happy omen, I will send,
Have sent already, one to meet this foe,
Whose boasts are deeds, brave Megareus, a son
Of the dragon’s race, a warrior recking nothing
The snortings of impatient steeds. This man
Will, with his heart’s blood, pay the nursing fee
Due to his Theban mother,* or come back—
Which grant the gods!—bearing on that proud shield
Rich spoil to garnish forth his father’s halls,
The painted champion, and the painted city,
And him that living bore the false-faced sign.
Now name the fourth, and spare me not your boasts.

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

May the gods protect my champion!
Ruin seize the ruthless foe!
As they boast to raze the city,
So may Jove with wrathful vengeance
Lay their frenzied babblings low!

Mess.

The fourth’s Hippomedon Before the gate
He stands of Onca Pallas, clamouring on
With lordly port. His shield’s huge round he waved,
(Fearful to view), a halo not a shield
No vulgar cunning did his hand possess
Who carved the dread device upon its face,
Typhon, forth-belching, from fire-breathing mouth,
Black smoke, the volumed sister of the flame,29
And round its hollow belly was embossed30
A ring of knotted snakes. Himself did rage,
Shouting for battle, by the god of war
Indwelt,31 and, like a Maenad, his dark eyes
Look fear. Against this man be doubly armed,
For, where he is, grim Fear is with him.

Eteocles.

Onca
Herself will guard the gate that bears her name,
From her own ramparts hurl the proud assailer,
And shield her nurslings from this crested snake.
Hyperbius, the right valiant son of Oenops,
Shall stand against this foe, casting his life
Into the chance of war; in lordly port,
In courage, in all the accoutrements of fight
Hippomedon’s counterpart—a hostile pair
Well matched by Hermes.32 But no equal match
Their shields display—two hostile gods—the one
Fire-breathing Typhon, father Jove the other,
Erect, firm-planted, in his flaming hand
Grasping red thunder, an unvanquished god.
Such are the gods beneath whose wing they fight,
For us the strong, for them the weaker power.
And as the gods are, so the men shall be
That on their aid depend. If Jove hath worsted
This Typhon in the fight, we too shall worst
Our adverse. Shall the king of gods not save
The man whose shield doth bear the Saviour Jove.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus.

Earth-born Typhon, hateful monster,
Sight that men and gods appals,
Whoso bears in godless blazon
Great Jove’s foe, shall Jove almighty
Dash his head against the walls.

Mess.

So grant the gods! The fifth proud foe is stationed
Before the Borean gate, hard by the tomb
Of the Jove-born Amphion. By his spear
He swears, his spear more dear to him than gods,
Or light of day, that he will sack the city
In Jove’s despite: thus speaks half-man, half-boy.
The fair-faced scion of a mountain mother.
The manly down, luxuriant, bushy, sprouts
Full from his blooming cheek no virgin he
In aspect, though most virgin-like his name.*
Keen are his looks, and fierce his soul; he too
Comes not without a boast against the gates;
For on his shield, stout forgery of brass,
A broad circumference of sure defence,
He shows, in mockery of Cadméan Thebes,
The terrible Sphynx, in gory food delighting,
Hugely embossed, with terror brightly studded,
And in her mortal paw the monster rends
A Theban man: for which reproachful sign
Thick-showered the bearer bears the keenest darts,—
Parthenopæus, bold Arcadian chief.
No man seems he to shame the leagues he travelled
By petty war’s detail. Not born an Argive,
In Argos nursed, he now her love repays,
By fighting ’gainst her foes. His threats—the god
Grant they be only threats!

Eteocles.

Did they receive
What punishment their impious vaunts deserve,
Ruin with one wide swoop should swamp them all.
This braggart stripling, fresh from Arcady,
The brother of Hyperbius shall confront,
Actor, a man whose hand pursues its deed,
Not brandishing vain boasts No enemy,
Whose strength is in his tongue, shall sap these walls,
While Actor has a spear: nor shall the man
Who bears the hated portent on his shield
Enter our gate, but rather the grim sign
Frown on its bearer, when thick-rattling hail
Showered from our walls shall dint it. If the gods
Are just, the words I speak are prophecy.

STROPHE III.

Chorus.

The eager cry doth rend my breast,
And on end stands every hair,
When I hear the godless vaunting
Of unholy men! May Até
Fang them in her hopeless snare!

Mess.

The sixth a sober man, a seer of might,
Before the Homoloidian gate stands forth,33
And speaks harsh words against the might of Tydeus
Rating him murderer, teacher of all ill
To Argos, troubler of the city’s peace,
The Furies’ herald, crimson slaughter’s minion,
And councillor of folly to Adrastus.
Thy brother too, the might of Polynices,
He whips with keen reproaches, and upcasts
With bitter taunts his evil-omened name,
Making it spell his ugly sin that owns it.34
O fair and pious deed, even thus he cries,
To blot thy native soil with war, and lead
A foreign host against thy country’s gods!
Soothly a worthy deed, a pleasant tale
For future years to tell! Most specious right,
To stop the sacred fountain up whence sprung
Thy traitor life! How canst thou hope to live
A ruler well acknowledged in the land,
That thou hast wounded with invading spear?
Myself this foreign soil, on which I tread,
Shall feed with prophet’s blood. I hope to die,
Since die I must, an undishonoured death.
Thus spake the seer, and waved his full-orb’d shield
Of solid brass, but plain, without device.
Of substance studious, careless of the show,
The wise man is what fools but seem to be,35
Reaping rich harvest from the mellow soil
Of quiet thought, the mother of great deeds
Choose thou a wise and virtuous man to meet
The wise and virtuous. Whoso fears the gods
Is fearful to oppose.

Eteocles.

Alas! the fate
That mingles up the godless and the just
In one companionship! wise was the man
Who taught that evil converse is the worst
Of evils, that death’s unblest fruit is reaped
By him who sows in Até’s fields.* The man
Who, being godly, with ungodly men
And hot-brained sailors mounts the brittle bark,
He, when the god-detested crew goes down,
Shall with the guilty guiltless perish. When
One righteous man is common citizen
With godless and unhospitable men,
One god-sent scourge must smite the whole, one net
Snare bad and good. Even so, Oicleus’ son,
This sober, just, and good, and pious man,
This mighty prophet and soothsayer, he,
Leagued with the cause of bad and bold-mouthed men
In his own despite—so Jove hath willed—shall lead
Down to the distant city of the dead
The murky march with them. He will not even
Approach the walls, so I may justly judge.
No dastard soul is his, no wavering will;
But well he knows, if Loxias’ words bear fruit,
(And, when he speaks not true, the god is dumb)
Amphiaraus dies by Theban spear.
Yet to oppose this man I will dispatch
The valiant Lasthenes, a Theban true,
Who wastes no love on strangers; swift his eye,
Nor slow his hand to make the eager spear
Leap from behind the shield. The gods be with him!

ANTISTROPHE III.

Chorus.

May the gods our just entreaties
For the cause of Cadmus hear!
Jove! when the sharp spear approaches,
Sit enthroned upon our rampires,
Darting bolts, and darting fear!

Mess.

Against the seventh gate the seventh chief
Leads on the foe, thy brother Polynices;
And fearful vows he makes, and fearful doom
His prayers invoke. Mounted upon our walls,
By herald’s voice Thebes’ rightful prince proclaimed,
Shouting loud hymns of capture, hand to hand
He vows to encounter thee, and either die
Himself in killing thee, or should he live
And spare thy recreant life, he will repay
Like deed with like, and thou in turn shalt know
Dishonouring exile. Thus he speaks and prays
The family gods, and all the gods of Thebes,
To aid his traitor suit. Upon his shield,
New-forged, and nicely fitted to the hand,
He bears this double blazonry—a woman
Leading with sober pace an armed man
All bossed in gold, and thus the superscription,
“I, Justice, bring this injured exile back,
To claim his portion in his father’s hall.”
Such are the strange inventions of the foe.
Choose thou a man that’s fit to meet thy brother;
Nor blame thy servant: what he saw he says:
To helm the state through such rude storm be thine!

Eteocles.

O god-detested! god-bemadded race!36
Woe-worthy sons of woe-worn Oedipus!
Your father’s curse is ripe! but tears are vain,
And weeping might but mother worser woe.
O Polynices! thy prophetic name
Speaks more than all the emblems of thy shield;
Soon shall we see if gold-bossed words can save thee,
Babbling vain madness in a proud device.
If Jove-born Justice, maid divine, might be
Of thoughts and deeds like thine participant,
Thou mightst have hope; but, Polynices, never,
Or when the darkness of the mother’s womb
Thou first didst leave, or in thy nursling prime,
Or in thy bloom of youth, or in the gathering
Of beard on manhood’s chin, hath Justice owned thee,
Or known thy name; and shall she know thee now
Thou leadst a stranger host against thy country?
Her nature were a mockery of her name
If she could fight for knaves, and still be Justice.
In this faith strong, this traitor I will meet
Myself: the cause is mine, and I will fight it.
For equal prince to prince, to brother brother,
Fell foe to foe, suits well. And now to arms!
Bring me my spear and shield, hauberk and greaves!

[ExitMessenger.

Chorus.

Dear son of Oedipus! let not thy wrath
Wax hot as his whom thou dost chiefly chide!
Let the Cadméans with the Argives fight;
This is enough: their blood may be atoned.
But, when a brother falls by brother’s hands,
Age may not mellow such dark due of guilt.

Eteocles.

If thou canst bear an ill, and fear no shame,
Bear it: but if to bear is to be base,
Choose death, thy only refuge from disgrace.

STROPHE IV.

Chorus.

Whither wouldst thou? calm thy bosom,
Tame the madness of thy blood;
Ere it bear a crimson blossom,
Pluck thy passion in the bud.

Eteocles.

Fate urges on; the god will have it so.37
Now drift the race of Laius, with full sail,
Abhorred by Phœbus, down Cocytus’ stream!

ANTISTROPHE IV.

Chorus.

Let not ravening rage consume thee!
Bitter fruit thy wrath will bear;
Sate thy hunger with the thousands,
But of brother’s blood beware!

Eteocles.

The Curse must work its will: and thus it speaks,
Watching beside me with dry tearless eyes,
Death is thy only gain, and death to-day
Is better than to-morrow!38

STROPHE V.

Chorus.

Save thy life: the wise will praise thee;
To the gods with incense come,
And the storm-clad black Erinnys
Passes by thy holy home.

Eteocles.

The gods will reck the curse, but not the prayers
Of Laius’ race. Our doom is their delight.
’Tis now too late to fawn the Fate away.

ANTISTROPHE V.

Chorus.

Nay! but yet thou mayst: the god,
That long hath raged, and burneth now,
With a gentler sway soft-wafted,
Soon may fan thy fevered brow.

Eteocles.

The Curse must sway, my father’s burning curse.
The visions of the night were true, that showed me
His heritage twin-portioned by the sword.

[Exit.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
I fear the house-destroying power; I fear
The goddess most ungodlike,39
The all-truth-speaking seer
Of evil things, whose sleepless wrath doth nurse
Fulfilment of the frenzied father’s curse.
The time doth darkly lower;
This strife of brother’s blood with brother’s blood
Spurs the dread hour.

ANTISTROPHE I.
O son of Scythia, must we ask thine aid?
Chalybian stranger thine,40
Here with the keen unsparing blade
To part our fair possessions? thou dost deal
A bitter lot, O savage-minded steel!
Much loss is all the gain,
When mighty lords with their stark corpses measure
Their whole domain.

STROPHE II.
When the slain shall slay the slayer,
And kindred blood with blood
Shall mingle, when the thirsty Theban soil
Drinks eager the black-clotting sanguine flood,
Who then shall purge the murderous stain,
Who wash it clean again?
When ancient guilt and new shall burst,
In one dire flood of woe?

ANTISTROPHE II.
With urgent pace the Fury treadeth,
To generations three
Avenging Laius’ sin on Laius’ race;
What time he sinned against the gods’ decree,
When Phœbus from Earth’s central shrine*
Thrice sent the word divine—
Live childless, Laius, for thy seed
Shall work thy country’s woe.

STROPHE III.
But he to foolish words gave ear,
And ruin to himself begot,
The parricidal Oedipus, who joined
A frenzied bond in most unholy kind,
Sowing where he was sown; whence sprung a bud
Of bitterness and blood.

ANTISTROPHE III.
The city tosses to and fro,
Like a drifted ship; wave after wave,
Now high, now low, with triple-crested flow
Now reared sublime, brays round the plunging prow
These walls are but a plank: if the kings fall
’Tis ruin to us all.

STROPHE IV.
The ancestral curse, the hoary doom is ripe.
Who now shall smooth such hate?
What hand shall stay, when it hath willed to strike,
The uplifted arm of Fate?
When the ship creaks beneath the straining gale,
The wealthy merchant† flings the well-stowed bale
Into the gulf below.‡

ANTISTROPHE IV.
When the enigma of the baleful Sphynx
By Oedipus was read,
And the man-rending monster on a stone
Despairful dashed her head;
What mortal man by herd-possessing men,
What god by gods above was honoured then,
Like Oedipus below!

STROPHE V.
But when his soul was conscious, and he saw
The monstrous wedlock made ’gainst Nature’s law,
Him struck dismay,
In wild deray,
He from their socket roots uptore
His eyes, more dear than children, worthy no more
To look upon the day.

ANTISTROPHE V.
And he, for sorry tendance wrathful,41 flung
Curses against his sons with bitter tongue,
“They shall dispute
A dire dispute,
And share their land with steel.” I fear
The threatened harm; with boding heart I hear
The Fury’s sleepless foot.

Re-enterMessenger.

Mess.

Fear not, fair maids of Theban mothers nursed!
The city hath ’scaped the yoke; the insolent boasts
Of violent men hath fallen; the ship o’ the state
Is safe, in sunshine calm we float; in vain
Hath wave on wave lashed our sure-jointed beams,
No leaky gap our close-lipped timbers knew,
Our champions with safety hedged us round,
Our towers stand firm. Six of the seven gates
Show all things prosperous, the seventh Phœbus
Chose for his own (for still in four and three
The god delights),42 he led the seventh pair,
Crowning the doom of evil-counselled Laius.

[Exit.

Chorus.

O Jove almighty! gods of Cadmus,
By whose keeping Thebes is strong,
Shall I sing a joyful pæan,
Thee the god full-throated hymning
That saved the state from instant harm?
Or shall drops of swelling pity
To a wail invert my ditty?
O wretched, hapless, childless princes!
Truly, truly was his name
Prophet of your mutual shame!*
Godless was the strife ye cherished,
And in godless strife ye perished!

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
The curse that rides on sable wing,
Hath done its part,
And horror, like a creeping thing,
Freezes my heart.
Their ghastly death in kindred blood
Doth pierce me thorough,
And deeply stirs the Thyad flood†
Of wail and sorrow.
An evil bird on boding wing
Did darkly sway,
When steel on steel did sternly ring
In strife to-day.

ANTISTROPHE I.
The voice that from the blind old king
With cursing came,
In rank fulfilment forth doth bring
Its fruit of shame.
O Laius, thou didst work our woe
With faithless heart;
Nor Phœbus with a half-dealt blow
Will now depart.
His word is sure, or pacing slow,
Or winged with speed,
And now the burthened cloud of woe,
Bursts black indeed.

[The bodies ofEteoclesandPolynicesare brought on the stage.

EPODE.
- Lo! where it comes the murky pomp,
- No wandering voice, but clear, too clear
- The visible body of our fear!
- Twin-faced sorrow, twin-faced slaughter,
- And twin-fated woe is here.
- Ills on ills of monstrous birth
- Rush on Laius’ god-doom’d-hearth.
- Sisters raise the shrill lament,
- Let your lifted arms be oars!
- Let your sighs be breezes lent,
- Down the wailing stream to float
- The black-sail’d Stygian boat;
- Down to the home which all receiveth,
- Down to the land which no man leaveth,
- By Apollo’s foot untrodden,
- Sullen, silent, sunless shores!
- But I see the fair Ismene,
- And Antigone the fair,
- Moving to this place of mourning,
- Slow, a sorrow-guided pair.
- We shall see a sight for weeping
- (They obey a doleful hest)
- Lovely maids deep-bosomed pouring
- Wails from heavy-laden breast.
- Chaunts of sorrow, dismal prelude
- Of their grief, to us belong:
- Let us hymn the dread Erinnys!
- To the gloomy might of Hades,
- Let us lift the sombre song.

EnterAntigoneandIsmenein sorrowful silence.

Hapless sisters! maids more hapless
Ne’er were girded with a zone:
I weep, and wail, and mine, believe me,
Is a heart’s sigh, no hireling moan*

[Here commences the Funeral Wail over the dead bodies ofEteoclesandPolyniceswith mournful music.

STROPHE I.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Alas! alas! the hapless pair.
To friendly voice and warning Fate
They stopped the ear: and now too late
Dear bought with blood their father’s wealth
In death they share.

Semi-Chorus 2.

Outstretched in death, and prostrate low
Them and their house the iron Woe
Hath sternly crushed.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Alas! alas! the old thrones reel,
The lofty palace topples down;
And Death hath won a bloody crown,
And thou sure end of strife hast made,
O keen cold steel!

Semi-Chorus 2.

And, with fulfilment on her wing,
Curse-laden from the blind old king
The Fury rushed.

STROPHE II.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Pierced through the left, with gaping gashes
Gory they lie.

Semi-Chorus 2.

All gashed and gored, by fratricidal
Wounds they die.

Semi-Chorus 1.

* * * *
* * *

Semi-Chorus 2.

A god, a god doth rule the hour,
Slaughter meets slaughter, and the curse
Doth reign with power.

Semi-Chorus 1.

See where the steel clean through hath cut
Their bleeding life,
Even to the marrow deep hath pierced
The ruthless knife.

Semi-Chorus 2.

Deep in their silent hearts they cherished
The fateful curse,
And, with fell purpose sternly hating,
Defied remorse.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Semi-Chorus 1.

From street to street shrill speeds the cry
Of wail and woe.

Semi-Chorus 2.

And towers and peopled plains reply
With wail and woe.

Semi-Chorus 1.

And all their wealth a stranger heir
Shall rightly share.

Semi-Chorus 2.

The wealth that waked the deadly strife,
The strife that raged till rage and strife
Ceased with their life.

Semi-Chorus 1.

With whetted heart, and whetted glaive,
They shared the lot;
Victor and vanquished each in the grave
Six feet hath got.

Semi-Chorus 2.

A harsh allotment! who shall praise it,
Friend or foe?
Harsh strife in pride begun, and ending
In wail and woe.

STROPHE III.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Sword-stricken here they lie, they lie
A breathless pair.

Semi-Chorus 2.

Sword-stricken here they find, they find
What home, and where?

Semi-Chorus 1.

A lonely home, a home of gloom
In their fathers’ tomb.

Semi-Chorus 2.

And wailing follows from the halls
The dismal bier;
Wailing and woe the heart-strings breaking,
And sorrow from its own self taking
The food it feeds on, moody sadness,
Shunning all sights and sounds of gladness,
And from the eye spontaneous bringing
No practised tear;
My heart within me wastes, beholding
This dismal bier.

ANTISTROPHE III.

Semi-Chorus 1.

And on the bier we drop the tear
And justly say,

Semi-Chorus 2.

To friend and foe, they purchased woe
And wail to-day.

Semi-Chorus 1.

And to Hades showed full many the road
In the deadly fray.

Semi-Chorus 2.

O ill-starred she!—there hath not been
Nor will be more,
Of sore-tried women children-bearing,
One like her, like sorrow sharing.
With her own body’s fruit she joined
Wedlock in most unholy kind,
And to her son, twin sons the mother,
O monstrous! bore:
And here they lie, by brother brother
Now drenched in gore.

STROPHE IV.

Semi-Chorus 1.

Ay, drenched in gore, in brothered gore,44
Weltering they lie;
Mad was the strife, and sharp the knife
That bade them die.

Semi-Chorus 2.

The strife hath ceased: life’s purple flood
The dry Earth drinks;
And kinsman’s now to kinsman’s blood
Keen slaughter links.
The far sea stranger forged i’ the fire
The pointed iron soothed their ire.
A bitter soother! Mars hath made
A keen division
Of all their lands, and lent swift wing
To the curse that came from the blind old king
With harsh completion.

ANTISTROPHE IV.

Semi-Chorus 1.

They strove for land, and did demand
An equal share;
In the ground deep, deep, where now they sleep,
There’s land to spare.

Semi-Chorus 2.

A goodly crop to you hath grown
Of woe and wailing;
Ye reaped the seed by Laius sown,
The god prevailing.
Shrill yelled the curse, a deathful shout,
And scattered sheer in hopeless rout
The kingly race did fall; and lo!
Fell Até planteth
Her trophy at the gate; and there
Triumphant o’er the princely pair
Her banner flaunteth.

[AntigoneandIsmenenow come forward, and standing beside the dead bodies, pointing now to the one, and now to the other, finish the Wail as chief mourners.

PRELUDE.

STROPHE.

Antig.

Ah! my soul is mad with moaning.

Ismene.

With their fathers they shall sleep.

EnterHerald.

Herald.

Hear ye my words—my herald’s voice declaring
What seemed and seems good to the Theban senate
Eteocles, his country’s friend, shall find
Due burial in its friendly bosom.46 He
Is free from sin against the gods of Cadmus,
And died, the champion of his country’s cause,
As generous youths should die. Severer doom
Falls on his brother Polynices. He
Shall lie in the breeze unburied, food for dogs,
Most fit bestowal of a traitor’s corpse;
For, had some god not stept between to save us,
And turned the spear aside, Cadméan Thebes
Had stood no more. His country’s gods demand
Such stern atonement of the impious will
That led a hireling host against their shrines.
On him shall vultures banquet, ravening birds
His flesh shall tear; no pious hand shall pile
The fresh green mound, no wailing notes for him
Be lifted shrill, no tearful friends attend
His funeral march. Thus they who rule in Thebes
Have strictly ordered.

Antig.

Go thou back, and give
This message to the rulers.—If none other
Will grant the just interment to my brother
Myself will bury him. The risk I reck not,
Nor blush to call rebellion’s self a virtue,
Where I rebel, being kind to my own kin.
Our common source of life, a mother doomed
To matchless woes, nor less the father doomed,
Demand no vulgar reverence. I will share
Reproach with the reproached, and with my kin
Know kindred grief, the living with the dead.
For his dear flesh, no hollow-stomach’d wolves
Shall tear it—no! myself, though I’m but woman,
Will make his tomb, and do the sacred office.
Even in this bosom’s linen folds, I’ll bear
Enough of earth to cover him withal
This thing I’ll do I will. For bold resolves
Still find bold hands; the purpose makes the plan.47

Antig

Strife is the last of gods to end her tale;
My brother I will bury. Make no more talk.

Herald.

Be wilful, if thou wilt. I counsel wisdom.

Chorus.

Mighty Furies that triumphant
Ride on ruin’s baleful wings,
Crushed ye have and clean uprooted
This great race of Theban kings.
Who shall help me? Who shall give me,
Sure advice, and counsel clear?
Shall mine eyes freeze up their weeping?
Shall my feet refuse to follow
Thy loved remnant? but I fear
Much the rulers, and their mandate
Sternly sanctioned. Shall it be?
Him shall many mourners follow?
Thee, rejected by thy country,
Thee no voice of wailing nears,
All thy funeral march a sister
Weeping solitary tears?

[TheChorusnow divides itself into two parts, of which one attaches itself toAntigoneand the corpse ofPolynices;the other toIsmeneand the corpse ofEteocles.

Semi-Chorus.

Let them threaten, or not threaten,
We will drop the friendly tear,
With the pious-minded sister,
We will tend the brother’s bier.
And though public law forbids
These tears, free-shed for public sorrow,
Laws oft will change, and in one state
What’s right to-day is wrong to morrow.

Semi-Chorus.

For us we’ll follow, where the city
And the law of Cadmus leads us,
To the funeral of the brave.
By the aid of Jove Supernal,
And the gods that keep the city,
Mighty hath he been to save;
He hath smote the proud invader,
He hath rolled the ruin backward
Of the whelming Argive wave.

NOTES TO THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES

[Back to Table of Contents]

THE PERSIANS

A HISTORICAL CANTATA

“Why should calamity be full of words?
Windy attorneys to their client woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope; though what they do in part
Help nothing else, yet they do ease the heart.”
Shakespere.

Ὥ θείη Σαλαμὶς . ἀπολεɩ̂ς δὲ σὺ τέκνα γυναικωˆν.
Delphic Oracle

PERSONS

Chorus of Persian Elders.

Atossa, Mother of Xerxes.

Messenger.

Shade of Darius, Father of Xerxes.

Xerxes, King of Persia.

Scene—Before the Palace at Susa. Tomb of Darius in the background.

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

Of the battle of Salamis and the expedition of Xerxes, as an historical event, it must be unnecessary for me to say a single word here, entitled, as I am, to presume that no reader of the plays of Æschylus can be ignorant of the main facts, and the tremendous moral significance of that event. I shall only mention, for the sake of those whose memory is not well exercised in chronology, that it took place in the autumn of the year 480 before Christ, ten years after the battle of Marathon, thirty years after the expulsion of the Tarquins from Rome, and eighty years after the foundation of the great Persian empire by Cyrus the great. Those who wish to read the descriptions of the poet with complete interest and satisfaction should peruse the 38th, 39th, 40th, and 41st chapters (Vol. V.), of Mr. Grote’s great work, and, if possible, also, the 7th and 8th books of Herodotus.†

On the poetical merit of the Persians, as a work of art, a great authority, Schlegel, has pronounced that it is “undoubtedly the most imperfect of all the extant tragedies of this poet;” but, unless the historical theme be the stumbling-block, I really cannot see on what ground this judgment proceeds. As for the descriptive parts, the battle of Salamis, and the retreat of the routed monarch, are pictured with a vividness and a power to which nothing in this massive and manly author is superior; the interest to the reader being increased tenfold by the fact, that he is here dealing with a real event of the most important character, and recited by one of the best qualified of eye-witnesses. The moral of the piece, as already stated, is, in every respect, what in a great drama or epos could be desired; and, with respect to the lyrics, the Anapæstic march, and the choral chaunt in Ionic measure, with which it opens, has about it a breadth, a magnificence, and a solemnity surpassed only in the choral hymns of the Agamemnon. Not less effective, to an ancient audience, I am sure, must have been the grand antiphonal chaunt with which (as in The Seven against Thebes) the variously repeated wail of this tragedy is brought to a climax; and if the Bishop of London, and some other scholars, have thought this sad exhibition of national lamentation ridiculous, we ought to believe that these critics have forgot the difference between a modern reader and an ancient spectator, rather than that so great a master as Æschylus did not know how to distinguish between a tragedy and a farce

In common with other historical poems, the Persians of Æschylus is not altogether free from the fault of bringing our imaginative faculty into collision with our understanding, by a partial suppression or exaggeration of historical truth. In the way of suppression, the most noticable thing is, that the slave of Themistocles, who is described as having, by a false report to Xerxes, brought on the battle of Salamis, appears, according to the poet, to have cheated the Persians only; whereas, according to the real story, he cheated his countrymen also, and forced them to fight in that place against the will of the non-Athenian members of the confederation. In the way of exaggeration, again, Grote, in an able note,* has shown what appear to me valid reasons for disbelieving the fact of the freezing of the Strymon, and its sudden thaw, described so piteously by our poet; while the very nature of the case plainly shows that the whole circumstances of the retreat, coming to us through Greek reporters, were very liable to exaggeration. This, however, in a poetical description, is a small matter What appears to me much worse, and, indeed, the weakest point in the structure of the whole drama, is that the contrast between the character and conduct of Darius and that of his son is drawn in colours much too strong; the fact being that the son, in following the advice of Mardonius to attack Athens, was only carrying into execution the design of the father, and making use of his preparations.† All that I have to say in defence of this misrepresentation is, that the poet wrote with a glowing patriotic heat what we now contemplate with a cold historical criticism. The greatest works of the greatest masters can, as human nature is constituted, seldom be altogether free from inconsistencies of this kind

I have only further to add, that I have carefully read what Welcker and Gruppe* have written on the supposed ideal connection between the four pieces of the tetralogy, among which the Persians stands second, in the extant Greek argument;† but that, while I admire exceedingly the learning and ingenuity of these writers, I doubt much the utility of attempting to restore the palaces of ancient art out of those few loose bricks which Time has spared us from the once compact mass Poetry may be benefited by such speculations; Philology, I rather fear, has been injured.

Chorus,entering the Orchestra in procession. March time.

Chorus

We are the Persian watchmen old,
The guardians true of the palace of gold,
Left to defend the Asian land,
When the army marched to Hellas’ strand;
Elders chosen by Xerxes the king,
The son of Darius, to hold the reins,
Till he the conquering host shall bring
Back to Susa’s sunny plains.
But the spirit within me is troubled and tossed,
When I think of the King and the Persian host;
And my soul, dark-stirred with the prophet’s mood,
Bodes nothing good
For the strength of the Asian land went forth,
And my heart cries out for the young king’s worth
That marshalled them on to the war.*
Nor herald, nor horseman, nor wandering fame,
Since then to the towers of the Persian came.
From Susa and from Ecbatana far,
And from the Cissian fortress old,†
Strong in the ordered ranks of war
Forth they went, the warriors bold;
Horseman and footman and seaman went,
A vast and various armament.
Amistres, Artaphrenes, led the van,
Megabátes, Astaspes, obeyed the ban;
Persian leaders, kings from afar
Followed the great King’s call to the war.
Forth they went with arrow and bow,1
And in clattering turms with chivalrous show;
To the eye of the dastard a terrible sight,
And with constancy mailed for the fight.
Artembáres in steeds delighting,
Imaeus the foe with the sure arrow smiting,
Pharandáces, Masistres, Sosthánes in war
Who lashes the steed, and drives the car.
The mighty and many-nurturing Nile
Sent forth many a swarthy file;
Susiscánes and Egypt’s son
Pegastágon lead them on.
Arsámes the mighty, whose word commands
The strength of the sacred Memphian bands,
And Ariomardus brave, whose sway
The sons of Ogygian* Thebes obey.
And the countless host with sturdy oar
That plough the lagoons of the slimy shore.†
And the Lydians march in luxurious pride,
And the tribes of the continent far and wide
Whom Arcteus and valiant Metragathes lead,
Kings that serve the great King’s need,
And the men who fight from the sharp-scythed car,
Whom golden Sardes2 sends to the war;
Some with two yoke, some with three,
A terrible sight to see.
And the sons of sacred Tmolus appear‡
On free-necked Hellas to lay the yoke,
Mardon and Tharybis, stiff to the spear
As the anvil is stiff to the hammer’s stroke.
And the men of Mysia skilful to throw
The well-poised dart,3 and they who ride
On wide Ocean’s swelling tide,
A mingled people with motley show
From golden Babylon, men who know
To point the arrow and bend the bow.
The Asian tribes that wear the sword4
From far and near
The summons hear,
And follow the hest of their mighty Lord.
All the flower of the Persian youth hath gone,
And the land that nursed them is left alone
To pine with love’s delay;
And wives and mothers from day to day,
Fearing what birth
The time shall bring forth,
Fret the long-drawn hours away.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Proudly the kingly host,
City-destroying, crossed
Hence to the neighbouring
Contrary coast;
Paving the sea with planks,
Marched he his serried ranks
Hellè’s swift-rushing stream,*
Binding with cord and chain,
Forging a yoke
For the neck of the main.

ANTISTROPHE I.
King of a countless host,
Asia’s warlike boast,
Shepherd of many sheep,5
Conquering crossed.
Trusting to men of might,
Footman and harnessed knight;
Son of a golden race,
Strong both by land and sea,
Equal to gods,
Though a mortal was he.

STROPHE II.
His eyes like the dragon’s dire
Flashing with dark blue fire,†
See him appear!
Through the long lines of war
Driving the Syrian car,‡
Ares in arrows strong
Leading against the strong
Men of the spear!

ANTISTROPHE II.
When wave upon wave of men
Breaks through each Grecian glen,
Whelming the land,
War like wild Ocean’s tide,
What arm shall turn aside?
Persia’s stout-hearted race,
Hand to hand, face to face,
Who shall withstand?

MESODE.
But, when the gods deceive,6
Wiles which immortals weave
Who shall beware?
Who, when their nets surround,
Breaks with a nimble bound
Out of the snare?
First they approach with smiles
Wreathing their hidden wiles:
Then with surprise,
Seize they their prey; and lo!
Writhing in toils of woe
Tangled he lies.

STROPHE III.
Fate hath decreed it so,
Peace, peace, is not for thee!
Persia, hear and know,
War is the lot for thee!
Spake the supernal powers,
Charging of steeds shall be,
Taking of towns and towers,
Persia, to thee!

ANTISTROPHE III.
Where the sea, hoar with wrath,
Roars to the roaring blast,
Daring a doubtful path,
Persian hosts have passed;
Where wave on wave cresting on
Bristles with angry breath,
Cable and plank alone
Part them from death!

STROPHE IV
Therefore is my soul within me
Murky-mantled, pricked with fear:
Alas! the Persian army! Never
May such cry invade my ear!
Susa, emptied of her children,
Desolate and drear!

ANTISTROPHE IV.
Never may the Cissian fortress
With such echo split the air;
Spare mine ears the shrieks of women,
And mine eyes the sad sight spare,
When fair hands the costly linen
From gentle bosoms tear!

STROPHE V.
For all our horse with frequent tramp,
And our footmen from the camp,
Even as bees on busy wing,
Swarmed out with the king:
And they paved their briny way,
Where beats the many-mingling spray
The bridge that joins the Thracian strand
To Asian land.*

ANTISTROPHE V.
Wives bedew with many a tear
The couches where the partner dear
Hath been, and is not; Persian wives
Fret with desire their lives.
Far, far, he roams from land to land,
Her restless lord with lance in hand;
She in unmated grief to moan
Is left alone.

But come, ye Persian elders all,
Let us seat us beside this ancient hall;
Wise counsel to-day let us honestly frame,
Touching the fate of the kingly one,
Race of our race, and name of our name,
Darius’ godlike son:
For much it concerns us to know
Whether the winged shaft shot from the bow,
Or the strength of the pointed spear hath won.
But lo! where she comes, a moving light,
Like the eyes of the god so bright,
The mother of Xerxes, my queen.
Let us fall down before her with humble prostration,7
And greet her to-day with a fair salutation,
The mother of Xerxes, my queen.
[ToAtossa,entering.] Mistress of the low-zoned women, queen of Persia’s daughters, hail!
Aged mother of King Xerxes, wife of great Darius, hail!
Spouse of him who was a god, and of a present god the mother,
If the ancient bliss that crowned it hath not left the Persian host.

EnterAtossa,drawn with royal pomp in a chariot.

Atossa.

Even this hath moved me, leaving these proud golden-garnished halls,
And the common sleeping chamber of Darius and myself,
Here to come. Sharp fear within me pricks my heart; I will declare
All the thoughts that deep perplex me to my friends; the secret fear
Lest our pride of ramping riches kick our sober weal in the dust,
Scattering wide what wealth Darius gathered, not without a god.
Twofold apprehension moves me, when I ponder this old truth;
Without men much riches profit little; without wealth the state,
Though in numbers much abounding, may not look on joyous light.
Riches are a thing not evil; but I tremble for the eye,
And the eye I call the presence of the master in the house.*
Ye have heard my sorrows; make me sharer of your counsel now,
In what matter I shall tell you, ancient, trusty Persian men;
For with you my whole of wisdom, all my healthy counsels dwell.

Chorus.

Mistress of this land, believe it, never shalt thou ask a kindness,
Be it word from us or action, twice, while power shall aid the will;
We are willing to advise thee in this matter, what we may.

Atossa.

Since when my son departed with the army,
To bring destruction on Ionia,* scarcely
One night hath been that did not bring me dreams;
But yesternight, with figurement most clear,
I dreamt; hear thou the theme. Methought I saw
Two women richly dight, in Persian robes
The one, the other in a Dorian dress,
Both tall above the vulgar stature, both
Of beauty blameless, and descended both
From the same race. The one on Hellas dwelt,
The other on fair Asia’s continent.
Between these twain some strife there seemed to rise;
Which when my son beheld, forthwith he seized them,
And joined them to his car, and made their necks
Submissive to the yoke. The one uptowered
In pride of harness, as rejoiced to follow
The kingly rein. The other kicked and plunged,
And tossed the gear away, and broke the traces,
The yoke in sunder snapt, and from the car
Ran reinless. On the ground my son was thrown,
And to his aid Darius pitying came,
Whom when he saw, my Xerxes rent his robes.
Such was my vision of the night; the morn
Brought a new portent with it. When I rose,
And dipped my hands in the fair-flowing fount,8
And to the altar of the averting gods,
To whom such right pertains, with sacred cake
In sacrificial ministry advanced,
I saw an eagle flying to the altar9
Of Phœbus; there all mute with fear I stood;
And after it in swiftest flight I saw
A hawk that darted on the eagle’s head,
And tore it with his claws, the royal bird
Yielding his glory meekly to be plucked.
These things I saw in fear, as ye in fear
Must hear them. Ye know well, my son commands
Supreme in Persia. Should success attend him,
’Tis well; but should mischance o’ertake him, he
Will rule in Susa as he ruled before;
No power is here to whom he owes account.

Chorus.

We advise thee, mother, neither with the feeble words of fear,
Nor with boastful courage. Turn thee to the gods in supplication:
Theirs it is to ward fulfilment of all evil-omened sights,
Bringing good to full fruition for thyself and for thy children,
For the city and all that love thee. Then a pure libation pour
To the Earth and to the Manes; with especial honor pray
The dread Shade of thy Darius whom thou sawest in the night,
To send blessings on thy Xerxes in the gladness of the day,
Keeping back unblissful sorrows in the sightless gloom of death.
Thus my soul its own diviner* with a friendly kind concern
Counsels. Doubtless time will perfect happy fates for thee and thine.

Atossa.

Truly, with a friendly reading thou hast read my midnight dreams,
Words of strengthening solace speaking to my son and to my house.
May the gods all blessing perfect. I to them, as thou hast said,
And the Shades, the well-beloved, will perform befitting rites,
In the palace; meanwhile tell me this, for I would gladly know
Where, O friends, is famous Athens on the broad face of the Earth?10

EnterMessenger.

Mess.

O towns and cities of wide Asia,
O Persian land, wide harbour of much wealth,
How hath one stroke laid all thy grandeur low,
One frost nipt all thy bloom! Woe’s me that I
Should be first bearer of bad news! but strong
Necessity commands to speak the truth.
Persians, the whole barbaric host hath perished.

STROPHE I.

Chorus.

O misery! misery, dark and deep!
Dole and sorrow and woe!
Weep, ye Persians! wail and weep,
For wounds that freshly flow!

Mess.

All, all is ruined: not a remnant left.
Myself, against all hope, see Persia’s sun.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Chorus.

O long, too long, through creeping years
Hath the life of the old man lasted,
To see—and nurse his griefs with tears—
The hopes of Persia blasted!

Mess.

I speak no hearsay: what these eyes beheld
Of blackest evil, Persians, I declare.

STROPHE II.

Chorus.

Ah me! all in vain against Hellas divine
Were the twanging bow and whizzing reed,
All vainly mustered the thickly clustered
Armies of the Mede!

Mess.

The shores of Salamis, and all around
With the thick bodies of our dead are peopled.

ANTISTROPHE II.

Chorus.

Alas! the wreck of the countless host!
The sundered planks, and the drifted dead,12
Rocked to and fro, with the ebb and the flow
On a wavy-wandering bed!

Mess.

Vain were our shafts; our mighty multitude
Vanished before their brazen-beaked attack.

STROPHE III.

Chorus.

Sing ye, sing ye a sorrowful song,
Lift ye, lift ye a piercing cry!
Our harnessed throng and armies strong
Lost and ruined utterly!

Mess.

O hated name to hear, sad Salamis!
O Athens, I remember thee with groans.

ANTISTROPHE III.

Chorus.

O Athens, Athens, thou hast reft us
Of our all we did possess!
Sonless mothers thou hast left us,
Weeping wives and husbandless!

Atossa.

Thou see’st I have kept silence. this sad stroke
Hath struck me dumb, as powerless to give voice
To my own sorrows, as to ask another’s.
Yet when the gods send trouble, mortal men
Must learn to bear it. Therefore be thou calm;
Unfold the perfect volume of our woes,
And, though the memory grieve thee, let us hear
Thy tale to the end, what loss demands our tears,
Which of the baton-bearing chiefs* hath left
An army to march home without a head.

Mess.

Xerxes yet lives, and looks on the light.

Atossa.

Much light
In this to me, and to my house thou speakest,
A shining day from out a pitchy night.

Mess.

Artembares, captain of ten thousand horse,
Upon the rough Silenian shores* lies dead,
And Dadaces, the chiliarch, spear-struck fell
Precipitate from his ship—an easy leap;
And noble Tenagon, a pure Bactrian born,
Around the sea-lashed isle of Ajax floats.
Lilaeus, Arsames, Argestes, these
The waves have made their battering ram, to beat
The hard rocks of the turtle-nurturing isle.
Pharnuchus, Pheresseues, and Adeues,
And Arcteus from their native Nile-spring far
Fell from one ship into one grave. Matallus,
The Chrysian myriontarch, who led to Hellas
Full thrice ten thousand sable cavalry,
His thick and bushy beard’s long tawny pride
Hath dyed in purple gore. The Magian Arabus
The Bactrian Artames on the self-same shore
Have found no cushioned lodgment.† There Amestris,13
And there Amphistreus, wielder of the spear,
And there Metragathes lies, for whom the Sardians
Weep well-earned tears; and Sersames, the Mysian.
With them, of five times fifty ships commander,
Lyrnaean Tharybis, a goodly man,
Lies hopeless stretched on the unfriendly strand.
Syennesis, the brave Cilician chief
Who singly wrought more trouble to the foe
Than thousands, died with a brave man’s report.
These names I tell thee of the chiefs that fell,
A few selecting out of many losses.

Atossa.

Alas! alas! more than enough I hear;
Shame to the Persians and shrill wails. But say,
Retracing thy discourse, what was the number
Of the Greek ships that dared with Persia’s fleet
To engage, and grapple beak to beak.

Mess.

If number
Of ships might gain the fight, believe me, queen,
The victory had been ours. The Greeks could tell
But ten times thirty ships, with other ten,
Of most select equipment. Xerxes numbered
A thousand ships, two hundred sail and seven
Of rapid wing beside. Of this be assured,
What might of man could do was done to save us,
Some god hath ruined us, not weighing justly
An equal measure. Pallas saves her city.14

Atossa.

The city? is it safe? does Athens stand?

Mess.

It stands without the fence of walls. Men wall it

Atossa.

But say, who first commenced the fight—the Greeks
Or, in his numbers strong, my kingly son.

Mess.

Some evil god, or an avenging spirit,*
Began the fray. From the Athenian fleet
There came a Greek,15 and thus thy son bespoke.
“Soon as the gloom of night shall fall, the Greeks
No more will wait, but, rushing to their oars,
Each man will seek his safety where he may,
By secret flight.” This Xerxes heard, but knew not
The guile of Greece, nor yet the jealous gods,
And to his captains straightway gave command
That, when the sun withdrew his burning beams,
And darkness filled the temple of the sky,16
In triple lines their ships they should dispose,
Each wave-plashed outlet guarding, fencing round
The isle of Ajax surely. Should the Greeks
Deceive this guard, or with their ships escape
In secret flight, each captain with his head
Should pay for his remissness. These commands
With lofty heart, thy son gave forth, nor thought
What harm the gods were weaving. They obeyed.
Each man prepared his supper, and the sailors
Bound the lithe oar to its familiar block.
Then, when the sun his shining glory paled,
And night swooped down, each master of the oar,
Each marshaller of arms, embarked; and then
Line called on line to take its ordered place.
All night they cruised, and, with a moving belt,
Prisoned the frith, till day ’gan peep, and still
No stealthy Greek the expected flight essayed.
But when at length the snowy-steeded Day
Burst o’er the main, all beautiful to see,
First from the Greeks a tuneful shout uprose,
Well-omened, and, with replication loud,
Leapt the blithe echo from the rocky shore.
Fear seized the Persian host, no longer tricked
By vain opinion; not like wavering flight
Billowed the solemn pæan of the Greeks,
But like the shout of men to battle urging,
With lusty cheer. Then the fierce trumpet’s voice
Blazed* o’er the main; and on the salt sea flood
Forthwith the oars, with measured plash, descended,
And all their lines, with dexterous speed displayed,
Stood with opposing front. The right wing first,
Then the whole fleet bore down, and straight uprose
A mighty shout. “Sons of the Greeks, advance!
Your country free, your children free, your wives!
The altars of your native gods deliver,
And your ancestral tombs—all’s now at stake!”
A like salute from our whole line back-rolled
In Persian speech. Nor more delay, but straight
Trireme on trireme, brazen beak on beak
Dashed furious. A Greek ship led on the attack,†
And from the prow of a Phœnician struck
The figure-head; and now the grapple closed
Of each ship with his adverse desperate.
At first the main line of the Persian fleet
Stood the harsh shock; but soon their multitude
Became their ruin; in the narrow frith
They might not use their strength, and, jammed together,
Their ships with brazen beaks did bite each other,
And shattered their own oars. Meanwhile the Greeks
Stroke after stroke dealt dexterous all around,
Till our ships showed their keels, and the blue sea
Was seen no more, with multitude of ships
And corpses covered. All the shores were strewn,
And the rough rocks, with dead, till, in the end,
Each ship in the barbaric host, that yet
Had oars, in most disordered flight rowed off.
As men that fish for tunnies, so the Greeks,
With broken booms, and fragments of the wreck,
Struck our snared men, and hacked them, that the sea,
With wail and moaning, was possessed around,
Till black-eyed Night shot darkness o’er the fray.‡
These ills thou hearest: to rehearse the whole,
Ten days were few; but this my queen, believe,
No day yet shone on Earth whose brightness looked
On such a tale of death.

Atossa.

A sea of woes
On Persia bursts, and all the Persian name!

Mess.

Thou hast not heard the half: another woe
Remains, that twice outweighs what I have told

Atossa

What worse than this? Say what mischance so strong
To hurt us more, being already ruined?

Mess

The bloom of all the Persian youth, in spirit
The bravest, and in birth the noblest, princes
In whom thy son placed his especial trust,
All by a most inglorious doom have perished.

Atossa.

O wretched me, that I should live to hear it!
But by what death did Persia’s princes die?

Mess

There is an islet, fronting Salamis,
To ships unfriendly, of dance-loving Pan17
The chosen haunt, and near the Attic coast.
Here Xerxes placed his chiefest men, that when
The routed Greeks should seek this strand, our troops
Might both aid friends, where friends their aid required,
And kill the scattered Greeks, an easy prey;
Ill-auguring what should hap! for when the gods
Gave to the Greeks the glory of the day,*
Straightway well-cased in mail from their triremes
They leapt, rushed on the isle, and hedged it round,
That neither right nor left our men might turn,
But fell in heaps, some struck by rattling stones,
Some pierced by arrows from the twanging bow.
Then, in one onslaught fiercely massed, the Greeks
Our fenceless chiefs in slashing butchery
Mowed down, till not one breath remained to groan.
But Xerxes groaned: for from a height that rose
From the sea-shore conspicuous,† with clear view
He mustered the black fortune of the fight.
His stole he rent, and lifting a shrill wail
Gave the poor remnant of his host command
To flee, and fled with them. Lament with me,
This second sorrow heaped upon the first.

Atossa.

O dismal god! how has thy hate deceived
The mind of the Mede! A bitter vengeance truly
Hath famous Athens wreaked on my poor son,
To all the dead that fell at Marathon
Adding this slaughter!—O my son! my son!
Thyself hast paid the penalty that thou
Went to inflict on others!—But let me hear
Where hast thou left the few ships that escaped?

Mess.

The remnant of the fleet with full sail sped
Swift in disordered flight from Salamis
The wreck of the army through Bœotia trailed
Its sickly line: there some of thirst fell dead
Even in the water’s view; some with fatigue
Panting toiled on through Phocian land, and Doris,
And passed the Melian gulf, where through the plain
Spercheius rolls his fructifying flood
Then faint and famished the Achaean land
Received us, and fair Thessaly’s city, there
The most of hunger died and thirst; for with
This double plague we struggled Next Magnesia
And Macedonian ground we traversed, then
The stream of Axius, reedy Bolbe’s mere,
The Edonian fields, and the Pangaean hills.
But here some god* stirred winter premature,
And in the night froze Strymon’s holy stream.
Then men who never worshipped gods before
Called on the heavens and on the Earth to save them,
With many prayers, in vain. A few escaped,
What few had crossed the ice-compacted flood
Ere the strong god of light shot forth his rays.
For soon the lustrous orb of day shone out
With blazing beams, unbound the stream, and oped
Inevitable fate beneath them: then
Man upon man in crowded ruin fell,
And he was happiest who the soonest died.
We who survived, a miserable wreck,
Struggled through Thrace slowly with much hard toil,18
And stand again on Persian ground, and see
Our native hearths. Much cause the city has
To weep the loss of her selectest youth.
These words are true: much I omit to tell
Of all the woes a god hath smote withal
Our Persian land.

Chorus.

O sorely-vexing god,
How hast thou trampled ’neath no gentle foot
The Persian race!

Atossa.

Woe’s me! the army’s lost
O dreamy shapes night wandering, too clearly
Your prophecy spoke truth! But you, good Seniors,
Sorry expounders though ye be, in one thing
I will obey. I will go pray the gods,
As ye advised; then gifts I will present
To Earth and to the Manes. I will offer,
The sacred cake to appease them For the past,
’Tis past beyond all change; but hope may be
To make the gods propitious for the future.
Meanwhile your counsel in this need I crave;
A faithful man is mighty in mischance
My son, if he shall come ere I return,
Cheer him with friendly words, and see him safe,
Lest to this ill some worser woe be added

[Exit.

Chorus.

O Jove, king Jove destroyed hast thou
Our high-vaunting countless hosts!
Our high-vaunting countless hosts
Where be they now?
Susa’s glory, Ecbatana’s pride,
In murky sorrow thou didst hide,
And with delicate hands the virgins fair
Their white veils tear,
And salt streams flow from bright fountains of woe,
And rain on the bosoms of snow.
They whose love was fresh and young,
Where are now their husbands strong?
The soft delights of the nuptial bed
With purple spread,
Where, where be they?
They have lost the joy of their jocund years,
And they weep with insatiate tears:
And I will reply with my heart’s strong cry,
And lift the doleful lay.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I
Asia from each furthest corner
Weeps her woes, a sonless mourner,
Xerxes a wild chase pursuing,
Xerxes led thee to thy ruin;
Xerxes, luckless fancies wooing,
Trimmed vain fleets for thy undoing.
Not like him the old Darius
Shattered thus from Hellas came;
Rightly he is honoured by us,
Susa’s bowman without blame.

ANTISTROPHE I.
Dark-prowed ships that plough wide ocean
With well-poised wings through waves’ commotion,
Ships, the countless crews that carried,
In briny death ye saw them buried,
Where the Ionian beaks were dashing,
Where the Persian booms were crashing!
And our monarch scarcely scaping,
Left with life the deathful fray,
Through the plains of Thracia shaping
Sad his bleak and wintry way.

STROPHE II.
But the firstlings of our losses
The Ionian billow tosses,
And Cychréan waves are hurried,
O’er the stranded dead unburied.
Let the sharp grief bite thy marrow,
With thy wailing smite the sky!
Freely voice thy heaving sorrow,
With a weighty burden cry!

ANTISTROPHE II.
Woe’s me! by the wild waves driven,
By the mute sea-monsters riven,19
The untainted ocean’s creatures
Battening on their traceless features!
Heirless homes are lorn and lonely,
Childless parents weep and wail,
Old men weep, with weeping only
They receive the woeful tale.

STROPHE III.
Ah me! even now while we are mourning
Some rebel hearts belike are spurning
The Persian rule; some serf refuses
The gold due to his master’s uses.
And some are slow with reverence low
To kiss the ground and adore,
For the power that long was fresh and strong
Is found no more.

ANTISTROPHE III.
The tongues of men, free from wise reining,
Will now break forth with loud complaining;
Unmuzzled now, unyoked, the rabble
Will blaze abroad licentious babble.
For the blood-drenched soil of the sea-swept isle
Its prey restoreth never.
And the thing that hath been henceforth shall be seen
No more for ever.

EnterAtossa.

Atossa.

Good friends, whoso hath knowledge of mishap,
Knows this, that men, when swelling ills surge o’er them,
Brood o’er the harm till all things catch the hue
Of apprehension; but, when Fortune’s stream
Runs smooth, the same, with confidence elate,
Hope the boon god will blow fair breezes ever.
Thus to my soul all things are full of fear,
The adverse gods from all sides strike my eye,
And in my ear, with ominous-ringing peal,
Fate prophesies. Such terror scares my wits.
No royal car to-day, no queenly pomp
Is mine, the broidered stole would ill become
My present mission, bringing as thou see’st,
These simple offerings to appease the Shades;
From the chaste cow, this white and healthful milk,
This clearest juice, by the flower-working bee
Distilled, this pure wave from the virgin spring,
This draught of joyaunce from the unmingled grape,
Of a wild mother born; this fragrant fruit
Of the pale green olive, ever leafy-fair,20
And these wreathed flowers, of all-producing Earth
Fair children. But, my dear lov’d friends, I pray you,
With pious supplication, now invoke,
The god Darius21 while on the earth I pour
These pure libations to the honour’d dead.

Chorus.

O queen, much-revered of the Persian nation,
To the chambers below pour thou the libation,
While we shall uplift the holy hymn,
That the gods who reign in the regions dim,
May graciously hear when we pray.
O holy powers that darkly sway
In the subterranean night,
O Earth, and Hermes, and thou who art king
Of the Shades that float on bodiless wing,
Send, O send him back to the light!
For, if remedy be to our burden of woes,
He surely knows.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
And dost thou hear me, blessed Shade, imploring
Thy aid divine, and freely pouring
Of plaintive grief
The various flow?
I will cry out, till Persia’s godlike chief
Shall hear below.

ANTISTROPHE I.
O Earth, and ye that rule the shadowy homes,
Send from your sunless domes
The mighty god
Of Susan birth,
Than whom no greater yet was pressed by the sod
Of Persian earth.

STROPHE II.
O dear-loved man! dear tomb! and dearer dust
That in thee lies!
O Aidóneus, thy charge release,22
O stern Aidóneus, and, in peace,
Let king Darius rise!

ANTISTROPHE II.
He was a king no myriads vast he lost
In wars inglorious.
Persia, a counsellor was he,
A counsellor of god to thee,
He with his hosts victorious.

STROPHE III.
Come, dread lord!23 Appear! Appear!
O’er the sepulchre’s topmost tier;
The disc of thy regal tiara showing,24
With thy sandals saffron-glowing,
Come, good father Darius, come!

ANTISTROPHE III.
Fresh and unstaunched woes to hear,
Lord of a mighty lord appear!
For the clouds of Stygian night o’ercome us,
And all our youth are perished from us,
Come, good father Darius, come!

EPODE.
O woe! and woe! and yet again
Woe, and misery, and pain!
Why should’st thou die, and leave the land
Thou master of the mighty hand?
Why should thy son with foolish venture
Shake thy sure Empire to its centre?25
And why must we deplore
The countless triremes on the sea-swept shore
Triremes no more?26

The Shade ofDariusrises from the Tomb.

Darius.

O faithfullest of my faithful friends, compeers
Of my fair youth, elders of Persia, say
With what sore labour labours now the state?
Pierced is the Earth, and rent with sounds of woe!
And I my spouse beholding near the tomb
Am troubled, and her offerings I receive
Propitious. Ye with her this cry have raised
Of shrill lament to bring the dead from Hades,
No easy climb; the gods beneath the ground
Are readier to receive than to dismiss;*
But I was lord above them. I am come
To meet your questioning. Ask, while yet the time
Chides not my stay. What ill weighs Persia down?

STROPHE

Chorus.

I cannot speak before thee;
I tremble to behold thee;
The ancient awe subdues me.

Darius.

Not to hold a long discourse, but swift to grant a short reply,
I have left the homes of Hades, by your wailings deeply moved.
What thou hast to ask me, therefore ask, and throw all fear aside.

ANTISTROPHE.

Chorus.

I tremble to obey thee.
Such sorrows to unfold thee,
My powerless lips refuse me.

Darius.

Since the ancient reverence holds thee, and enchains thy mind, to thee
I will speak, the aged partner of my bed, my high-born spouse.
Cease thy weepings and thy wailings; tell me what mischance hath hapt
’Tis most human that mischances come to mortal man, not few
Woes by seas, not few by land, if the Fates prolong his span.

Atossa.

O all men in bliss surpassing while thine eyes beheld the day,
Of all Persians envied, living like a god on earth, no less
Happy wert thou in thy dying, ere thou didst behold the depth
Of this present woe, Darius. Thou, in short phrase shalt hear all.
Persia’s strength is gone: the army lost: all ruined. I have said.

Darius.

How? Did pestilence smite the city, or did foul sedition rise?

Atossa.

Neither. Near far Athens routed was the Persian host.

Darius.

Who marched?
Which of my children marched the host to Athens?

Atossa.

Thy impetuous son
Xerxes. Xerxes of her children drained wide Asia’s plains.

Darius.

On foot,
Or with triremes did he risk this foolish venture?

Atossa.

With two fronts,
One by sea, by land the other.

Darius.

Ah! on wings how swift the issue of the ancient doom hath sped!
Thee, my son, great Jove hath smitten. Long-drawn years I hoped would roll,
Ere fulfilment of the dread prophetic burden should be known.
But when man to run is eager, swift is the god to add a spur.27
Opened flows a fount of sorrow to ourselves and to our friends.
This my son knew not: he acted with green youth’s presumptuous daring,
Weening Helle’s sacred current, Bosphorus’ flood divine to bind
Like a slave with hammered fetters, damming its unconquered tide,
Forcing passage against Nature for a host unwisely great.
Being mortal with immortals, with Poseidon’s power he dared
To contend fool-hardy. Did not strong distemper hold the soul
Of my hapless son? The riches stored by me with mickle care
Now, I fear, will be the booty of the swiftest-seizing hand.

Atossa.

Converse with the sons of folly taught thy eager son to err,28
Thou wert great they said, and mighty, winning riches with thy spear,
He, unmanly, chamber-fighting, adding nothing to thy store.
With these taunts the ears assailing of thy warlike son, bad men
Planned at length the march to Hellas—planned his ruin and our woe

Darius.

And, doing this, my son hath done a deed
Whose heavy memory shall not die. For never
Fell such mischance on Susa’s halls, since when
Jove gave his honor that one sceptre sways
Sheep-pasturing Asia. First the Mede was King
Of the vast host of people.29 Him his son
Succeeded, ending well things well begun;
For wisdom still was rudder to his valour.
Cyrus, the third from him, a prosperous man,
Brought peace to all his friends. The Lydian people,
The Phrygians, the Ionians, he subdued:
With him no god was wroth; for he was wise.
The fourth was Cyrus’ son: he was a leader
Of mighty hosts. Him, the fifth, Mardus followed,
A blot to Persia, and the ancestral throne;
Whom in the palace slew Artaphrenes,
Sworn, with a chosen band of faithful friends,
To give him secret riddance. Maraphis next,
And seventh Artaphrenes: myself
Then won the lot I coveted. I marched
My hosts to many wars, but never brought
Mishap like this on Susa. My son, Xerxes,
Being young hath young conceits; and takes no note
Of my advisement. Ye, who were my friends,
And fellows in the government, can witness,
We suffered loss, but we preserved the state.

Chorus.

Liege lord Darius, to what issue tend
Thy words? With greedy ears we wait to hear
How Persia henceforth may her strength repair.

Darius.

Learn from your loss, and never march your armies
Again to Hellas, were they twice as strong.
Not man alone, the land fights for the foe.

Chorus.

How mean’st thou this? how fights the land for them?

Darius.

Our mighty multitudes their barren coast
Kills by sheer famine.

Chorus.

But with a moderate host?

Darius.

A moderate host remains, but, of that few,
Few shall see Persian land.

Chorus.

How? Shall the army
Not all from Europe cross by Helle’s frith?

Darius.

Few out of many, if the prophecies,
That are in part fulfilled by what we see,
(And the gods lie not) speak the future true.
It is an empty hope that bids him leave
A select force behind him: they remain,
Where with fat streams Asopus feeds the plain,
Themselves to feed it fatter: in Bœotia
Much woe awaits them justly, the fair price
Of their own godless pride, that did not fear
When first they entered Greece, to rob the altars
Of the eternal gods, to fire their temples,
Uproot the old foundations of their shrines,
And from their basements in commingled wreck
Dash down the images. Much harm they worked,
And much shall suffer. From no shallow bed
Their woes shall flow, but like a spring gush forth,
Still fresh enforced. With such gore-streaming death
The Dorian spear shall daub Plataea’s soil;
And the piled dead to generations three
Speak this mute wisdom to the thoughtful eye—
Proud thoughts were never made for mortal man;
A haughty spirit* blossoming bears a crop
Of woe, and reaps a harvest of despair.
Look on these things, pride’s just avengement; think
On Athens and on Hellas; fear to slight
The present bounty of the gods, lest they
Rob you of much, while greed still gapes for more.
Jove is chastiser of high-vaunting thoughts,
And heavily falls his judgment on the proud;
Therefore, my foolish son, when he shall come,
With friendly warnings teach, that he may cease
From rash imaginings that offend the gods.
And thou, his aged mother, go within,
And bring a seemly robe with thee, to meet
Thy son withal: for thou shalt see him soon,
His broidered vestments torn in many a shred,
Grief’s blazonry. Thou only with kind words
Canst soothe his sorrow, deaf to all beside.
But now I go hence to the gloom below.
Ye aged friends, farewell. Though ills surround,
Yet give your souls to joyaunce, while ye may,
For riches profit nothing to the dead.

[The Shade ofDariusdescends.

Chorus.

O many woes, both present and to come,
On the barbaric race I weep to hear!

Atossa.

O god, how many sorrows hast thou sent
To weigh me down: but this doth gnaw my heart,
That I should live to see my kingly son
Come in grief’s tattered weeds to Susa’s halls;
But I will go and bring a seemly robe
To meet him, if I may. I will not leave
My dear-loved son unsolaced in his woe.

[Exit into the palace.

CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
O glorious and great was the Persian land!
To the cities of Susa that owned his command
How blest was the day!
Defeat came not nigh us when good old Darius
With invincible, godlike, victorious hand
Held fortunate sway.

ANTISTROPHE I.
Sure-fenced were his cities with law, and no fear
The Persian knew when his armies were near;
They came from the fight,
Not weary and worn, and of glory shorn,
But trophied with spoils, and with costliest gear
All proudly bedight.

STROPHE II.
What cities of splendour
To him did surrender,
Though he crossed not the border that Halys prescribes
To the Median tribes!
From Susa far
Thrace feared his war,
And the islanded cities of Strymon the river
Cowered at the clang of his sounding quiver.

ANTISTROPHE II.
And cities of power,
Girt with wall and with tower,
Far inland away from the frith and the bay,
Rejoiced in his sway,
The proud roofs that gleam
O’er Helle’s broad stream,
That fringe Propontis’ bosomed shores,
And where the mouth of hoarse Pontus roars.

STROPHE III.
And the sea-swept isles that like sentinels stand
Breasting the ports of the Asian land,
Lesbos and Chios, with bright wine glowing,
And Samos, where groves of green olive are growing
Myconos, Paros, and Naxos together,
Studding the main like brother with brother,
And Andros that neighbourly lies in the sea,
Tenos to thee

ANTISTROPHE III.
And Lemnos that looks with a doubtful face
Half to Asia, half to Thrace,
And where Daedalean Icarus fell,
And Rhodes and Cnidos of him can tell,
And the cities of Cyprus great and small,
Paphos and Soli obeyed his call,
And the mother whose name the daughter borrows,
That caused our sorrows.*

EPODE.
And the towns of the Greeks, well peopled and wealthy,
He swayed with counsels wise and healthy;
And the mustered strength of the East stood by us,
A harnessed array,
Many-mingled were they,
Made one at the call of the mighty Darius.
But now the tide hath turned indeed,
The gods have worked our woe,
By the spear, and the glaive,
And the fierce-lashing wave
Low lies the might of the Mede!

EnterXerxes.

Xerxes.

Ah wretched me! even so, even so;
Suddenly, suddenly came the blow,
And strong was the rod of the merciless god
That struck the Persian low!
Ah me! Ah me!
My knees beneath me shake, to see
These seniors reverend and grey,
Gathered to meet me on such a day.
O would that I had been fated to die
With the brave where destiny found them,
When they stained with gore the stranger’s shore,
And the darkness of death came round them!

Chorus

O king of the goodly army, for thee
We weep, and the princes that went with thee,
Of Persian nobles the glory and crown,
Whom a god with his scythe mowed down!
For the halls of Hades, dark and wide,
Xerxes hath plenished with Persia’s pride,
And the land laments her sons.
Hundreds have trodden the path of gloom,
Thousands of Asia’s choicest bloom;
Tens of thousands, that wielded the bow,
Are gone to the chambers of death below
Ah me! ah me! these strong-limbed men,
Where be they now that were lusty then?
All Asia mourns, O King, with thee,
And bends the feeble knee.

Here commences, with mournful Oriental music, and with violent gesticulations, a great National Wail over the misfortunes of the Persian people.

STROPHE I.

Xerxes.

I am the man! I am the man!
The father of shame! the fount of disgrace!
Weep me! weep me! once a king,
Now to my country an evil thing,
A curse to my race!

Chorus

To meet thy returning,
A voice of deep mourning,
A tune evil-aboding,
A cry spirit-goading,
Of a Maryandine wailer,30
Thou shalt hear, thou shalt hear,
O King, with many a tear!

ANTISTROPHE I.

Xerxes.

Lift ye, lift ye, the piercing cry!
Tune ye, tune ye, the doleful lay!
For the ancient god of the Persian race,
That bless’d our fathers, hath turned his face
From Xerxes away!

Chorus.

A cry spirit-piercing,
The dark tale rehearsing,
Of ocean red-heaving,
The slaughtered receiving,
The cry of a city that wails for her children
Thou shalt hear, thou shalt hear,
O King, with many a tear!

STROPHE II.

Xerxes.

Ares was strong on the side of the foe,
The Ionian foe!
Bristling with ships he worked our woe.
His scythe did mow,
The sea, the land,
And laid us low
On the dismal strand.

Leader of Chorus.

Lift, O lift, the earnest cry!
Ask, and he will make reply.

Chorus.

Where is all thy troop of friends,
That marched with thee away, away?
Where is the might of Pharandaces,
Susas and Pelagon, where be they?
Where is Datamas, where Agdabatus,
Psammis, and Susiscánes, say?
All that marched from Ecbatana’s halls,
Where be they? where be they?

ANTISTROPHE II.

Xerxes.

From a Tyrian ship they leapt on shore,
To leap no more.
On the shore of Salamis drenched in gore,
The stony shore,
They made their bed,
To rise no more,
The dead! the dead!

Leader of Chorus.

Lift, O lift the earnest cry,
Ask, and he will make reply!

Chorus.

Ah! say, where is Pharnúchus, where?
Cariomardus, where is he?
Where the chief Seualces, where
Aelæus of noble degree?
Memphis, Tharybis, and Masistris,
Hystæchmas, and Artembares, say?
All the brave that journeyed to Hellas,
Where be they? where be they?

STROPHE III.

Xerxes.

Ah me! ah me!
They looked on Ogygian Athens,* and straight
With one fell swoop down came the Fate,
And we left them there with gasp and groan,
On the shore of the stranger strewn.

Chorus.

Didst thou leave him there to lie,
Batanóchus’ son, thy faithful eye?†
Him didst thou leave on Salamis’ shores
Who counted thy thousands by tens and by scores?
The strong Oebáres and Parthus, were they
Left to be lashed by the hostile spray?
The Persian princes—woe! woe! woe!
Hast thou left to the flood and the foe?

ANTISTROPHE III.

Xerxes.

Ah me! ah me!
Balefully, balefully with sharp sorrow,
Thou dost pierce my inmost marrow;
My heart, my heart cries out to hear thee
Name the lost friends I loved so dearly!

Chorus.

One other name compels my grief,
Xanthus, of Mardian men the chief;
Ancháres the warlike, and lords of the steed
Diaexis, Arsáces that ride with speed?
Lythimnas, Kygdabatas, where be they,
And Tolmos eager for the fray?
Not, I wis, where they wont to be,
Behind the tented car with thee.

STROPHE IV.

Xerxes.

They are gone, the generals, gone for ever!

Chorus.

Lost, and to be heard of never!

Xerxes.

Woe worth the day!

Chorus.

Ye gods! on a public place of woe
Ye set us high;
And Até on the sorrowful show
Doth feast her eye.

ANTISTROPHE IV.

Xerxes.

We are stricken, beyond redemption stricken!

Chorus.

Stricken of Heaven! with vengeance stricken!

Xerxes.

And sore dismay!

Chorus.

On an evil day we joined the fray,
With the brave Greek name;
From Ionian ships a sheer eclipse
On Persia came.

STROPHE V.

ANTISTROPHE V.

STROPHE VI.

Xerxes.

Weep, and while the salt tears flow,
To the palace let us go!

Chorus

We weep, and, while the salt tears flow,
To the palace with thee go.

Xerxes.

Ring the peal both loud and shrill!

Chorus.

An ill addition is ill to ill.

Xerxes.

Swell the echo!—high and higher
Lift the wail to my desire!

Chorus.

With echoing sorrow, high and higher,
We lift the wail to thy desire.

Xerxes.

Heavy came the blow, and stunning.

Chorus.

From my eyes the tears are running.

ANTISTROPHE VI.

Xerxes.

Lift thine arms and sink them low,
Oaring with the oars of woe!32

Chorus.

Our arms we lift, dark woes deploring,
With the oars of sorrow oaring.

Xerxes.

Ring the peal both loud and shrill!

Chorus.

Grief to grief, and ill to ill.

Xerxes.

With shrill melody, high and higher,
Lift the wail to my desire!

Chorus.

With thrilling melody, high and higher,
We lift the wail to thy desire.

Xerxes.

Mingle, mingle sigh with sigh!

Chorus.

Wail for wail, and cry for cry.

STROPHE VII.

Xerxes.

Beat your breasts; let sorrow surge,
Like a Mysian wailer’s dirge!

Chorus.

Even as a dirge; a Mysian dirge.

Xerxes.

From thy chin the honor tear,
Pluck thy beard of snowy hair!*

Chorus.

We tear, we tear, the snowy hair.

Xerxes.

Lift again the thrilling strain!

Chorus.

Again, again, ascends the strain.

ANTISTROPHE VII.

Xerxes.

From thy breast the white robe tear,
Make thy wounded bosom bare!

Chorus.

The purfled linen, lo! I tear.

Xerxes.

Pluck the honor from thy head,
Weep in baldness for the dead!

Chorus.

I pluck my locks, and weep the dead

Xerxes.

Weep, weep! till thine eyes be dim!

Chorus.

With streaming woe, they swim, they swim.

EPODE.

[Exeunt.

NOTES TO THE PERSIANS

[Back to Table of Contents]

LIST OF EDITIONS COMMENTARIES AND TRANSLATIONS

USED BY THE TRANSLATOR

Editions of the whole Plays.

Aldus: Venet., 1518

Victorius: ex officina Stephani; 1557.

Foulis: Glasguæ; 1746.

Schütz: 2 vols. Oxon.; 1810.

Butler: Cantab.; 1809-16, ex editione Stanleii; 4 vols. 4to.

Wellauer: cum. Lexico. Lipsiæ; 1823-31.

Scholefield: Cantab.; 1828.

Paley: Cantab.; 1844-47. 2 vols. 8vo.

Editions of the Separate Plays.

THE AGAMEMNON.

Blomfield: Cantab.; 1822.

Kennedy (with an English version, and Voss, German one). Dublin; 1829.

Klausen: Gothæ et Erfordiæ; 1833.

Peile. London Murray; 1839.

Connington (with an English poetical version). London; 1848.

Franz: with the Choephoræ and the Eumenides, and a German metrical translation. Leipzig; 1849.

CHOEPHORÆ.

Schwenk: Trajecti ad Rhenum; 1819.

Klausen: Gothæ et Erfordiæ; 1835.

Peile. London: Murray; 1844.

EUMENIDES.

K. O. Müller (with a German translation). Gottingen; 1833: and Anhang; 1834.

Linwood: Oxon.; 1844.

PROMETHEUS.

Bothe: Lipsiæ; 1830.

G C W. Schneider. Weimar; 1834.

Schoemann (with a German translation). Greifswald; 1844.

THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES.

Blomfield. Cantab.; 1817.

G. C. W. Schneider. Weimar; 1834.

Griffith. Oxford.

THE PERSIANS.

Blomfield. Cantab; 1815.

G. C. W. Schneider. Weimar; 1837.

Commentaries, Dissertations, Monograms, &c.

Apparatus Criticus et Exegeticus in Æschyli tragædias; continens Stanleii commentarium, Abreschii animadersiones, et Reisigii emendationes in Prometheum. 2 vols. 8vo. Halis Saxonum; 1832.

Linwood: lexicon to Æschylus, 2nd edition. London; 1847.

Blumner: Weber die Idee des Schicksals in den Tragoedien des Æschylus. Leipzig; 1814.

Welcker: Die Æschyleische Trilogie. Darmstadt; 1824.

Hermanni Opuscula: 6 vols. 8vo., Latin and German. Leipzig; 1827-35.

Unger: Thebana Paradoxa. Halis; 1839.

Klausen: Theologoumena Æschyli. Berolini; 1829.

Toepelmann: Commentatio de Æschyli Prometheo (with a German translation). Lipsiæ, 1829.

B. G. Weiske: Prometheus und sein Mythenkreis. Leipzig; 1842.

Schoemann: Vindiciæ Jovis Æeschylei. Gryphiswaldiæ; 1846.

Translations.

Potter: English verse, 4to. Norwich; 1777.

Anon.: English prose (marked in my notes E. P. Oxon), 3rd edition. Oxford; 1840.

Droysen: German verse, 2nd edition. Berlin; 1842.

T. A. Buckley: English prose. London: 1849.

Wilhelm von Humboldt: Agamemnon metrisch ubersetzt. Leipzig; 1816.

Symmons: the Agamemnon in English verse. London; 1824.

Harford: the Agamemnon in English verse. London; 1831.

Th Medwyn: the Agamemnon in English verse. London; 1832.

Sewell: the Agamemnon in English verse. London; 1846.

Schoemann: die Eumeniden, German verse. Greifswald; 1845.

Th. Medwyn: the Prometheus, in English verse. London; 1832.

Prowett: the Prometheus, in English verse. Cambridge; 1846.

Swayne: the Prometheus, in English verse. London; 1846.

C. P. Conz: die Perser, and die Sieben vor Tuebae. Tübingen; 1817.

EVERYMAN’S LIBRARY By ERNEST RHYS

[* ]Life, Vol. I. p. 192.

[* ]Southey requested a Frenchman ambitious of translating his Roderick, to do so in prose, not because he preferred that method in general, but because he believed that “poetry of the higher order is as impossible in French, as it is in Chinese!”—Life, Vol. IV. p. 100.

[† ]Life, Vol. III. p. 44.

[* ]Southey—Preface to A Vision of Judgment.

[† ]As for Klopstock’s Odes, written mostly in classical metres, Zelter, the Berlin musician, said significantly that, when reading them, he felt as if he were eating stones!—See Briefwechsel mitGoethe.

[‡ ]Τὸ μὲν γὰρ πρωˆτον τετραμετρῳ εχρωˆντο διὰ τὸ σατυρικὴν καὶ ὀρχηστκωτέραν [Editor: illegible character]ιναι τὴν ποίησιν.

Port. 4.

[§ ]As in the conclusion of the Agamemnon, when the passion of the interested parties has wrought itself up to a climax. So in the passionate dialogue between Eteocles and Polynices, in Eurip. Phœnis. 591. The use of the Trochees in these passages is thus precisely the same as that of the Anapæsts in the finale of the Prometheus In the Persians, they serve to give an increased dignity to the person of Atossa, and the Shade of the royal Darius.

[∥ ]“Take our blank verse for all in all, in all its gradations from the elaborate rhythm of Milton, down to its lowest structure in the early dramatists, and I believe that there is no measure comparable to it, either in our own or in any other language, for might and majesty, flexibility and compass.”—Southey, Preface to the Vision of Judgment. What Bulwek says to the contrary (Athens and the Athenians, vol. II. p. 43), was crudely thought, or idly spoken, and unworthy of so great a genius.

[* ]Eumenides, sect. 16.

[† ]See Aristides and the musical writers; also Dionysius. Consider, also, what a solemnity Plutarch attributes to the ἐμβατηριος παιων of the Spartans (Lycurg. 22), which, of course, was either Dactylic or Anapæstic verse. Altogether, there can be no greater mistake than to imagine that our Dactylic and Anapæstic verse are the æsthetical equivalents of the ancient measures from which their names are borrowed They are, in many parts of my translation, rather the equivalent of Dochmiac verse, and this, in obedience to the uniform practice of our highest poets, in passages of high passion and excitement.

[‡ ]Mitchell (Aristoph. Ran. v. 1083) has remarked, with justice, that Æschylus is particularly fond of this verse. I was prevented from using it so often as might have been desirable in the choric odes, from having made it the representative of the Anapæsts.

[* ]On the Dochmiacs, Ionic a minori, and other rhythmical details, the reader will find occasional observations in the Notes; and those who are curious in those matters will find my views on some points more fully stated in Classical Museum, No III. p. 338; No. XIII. p. 319, and No. XXII p. 432. The Dochmiac verse was, in fact, equivalent to a bar of [Editor: illegible character] in modern music.—See Apel’s Metrik.

[* ]The corrupt state of the Æschylean text is no doubt to be attributed mainly to the rhetorical taste which, in the ages of the decadence, prevailed so long at Rome, Athens, Alexandria, and Byzantium, and which naturally directed the attention of transcribers to the text of Euripides, the great master of tongue-fence and the model-poet of the schools.—See Quinctil. X. 1.

[* ]There is a prevalent idea that the modern Greek language, or Romaic, as it is called, is a different language from the ancient Greek, pretty much in the same way that Italian is different from Latin. But this is a gross mistake Greek was and is one unbroken living language, and ought to be taught as such.

[† ]Whiston, Article Tragedy in Smith’s Dictionary of Antiquities, Second Edition; and Donaldson in the Greek Theatre, Sixth Edition London: 1849. P. 30.

[* ]Γενομένη ἀπ ἀρχη̂ς ἀυτοσχεδιαστικὴ ἡ τραγῳδία ἀπὸ τωˆν ἐξαρχόντων τὸν διθύραμβον κατὰ μικρον ὴυξήθη.—Aristot. poet. 4.—Compare the words of the old Iambic poet Archilochus, given by Athenaeus (XIV. p. 628)—“I know well how to dance the Dithyramb when the wine thunders dissily through my brain!” The word Dithyramb, according to the best etymology which has come in my way (Donaldson & Hartung), means the revel of the god.

[† ]Αρίον τὸν Μηθυμναɩ̂ον πρωˆτον ἀνθρώπων τωˆν ἡμεɩ̂ς [Editor: illegible character]δμεν ποιήσαντα τε καὶ [Editor: illegible character]νομάσαντα και διδάξαντα τὸν διθύραμβον ἐν Κορίνθῳ.—Herod. I. 23. Compare Suidasin voceArion, and ScholPindar, Olymp. XIII 25.

[* ]Διθύραμβος ο̂ς [Editor: illegible character]ν κύκλιος χορός.—Schol., Pindar, as above.

[† ]χορὸς ’εστὼς κυκλικωˆς.—Tzetzes Proleg. to Lycophron

[‡ ]Hartung, on the Dithyramb —Classical Museum, No XVIII p. 373. Mure’s literature of ancient Greece.—Vol III., p 85

[§ ]The number fifty is mentioned in the Epigram of Simonides, beginning ἠρχεν Αδείμαντος, in the above-mentioned prologue of Tzetzes, and in Pollux, Lib iv., 15, who says that this number of the Chorus was used even by Æschylus up to the time when the Eumenides was represented The number twelve is commonly mentioned by other authorities as having been used by Æschylus, while Sophocles is said to have increased it to fifteen, which afterwards became the standard number Müller (Eumenides) ingeniously supposes that the tragic poets, so long as the exhibition by tetralogies lasted, got the original number of fifty from the public authorities, and divided it among the different pieces of the tetralogy Blomfield’s notion (Preface to the Persae) that the Chorus to the Eumenides consisted of only three persons, though a kind word has been said in its favour lately (Mason in Smith’s Dict of Antiq. voceChorus), deserves, in my opinion, not a moment’s consideration, either on philological or æsthetical grounds I may mention here further, for the sake of those to whom these matters are strange, that the Chorus holds communication with the other characters in a Greek play generally by means of its Coryphaeus or Leader, which is the reason why it is often addressed in the singular and not in the plural number.

[* ]Vit. Philos III 34 It will be observed that, if a third actor appears on the stage in some parts of the Orestean trilogy, this is to be accounted for by the supposition that, in his later plays, the poet adopted the improvements which his young rival had first introduced The number of actors here spoken of does not, of course, take into account mutes or supernumeraries, such as we find in great numbers in the Eumenides, and more or less almost in every extant piece of Æschylus.

[* ]Poetics, c. xiii.

[† ]Wilson, Vol. I. p. xxvi.

[* ]Twining; but the meaning of the Greek is disputed.

[* ]“ἡ μελοποίια, μέγιστον τωˆν ἡδυσμάτων.”—Poetics, c. vi. The success of the modern Italian opera in England, proves this in a style of which Aristotle could have had no conception.

[* ]The position of the old Theban senators, who form the Chorus in this play, has called forth not a little learned gladiatorship lately, Böckh (whose opinion on all such matters is entitled to the profoundest respect) maintaining that the Chorus is the impersonated wisdom of the play as conceived in the poet’s mind, while some of his critics (Dyer in Class Mus Vol II p 69) represent them as a pack of cowardly sneaking Thebans, whom it was the express object of the poet to make ridiculous This latter opinion is no more tenable than it would be to say that it was the object of Æschylus to make his Chorus of old men in that noted scene of the Agamemnon ridiculous; but so much truth there certainly is in it, that from the inherent defect of structure in the Greek tragedy, consisting in the constant presence of the Chorus in the double capacity of impartial moralizers and actors after a sort, there could not but arise this awkwardness to the poet that, while he always contrived to make them speak wisely, he sometimes could not prevent them from acting weakly, and even contemptibly

[† ]On the dramatic imbecility of Euripides, see my article in the Foreign Quarterly Review, No. XLVII His success as a dramatist is the strongest possible proof of the undramatic nature of the stage for which he wrote.

[* ]See the article Dionysia, by Dr. Schmitz, in Smith’s Dictionary of Antiq

[* ]The same doctrine, I am sorry to see, has been repeated with special reference to Æschylus, and with very little qualification, by Whiston in the article Tragædia in Dr. Smith’s Dict. Antiq, 2d Edit, p 1146. Schlegel is quite wrong, when he says “the Greek gods are mere Naturmächte”—physical or elemental powers. Connington, however, in the preface to his Agamemnon, expresses exactly my sentiments, when he protests against a “crystallization of destiny” being set up “as the presiding genius of the national dramatic literature of the Greeks.”

[† ]See the works of Klausen and Blumner at the end of Vol. II And our English Sewell recognizes, in the works of Æschylus, “the voice of a self-constituted Heathen Church protesting against the vices and follies that surrounded her.”—Preface to the Agamemnon, p. 15.

[* ]Cicero pro Muræna, 13.

[† ]Αισχύλος πολλὰ σχήματα ὸρχηστικὰ ἀυτος ὲξευρίσκων, ἀνεδίδου τοɩ̂ς χορευταɩ̂ς.—Lib I. p. 22.

[‡ ]See Dyer, on the Choral Dancing of the Greeks.—Classical Museum, No. IX. p. 229.

[* ]Boeckh and Donaldson, in their editions of the Antigone. Berlin, 1843, p. 280 London, 1848 Introduction, p xxix.

[† ]I read ἐισόδῳ, not ε̂ξόδω, as it is in Matthiae, which is either a misprint, or a mistake in the writer, as the quotation immediately following proves

[‡ ]This is Muller’s view in Eumenides, § 21

[* ]It may be as well here, for the sake of some readers, to remark that the orchestra, or dancing place (for so the word means), was that part of the ancient theatre which corresponds to the modern Pit For a minute description of the ancient stage, the reader must consult Donaldson’s Greek Theatre, c. VII

[† ]One of the most striking proofs of this is the many instances that occur in the tragedians of that most undramatic of all mannerisms—self-description—as when a sorrowful Chorus describes the tears on its cheek, the beating on its breast, and such like True grief never paints itself

[‡ ]Bulwer, in Athens and the Athenians

[§ ]From the limited number of actors arose necessarily this evil, that the persons in a Greek dramatic fable appear not cotemporaneously, but in succession, one actor necessarily playing several parts Now, the commonest fabricator of a novel for the circulating library knows how necessary it is to keep up a sustained interest, that the character, when once introduced, shall not be allowed to drop out of view, but be dexterously intermingled with the whole complex progress of the story, and be felt as necessary or at least as agreeable, to the very end.

[* ]Writers on Belles Lettres, from Trapp down to Schlegel, have been very severe on the modern opera, and indignantly repudiated all comparison between it and the Greek tragedy It is a common illusion of mental optics with the learned to magnify the defects of what is near and before their nose, while the peculiar excellencies of what is far distant in time or space are in a corresponding degree exalted So Schlegel, in his sublime German zeal against certain shallow judgments of Voltaire and other French critics, worked himself up into an idealized enthusiasm for some of the most glaring imperfections of the Greek stage, while in the modern opera he only sees the absurdities of the real. In assuming this tone he has, of course, been imitated by certain persons of little speculation in this country, who have thought it necessary slavishly to worship the Germans in all things, merely because certain other persons of no speculation ignorantly despised them. With regard to the opera, it is plain enough that it differs from the ancient tragedy in the following points:—(1) In not being essentially of a religious character; (2) in not varying the musical with the declamatory element; (3) in dealing more in monody, and less in choral singing, (4) in using the Chorus freely, according to the nature of the action, and not being always encumbered with it; (5) in making the mere musical element so predominate that poets of the first order seldom condescend to employ their talents in writing the text for an opera All these special differences, however, do not mar the propriety of the general comparison between an ancient “goat-song” and a modern opera, justified, as it is, plainly by the common musical element which both contain in different degrees of prominence. In point of high moral tone, high poetic diction, and noble conception, the ancient lyrical drama is no doubt vastly superior to the modern opera; but in some other points, as in the more free and adroit use of the Chorus, the opera is as much superior to the goat-song. With respect to the Chorus in particular, Schlegel has said many things that look very wise, but are simply not true. The Chorus is only half described (see above, p 20), when it is called the “ideal spectator.” What he says about publicity is mere talk. There is no other reason for the presence of the Chorus than because it was originally the essential part of the performance, and could not but be to the end the most popular.

[* ]“Æschylus used to say that his tragedies were only slices cut from the great banquet of Homeric dainties.”—Athenæus, VIII p. 348

[† ]In the Frogs (v 886), Aristophanes makes him show at once the religiousness of his character, and its source, in the two lines of invocation—

“O, thou that nourished my young soul, Demeter,
Make thou me worthy of thy mysteries!”

[* ]From the διδασκαλία, or note of the year of representation with the name of the author, in the argument to that play On the arguments from internal evidence brought forward to prove that the Suppliants is the oldest extant play, I place no value whatever The simplicity of structure proves nothing, because it proves too much. Several of the extant plays are equally simple. For aught we know, it may have been the practice of Æschylus to the very last, as we see in the case of the Choephoræ, to give the middle piece of his trilogies less breadth and variety than the opening and concluding ones, and it is almost certain that the Suppliants was either the second or the first play of a trilogy.

[* ]Schol, Aristoph Ran. 1060, Welcker’s Tril p. 475, and the Vit. Robortel (which, however, I have not seen).

[† ]Mar Par ep 53. Welcker’s Tril. p. 116.

[‡ ]See Introduction to that piece

[* ]Scholiast, Aristoph Acharn v 10

[† ]Philostratus, Vit Soph I. 9; Vit Apollon VI. 11, p. 244.

[‡ ]The great comedian is particularly amusing in the contrast which he draws between the rude instinctive grandeur of the Æschylean diction and the elegant rhetorical decorations of Euripides —

“With high-sounding words he will make such a pother,
With helmeted speeches he bravely will spout;
With chippings and shavings of rhetoric the other
All whirling and dancing about
Will stand at bay; but the deep-thoughted bard,
With equestrian harmonies, galloping hard,
Will floor in the fight
The glib-tongued wight.
The stiff hair of his mane all alive for the fray,
Bristling and big from the roots he will ruffle,
His black brows he will knit, and terribly bray,
Like a lion that roars for the scuffle.
Huge words by rivets and spike-nails bound,
Like plank on plank he will fling on the ground,
Blasting so bold
Like a Titan of old.”

[* ]Aristotle, Ethic. Nicom. III. 1. Clemen Alex., Strom II. 14, p. 461. Pott. Aelian, V.H.V. 19, and Welcker, Trilog p. 106.

[1 ]The primary authorities for the life of Æschylus are the Parian Marble, the Βίος Αισχ[Editor: illegible character]λου, the Frogs of Aristophanes, the arguments of the extant plays, and various incidental notices in Athenæus and other ancient authors, most of whom have been quoted or mentioned in the text With regard to secondary sources of information, the present writer has been much assisted, and had his labour essentially curtailed, by Petersen’sVita Æschyli, Havniae, 1812, the article Æschylus, by Whiston, in Dr Smith’s Dictionary of Biography and Mythology, the admirable condeused summary in Bernhardy’sGrundriss der Griechischen Litteratur, 2ter, Theil,Halle, 1845, and Donaldson’s Greek Theatre In Chronology, I have followed Clinton.

[* ]Welcker, in the introductory remarks to his Epischer Cyclus (sect. 1), has given what appear to me sufficient reasons for not confounding this Proclus with the famous Platonist of the same name.

[† ]This and other curious fragments from the wreck of the old Hellenic epos, will be found in Becker’s Scholia to Homer (Berlin, 1825), or in the second volume of Welcker’s Epic Cycle (Bonn, 1849), in the Appendix

[* ]See Thucydides, I. [Editor: illegible character].

[* ]See Welcker’s Trilogie, Darmstadt, 1824, p. 408, who, however, here, as in other parts of the same learned work, expends much superfluity of ingenious conjecture on subjects which, from their very nature, are necessarily barren of any certain result.

[* ]Jove to Priam sent the eagle, of all flying things that be

Noblest made, his dark-winged hunter

[† ]i e The right hand—the hand which brandishes the spear, χερὸς ἐκ δοριπάλτου; the right being the lucky side in Greek augury —Iliad, xxiv 320

[‡ ]Calchas, the famous soothsayer of the Iliad.

[§ ]Diana

[* ]This excellent version I took from an article in the Quarterly Review.—Vol. lxx. p. 340

[† ]The sacrifice of Iphigenia displeasing to Clytemnestra.

[* ]Chalcis a city in Eubœa, opposite Aulis.

[† ]A river in Macedonia.

[* ]The epithet καλλιπρώρου, beautiful fronted, applied to στόματος, being contrary to the genius of the English language, the translator must content himself with the simple epithet.

[* ]An old name for the Peloponnesus

[* ]Vulcan.

[* ]Venus.

[* ]The Furies.

[* ]Mars

[* ]“My bosom’s lord sits lightly on his throne.”

Shakespere, quoted by Symmons.

[* ]Æsculapius.

[* ]Swallow jabber.—“Barbarians are called swallows because their speech cannot be understood any more than the twitter of swallows.”—Stanley, from Hesychius.

[† ]An epithet of Apollo, from λοξὸς oblique, for which Macrobius (Sat. I. 17) gives astronomical reasons; but it seems more obvious to say that the god is so called from the obliqueness or obscurity of his oracles

[* ]From the looseness of the laws of quantity in English versification, it may be as well to state here that I wish these lines of seven syllables to be read as υ υ —′, υ —′, υ —′, not —′ υ, —′ υ, —′ υ, —′.

[* ]The Furies.

[* ]Dun-plumed. ξουθὰ.

“Because the poor brown bird, alas
Sings in the garden sweet and true.”
Miss Barbett

[† ]

“Most musical, most melancholy bird!”
A melancholy bird? O idle thought!
In Nature there is nothing melancholy.
Coleridge

[* ]See Introductory Remarks.

[* ]The banquet of his own children, which Atreus offered to Thyestes.—See Introductory Remarks.

[* ]Apollo.

[* ]πόρθμευμ αχέων, whence Acheron, so familiar to English ears; as in the same way Cocytus, from κωκυω, to avail, and the other infernal streams, with a like appropriateness.

[* ]The house of Atreus, so called from Pleisthenes, one of the ancestry of Agamemnon.

[Note 1 (p 43).]

“High on the Atridan’s battlements.”

Dunbar, Sewell, and Connington plead strongly for translating ἄγκαθεν here as in Eumen. v. 80, thus—

“As I lie propped on my arm
Upon the Atridan housetop, like a dog”

But this idea has always appeared to be more like the curious conceit of an ingenious philologist, than the natural conception of a great poet. Supposing the original reading to have been ἀνέλαθεν, the mere accidental lengthening of the leg of the ν by a hurried transcriber, would give the word the appearance of γ to a careless scrutinizer; and that this blunder was actually made the metre proves in Eumen. 361, in which passage, whatever Sew. may ingeniously force into it, the meaning from above is that which is most in harmony with the context. Besides, in such matters, I am conservative enough to have a certain respect for tradition

[Note 2 (p. 43).]

“The masculine-minded who is sovereign here.”

“ἀνδρόβουλον seems to be used here ambiguously, and to be the first hint of lurking mischief. The gradual development of the coming evil from these casual hints is one of the chief dramatic beauties of the Agamemnon.”—Sew.

[Note 3 (p. 43)]

“ . . and lift high-voiced
The jubilant shout”

I have strongly rendered the strong term, ἐπορθιάζειν, which would necessarily suggest to the Greek the high-keyed notes of the νόμος ὄρθιος mentioned by Herod I. 22, as sung by Arion to the sailors. I think, however, it is going beyond the mark to say, with Symmons, “With loud acclaim, and Orthian minstrelsy,” retaining the word ὄρθιος, which is only suggested, not expressed in the text, and printing it with a capital letter, as if it were a sort of music as distinct as the Mysian and Maryandine wailing, mentioned in the Persians. Thus, ὀρθίον κωκυμάτων ϕωνή, in Soph. Antigone, 1206, means nothing but the voice of shrill wails, or, as Donaldson well translates the whole passage,

“The voice of lamentation treble-toned,
Peals from the porch of that unhallowed cell.’

[Note 4 (p. 43).]

“Thrice six falls to me.”

That is, the highest throw in the dice. “The dice (tessera, κύβοι), in games of chance among the ancients, were numbered on all the six sides, like the dice now in use; and three were used in playing Hence arose the proverb, ᾔ τρὶς [Editor: illegible character]ξ ᾔ τρεɩ̂ς κύβοι, either three sixes or three aces, all or none.”—Dr. Smith’s Antiq. Dict vocetessera.

[Note 5 (p. 43).]

“Is laid a seal.”

Literally, a hugc ox hath gone, an expression supposed to be derived from the figure of an ox, as the symbol of wealth, expressed on an old coin; in which case, to put the ox on a man’s tongue, would be equivalent to tipping it with silver, that is to say, giving money with injunction of secrecy. After the expression became proverbial, it might be used generally to express secrecy without any idea of bribery, which, as Con. remarks, is quite foreign to this place, and therefore Franz is wrong to translate “mir verschliesst ein golden Schloss den Mund.” I follow here, however, Humboldt and Sym. in not introducing the ox into the text, as it is apt to appear ludicrous; and, besides, the origin of the expression seems only conjectural.

[Note 6 (p. 44).]

“Sceptred kings by Jove’s high grace.”

Διόθεν. “ἐκ δε Διός βασιλη̂ες,” says the theogony. Homer also considers the kingly office as having a divine sanction, and Agamemnon on Earth represents Jupiter in Heaven.—Iliad I. 279; II. 197. And there can be no doubt that the highest authority in a commonwealth, whether regal or democratic, has a divine sanction, so long as it is exercised within its own bounds, and according to the laws of natural justice.

[Note 7 (p. 44).]

“O’er the lone paths fitful-wheeling.”

I have endeavoured to combine both the meanings of ἐκπατιόις which have any poetical value; that of Sym.lonely, and that of Klausen,wandering, and therefore excessive, which Con. well gives “with a wandering grief.” The same beautiful image is used by Shelley in his Adonais.

[Note 8 (p. 44).]

“. . . The late-chastising Fury.”

That the divine vengeance for evil deeds comes not immediately, but slowly, at a predestined season, is a doctrine as true in Christian theology as it is familiar to the Heathen dramatists Therefore, Tiresias, in the Antigone, prophesies to Creon that “the avenging spirits of Hades and of Heaven, storing up mischief for a future day (ὑστεροϕθόροι), would punish him for his crimes. But when the sword of Olympian justice is once drawn, then the execution of the divine judgment comes swiftly and by a short way, and no mortal can stay it.” As the same Sophocles says—

συντέμνουσι γὰρ
Θεωˆν ποδώκεις τὸυς κακὸϕρονας βλάβαι.
Antig. V. 1104.

[Note 9 (p. 44).]

“. . . Jove, the high protector
Of the hospitable laws.”

As he is the supreme ruler of the physical, so Jove has a providential supervision of the moral world, and in this capacity is the special punisher of those who sin (where human laws are weak to reach), by treachery or ingratitude, as was the case with Paris. This function of the Hellenic Supreme Deity is often piously recognized by Homer, as in Odys. XIV. 283—

“But he feared the wrath of Jove, lord of the hospitable board,
Jove who looks from Heaven in anger on the evil deeds of men”

[Note 10 (p 44).]

“The powers whose altars know no fire.”

ἀπύρων ὶερωˆν, “fireless holy things” By “fireless” is here meant, so far as I can see, not to be propitiated by fire, persons to whom all sacrificial appeals are vain. Whether the Fates or the Furies are meant there are no means of ascertaining; for both agree with the tone of feeling, and with the context; and as they are, in fact, fundamentally the same, as powers that always act in unison (Eumen, 165 and 949), the reader need not much care. It is possible, however, that the whole passage may bear the translation of “powers wroth for fireless altars,” i.e. neglected sacrifices.—So Humb and Fr. Nor are we bound to explain what sacrifices, or by whom neglected; for omission of religious rites, known or unknown, was a cause, always at hand, with the ancients, to explain any outpouring of divine wrath. Buckley, following Bamberger and Dindorf, considers that the sacrifice of Iphigenia is alluded to; which is also probable enough. No commentary can make clear what the poet has purposely left dark.

[Note. 11 (p 45).]

“The oil that knows no malice.”

We see in this passage the religious significancy, as it were, of the oil used in their sacred rites by the ancients; and we may further remark, with Sew., that “the oil used in religious rites was of great value. Compare the directions given in the Scriptures for making that which was used in the service of the Tabernacle,” and, generally—see Leviticus c ii. for a description of the various kinds of sacred cakes made of fine flour and oil used in the sacrificial offerings of the Jews.

[Note 12 (p. 45).]

“I’ll voice the strain.”

I have carefully read all that has been written on this difficult passage, and conclude that it is better to rest contented with the natural reference of ἀιὼν to the old age of the singer, indicated by ἐτι, and the previous tone of the Anapests, than to venture with Fr., Hum., and Linwood, on a reference which I cannot but think is more far-fetched. The line ἀλκὰν σύμϕυτος ἀιων is corrupt, and no rigid rendering of it ought to be attempted. Buckley in a note almost disclaims his own version.

[Note 13 (p. 46).]

“The diverse-minded kings.”

δυό λήμασι δισσούς. Surely this expression is too distinct and prominent to be slurred over lightly, as Con seems inclined to do. I follow my own feeling of a passage so strongly marked by a peculiar phraseology, and Linwood. It will be observed that, in the Iliad, while Agamemnon behaves in a high and haughty style to Achilles, Menelaus conducts himself everywhere, and especially in the case of Antilochus (xxiii. 612), with mildness and moderation, so as justly to allow himself the boast,

“ὠς ἐμὸς ὀύποτε θυμὸς νˆπερϕιάλος κὰι ἀπηνής.”

[Note 14 (p. 46).]

“Winged hounds.”

“This is one of those extravagances of expression in which the wild fancy of Æschylus often indulged, and for which he is rallied by Aristophanes.”—Harford. I cannot allow this to pass without remark. No expression could be more appropriate to picture that singular combination of the celerity of the bird nature, with the ferocity of the quadruped, which is described here, and in the Prometheus, in the speech of Mercury. Besides, in the present case the prophetic style would well excuse the boldness of the phrase, were any excuse required Harford has put the tame expression, “Eagles,” into his text, but Shelley in his “Prometheus Unbound,” had not the least hesitation to adopt the Greek phrase.

[Note 15 (p. 47).]

“The fair goddess.”

ἁ καλὰ, “the beauteous one.”—Sew. An epithet which Con. was surely wrong to omit, for it is characteristic. To this Muller has called attention in his Prolegomena zu ciner wissensch, Mythologie (p 75; edit. 1825) noting the expressions of Sappho, ἀρίστη καὶ καλλίστη, the best and the fairest, as applied to Artemis, according to the testimony of Pausanias, I. 29. The prominence given by Æschylus here to that function of Artemis, by which, as the goddess of beauty, she is protectress of the wild beasts of the forest, is quite Homeric; as we may see from these three lines of the Odyssey:—

“Even as Artemis, dart-rejoicing, o’er the mountains walks sublime,
O’er the lofty ridge of Taygetus, o’er the Erymanthian steep,
And with gladsome heart beholds the wild boar and the nimble stag”
VI 102.

According to the elemental origin of mythology, this superintendence naturally arose from the fact, that Artemis was the Moon, and that the wild beasts go abroad to seek for prey in the night time.

[Note 16 (p. 47).]

“I pray thee, Pæan, may she never send.”

In the original Ιήἴον παια̂να, a well-known epithet of Apollo, as in the opening chorus of the Œdipus Tyrannos, Ιήιέ δάλιε παιάν, containing an invocation of the Delphic god, quoted by Peile. From the practice of frequently invoking the name of the gods in the public hymns, as in the modern Litanies, the name of the divine person passed over to the song that voiced his praises—(Iliad I. 473)—and thence became the appellation—as in the modern word pæan—for a hymn generally—(Proclus Chrestom. Gaisford. Hephaest., p. 419)—or at least a hymn of jubilee, sadness and sorrow of every kind being naturally abhorrent from the worship of the beneficent sun god (p. 72, above).

[Note 17 (p. 47).]

“Stern-purposed waits the child-avenging wrath.”

This passage is obscure in the original, and, no doubt, purposely so, as became the prophetic style. I do not, therefore, think we are bound, with Sym., to give the

Child-avenging wrath

a special and distinctly pronounced reference to Clytemnestra, displeased with Agamemnon for allowing the sacrifice of Iphigenia—

“Homeward returning see her go,
And sit alone in sullen woe;
While child-avenging anger waits
Guileful and horrid at the palace gates.’

Though I have no doubt she is alluded to among other Furies that haunt the house of Atreus, and the poet very wisely supplies here a motive. So Well, and Lin.; and my version, though free, I hope does nothing more than express this idea of a retributive wrath brooding through long years over a doomed family, and ever and anon, when apparently laid, breaking out with new manifestations—an idea, however, so expressed in the present passage that, as Dr. Peile says, “No translation can adequately set it forth.”

[Note 18 (p. 47).]

“Jove, or what other name.”

After the above sublime introduction follows the Invocation of Jove, as the supreme over-ruling Deity, who alone, by his infinite power and wisdom, is able to lead the believing worshipper through the intricacies of a seemingly perplexed Providence. The passage is one of the finest in ancient poetry, and deserves to be specially considered by theological students. The reader will note carefully the reverential awe with which the Chorus names the god invoked—a feeling quite akin to that anxiety which takes possession of inexperienced people when they are called on to address written or spoken words to persons of high rank. Many instances of this kind are quoted from the ancients by Victorius, in Stanley’s notes, by Sym., and by Peile. The most familiar instance to which I can refer the general reader is in the second chapter of Livy’s first book:— “Situs est Æneas, quemcumque eum dici jus fasque est, super Numicium flumen. Jovem indigetem appellant.” If in so obvious a matter a profound mythologist like Welcker—(Tril., p. 104)—should have found in this language of deepest reverence signs of free-thinking and irony, we have only another instance of the tyrannous power of a favourite idea to draw facts from their natural coheston, that they may circle round the nucleus of an artificial crystallization. Sewell has also taken up the same idea with regard to the scepticism of this passage, and in him, no less, must we attribute this notion to the influence of a general theory with regard to the religious opinions of Æschylus, rather than to any criticism which the present passage could possibly warrant.

[Note 19 (p. 47).]

“With all-defiant valour brimming o’er.”

A very literal rendering of the short, but significant, original παμμαχῳ θρὰσει βρύων, on which Sym. remarks that “it presents the magnificent and, to us, incongruous image of a giant all-steeled for battle, and bearing his boldness like a tree bearing its blossoms.” But there is no reason that I know for confining Βρύω here to its special use in Iliad XVII. 56 (Βρύει [Editor: illegible character]υθει λευκῳ) and other such passages. It rather suggests generally, as Sew. says, “ideas of violence, exuberance, and uproar,” like βρυάζων in Suppl. 856. He has accordingly given

“With all-defying spirit, like a boiling torrent roaring,’

from which I have borrowed one word, with a slight alteration, but consider myself safer in not tying down the general word βρύων, to the special case of a torrent any more than of a tree. The recent Germans—“Im Gefuhle stolzer Kraft” (Fr.), and “allbewahrteu Trotzes hehr”—are miserably tame after Humboldt’s admirable “strotzend kampfbegierig frech.” As to the meaning of the passage, the three celestial dynasties of Uranus, Saturn, and Jove are plainly indicated, though who first threw this light on a passage certainly obscure, I cannot say. So far as I can see, it was Shutz. The Scholiast (A in Butler) talks of the Titans and Typhon, which is, at all events, on the right scent Neither Abresch nor Stan. seem to have understood the passage; and Potter, disdaining to take a hint from the old Scholiast, generalises away about humanity.

[Note 20 (p 48).]

“Our hearts with gracious force.”

The βιαίως certainly refers to the χάρις, and not to the ημένων, with the diluted sense of pollenter given it by Well.; and in this view I have no objection, with Blomfield and Con., to read βίαιος. I am not, however, so sure as Con. that the common reading is wrong. βιαίως may be an abrupt imperfectly enunciated expression (and there are not a few such in Æschylus) for exercising or using compulsion. Poets are not always the most accurate of grammarians.

[Note 21 (p. 48).]

“In Aulis tides hoarse refluent.”

The harbour of Aulis, opposite Euboea the district still called Ulike—(Wordsworth’s Athens and Attica, c I.). In narrow passages of the sea, as at Corryvreckan, on the west coast of Scotland, there are apt to be strong eddies and currents; and this is specially noted of the channel between Aulis and Chalcis, by Livy (XXVIII. 6. haud facile aita infestior classi statio est) and other passages adduced by But. in Peile.

[Note 22 (p. 49).]

“Is the gods’ right. So be it.”

I am unable to see how the translation of this passage, given by Sym. agrees with the context and with the spirit of Agamemnon’s conduct, and the view of it taken by the poet. Sym. says—

“They’re not her parents, they may call aloud
For the dire rite to smoothe the stormy flood
All fierce and thirsty for a virgin’s blood.”

And Droysen, though more literally, says the same thing—“Dass sie das windstillende Suhnopfer, das jungfrauliche Blut heischen und schreien, ist es denn recht? Nein, sieg das Gute!” and Fr. also takes θέμις out of Agamemnon’s mouth, and gives it to the Greeks. “Finden sie recht. Zum Heil sey’s!” Perhaps the reason for preferring this version with the Germans lies in giving too great a force and prominence to the μετέγνω in the following strophe. But this may refer only to the change of a father’s instinctive feelings (expressed by silence only in this ode) to the open resolution of making common cause with the diviner and the chieftain.

[Note 23 (p. 49).]

“. . . Unblissful blew the gale
That turned the father’s heart.”

These words include both the τροπαίαν and the μετέγνω of the original. I join βρότους or βρότοις with the following clause, the sense being the same according to either reading. The verb θρασύνει, according to Con.’s very just reasoning, seems grammatically to require βρότους, though Fr. says, with a reference to Bernhardy, that βρότοις may be defended. Sym. has given a translation altogether different; though he admits that the sense given in my version, and in all the modern versions, is the most obvious one. His objection to connecting βρότους with the following sentence I do not understand.

[Note 24 (p 49).]

“. . . consecrate
His ships for Troy.”

προτέλεια ναωˆν, First fruits, literally, as Sew. has it, will scarcely do here; “first piation of the wind-bound fleet” of Sym. is very good. Humb., Droy., and Fr. all use Weihe in different combinations; a word which seems to suit the present passage very well, and I have accordingly adopted the corresponding English term.

[Note 25 (p. 49)]

“Where prone and spent she lies.”

παντὶ θυμῷ προνωπη̂, literally “prone with her whole soul;” “body and soul,” as Con. has it. The words are so arranged that it is impossible to determine to what παντὶ θυμῳ refers, whether to the general action λαβεɩ̂ν, or to the special position προνωπη̂ Sewell’s remark that “there is far more intensity of thought in applying παντὶ θυμῷ to λαβεɩ̂ν,” may be turned the other way. The phrase certainly must give additional intensity to whichever word it is joined with. The act itself is sufficiently cruel, without adding any needless traits of ferocity.

[Note 26 (p 49).]

“. . . her saffron robe
Sweeping the ground.”

κρόκου βαϕὰς εις πέδον χέουσα; “dropping her saffron veil,” says Sym.; perhaps rightly, but I see no ground for certainty. The application of κρόκου βαϕὰς to the drops of blood seems a modern idea, which has proceeded from some critic who had not poetry enough to understand the application of χεόυσα to anything but a liquid Except in peculiar circumstances, the word κρόκος, as Con. justly observes (see note 73 below), cannot be applied to the blood; and, in the present passage, it is plain the final work of the knife is left purposely undescribed.

[Note 27 (p. 49).]

“The virgin strain they heard.”

I cannot sufficiently express my astonishment that Humb., Droy., and Fr., as if it were a point of Germanism, have all conspired to wrench the ἐτίμα out of its natural connection in this beautiful passage, and to apply the whole concluding clause to the self-devotion of Iphigenia at the altar, rather than to her dutiful obedience at the festal scene just described The fine poetical feeling of Sym protested against this piece of tastelessness. “These commentators,” says he, “seem to have been ignorant of the poet’s intention, who raises interest, pity, and honor to the height, by presenting Iphigenia at the altar, and unveiling herself preparatory to her barbarous execution, on which point of the picture he dwells, contrasting her present situation with her former happiness, her cheerfulness, her songs, and the festivities in her father’s house.” It is strange that the Germans do not see that ἔυποτμον ἀιωˆνα is the most unfortunate of all terms to apply to the condition of Agamemnon, as a sacrificer; while it is most pertinent to his previous fortunes, before his evil destiny began to be revealed in the sacrifice of his beloved daughter.

[Note 28 (p. 50).]

“. . . What boots
To forecast woe, which, on no wavering wing.”

It is both mortifying and consoling to think that all the learning which has been expended on this corrupt passage from Δίκα down to ἀυγαɩ̂ς, brings out nothing more than what already lies in the old Scholiast. As to the details of the text, I wish I could say, with the same confidence as Con., that Well. and Her’s σύνορθρον ἀυγαɩ̂ς is a bit more certain than Fr.’s σύναρθρον ἀταις, which, however, I am inclined to prefer, from its agreeing better with the general sombre hue of the ode.

[Note 29 (p. 50).]

“Ever swift
Though wingless, Fame.”

ἄπτερος is an epithet by negation after a fashion not at all uncommon in the Greek drama; the meaning being, though fame is not a bird, and has no wings, yet it flies as fast as if it had. The idea that ἄπτερος is the same as πτερωτὸς I agree with Con. is the mere expedient of despair. I have not the slightest doubt that Rumour is called a wingless messenger, just as Dust is called a voiceless messenger in the Seven against Thebes. Sym. is too subtle in explaining ἄπτερος after the analogy of the beautiful simile in Virgil, Æneid V. 215, so swift as not to appear to move its wings.

[Note 30 (p. 51).]

“. . . He from Ida shot the spark.”

The geographical mountain points in the following famous descriptive passages are as follows: (1) Mount Ida, near Troy, (2) the Island of Lemnos, in the Ægean, half-way between Asia and Europe, due West; (3) Mount Athos, the South point of the most Easterly of the three peninsulas that form the South part of Macedonia; (4) a station somewhere betwixt Athos and Bœotia, which the poet has characterised only by the name of the Watchman Macistus; (5) the Messapian Mount, West of Anthedon in the North of Bœotia; (6) Mount Cithœron, in the South of Bœotia; (7) Mount Aegiplanctus, between Megara and Corinth; (8) Mount Arachne, in Argolis, between Tiryns and Epidaurus, not far from Argos.

[Note 31 (p. 51).]

“ . . the forward strength
Of the far-travelling lamp strode gallantly.”

I have not had the courage with Sym. to reject the πρὸς ἡδονὴν and supply a verb The phrase is not colloquial, as he says, but occurs, as Well. points out, in Prom. 492. Medwyn has “crossing the breast of ocean with a speed plumed by its joy” That there is some blunder in the passage the want of a verb seems to indicate, but, with our present means, it appears wise to let it alone; not, like Fr., from a mere conjecture, to introduce ἰχθνˆς for ἰσχύς, and translate—

“Und fern hin dass der Wanderflamme heller Schein,
In lust die Fische auf des Meeres Rücken trieb”

Are we never to see an end of these extremely ingenious, but very useless conjectures?

[Note 32 (p 51).]

“Weaving the chain unbroken.”

μη κατιζεσθαι—Heath. The true reading not to be discovered.

[Note 33 (p. 51).]

“. . . a mighty beard of flame”

The Hindoos in their description of the primeval male who, with a thousand heads and a thousand faces, issued from the mundane egg, use the same image—“the hairs of his body are trees and plants, of his head the clouds, of his beard, lightning, and his nails are rocks.”—Colonel Vans Kennedy, Ch. VIII. Our translators generally (except Sew. and Con.) have eschewed transplanting this image literally into English; and even the Germans have stumbled, Fr. giving Feuersaule most unhappily. Droy., when he says “Schweife,” gives the true idea, but I am not afraid to let the original stand.

[Note 34 (p 51).]

“. . . the headlands that look down
On the Saronic gulf.”

I see no proof that πρωˆν ever means anything but a promontory, and so cannot follow Con. in reading κάτοπτρον.

[Note 35 (p. 51).]

“Each from the other fired with happy news,” etc.

An allusion to the famous λαμπαδηϕορία, or torch race, practised by the Greeks at the Parthenon and other festivals. In this race a burning torch was passed from hand to hand, so that, notwithstanding the extreme celerity of the movement, the flame might not go out. See the article by Liddell in the Dict. Antiq. where difficulties in the detail are explained.

[Note 36 (p. 52).]

“To their hearts’ content.”

The reading of Well. and the MS ὡς δυσδαίμονες will never do, though Med. certainly has shown genius by striking out of it

“Soundly as mariners when the danger’s past
They sleep”

The connection decidedly requires ωˆς ε̂υδαιμονες, neither more nor less than “to their hearts’ content,” as I have rendered it. But one would almost be reconciled to the sad state of the text of Æschylus, if every difficulty were cleared with such a masterly bound as Med. here displays. The Germans, Fr. and Dr., incapable, or not liking such capers, adhere to the simple ε̂υδαίμονες. Humb., according to his general practice, follows the captainship of Hermann, and gives “Gotterngleich (ὡς δε δαίμονες).”

[Note 37 (p 52)]

“. . . Happy if the native gods
They reverence.”

This sober fear of the evil consequences of excess in the hour of triumph, so characteristic a trait of ancient poetry, and purposely introduced here by Clytemnestra to serve her own purpose, finds an apt illustration in the conduct of Camillus at the siege of Veii, as reported by Livy (V. 21)—

“Ad prædam miles permissu dictatoris discurnt Quæ quum ante oculos ejus aliquantum spe atque opinione major majorisque pretii rerum ferretur, dicitur, manus ad cœlum tollens precatus esse, ut si cui deorum hominumque nimia sua fortuna populique Romani videretur, ut eam invidiam lenire quam minimo suo privato incommodo, publicoque populo Romano liceret

[Note 38 (p. 52).]

“Having turned the goal.”

The reader is aware that in the ancient racecourse there was a meta, or goal, at each end of the course, round which the racers turned round (metaque fervidis evitata rotis.—Hor. Carm I. 1; and Æneid V. 129).

[Note 39 (p. 52).]

“If they have sinned.”

ἀμπλακητος. In defence of this reading, which, with Well., I prefer, Con. has a very excellent note, to which I refer the critical reader. Fr., following Ahrens (as he often does), makes a bold transposition of the lines, but the sense remains pretty much the same As to the guilt incurred by the Greeks, spoken of here and in the previous lines, the poet has put it, as some palliation of her own contemplated deed, into the mouth of Clytemnestra, but in perfect conformity also with the Homeric thelogy, which supposes that suffering must always imply guilt. Thus in the Odyss. III. 130-135, old Nestor explains to Telemachus.—

“But when Priam’s high-perched city by the Greeks was captured, then
In their swift ships homeward sailing, they were scattered by a god,
To the Greeks great Jove had purposed in his heart a black return,
For not all bad understanding, and not all observant lived
Of Justice”

[Note 40 (p. 53).]

“The gods are blind.”

I cannot here forbear recalling to the reader’s recollection a similar passage in Milton:—

“Just are the ways of God
And justifiable to men,
Unless there be who think not God at all.
If any be, they walk obscure
For of such doctrine never was there school,
But the heart of the fool,
And no man therein doctor but himself.”
—Samson Agonistes.

[Note 41 (p. 53).]

“Self-will fell Até’s daughter.”

I have here paraphrased a little the two lines—

βια̂ται δ’ἁ τάλαινα πειθὼ
προβουλόπαις ἄϕερτος Ἄτας—

in which two evil powers are personified—Ate, destruction, and Peitho, persuasion, which here must be understood of that evil self-persuasion, by which, in the pride of self-will and vain confidence, a man justifies his worst deeds to himself, and is driven recklessly on to destruction. The case of Napoleon, in his Russian expedition, is in point. What follows shows that Paris is meant As to the strange, truly Æschylean compound, προβουλόπαις, Con says well, that the simple πρόβουλος means “one who joins in a preliminary vote,” and, of course, the compound is, as Lin has it, a “forecounselling child”

[Note 42 (p. 54).]

“Even as a boy in wanton sport.”

There is a great upheaping of incongruous images in this passage for which, perhaps, the poet may be blamed; as the one prevents the other from coming with a vivid and distinct impression on the mind. This image of the boy chasing the butterfly is, however, the one which places the inconsiderate love of Paris and Helen most distinctly before us, and it comes, therefore, with peculiar propriety, preceded by the more general and vague images, and immediately before the mention of the offender.

[Note 43 (p. 54)]

“The prophets of the house loud wailing.”

δόμων προϕη̂ται. I have retained the original word here, because it appears most appropriate to the passage; but the reader must be warned, by a reference to the familiar example in Epist Tit I 12, that with the ancients the characters of poet and prophet were confounded in a way that belongs not at all to our modern usage of the same words. Epimenides of Crete, in fact, to whom the Apostle Paul alludes, was not only a prophet, but also a physician, like Apollo (ἱατρόμαντις, Eumen. v. 62). In the same way the Hebrew word Nabah, prophetess, is applied to Miriam, Exod. xv. 20; and it may well be, that Æschylus, in the true spirit of these old times, and also following the deep religious inspiration of his Muse, alludes here to a character more sacred than the Homeric ἀοιδὸς, Minstrel or Bard, and this distinction should, of course, be preserved in the translation Sew. with great happiness, in my opinion, has given “the bards of fate;” but it were useless to press any such nice matter in this passage, especially when we call to mind the high estimation in which the Homeric ἀοιδὸς stands in the Odyss, and the remarkable passage, III. 267, where a minstrel is represented as appointed by Agamemnon to counsel and control Clytemnestra in his absence, pretty much as a family confessor would do in a modern Roman Catholic family

[Note 44 (p. 54)]

“He silent stood in sadness, not in wrath.”

Here commences one of the most difficult, and at the same time one of the most beautiful passages in the Agamemnon. The words,

πάρεστι σιγα̂ς’, ἄτιμος, ἀλόιδορος
ἅδιστος ἀϕἐμένων ἰδεɩ̂ν,

are so corrupt, that a translator is quite justified in striking that sense out of them which is most fit on grounds of taste, and in this view I have little hesitation in adopting Hermann’s reading,

[Note 45 (p. 56).]

“The bolt from on high shall blast his eye.”

“Peile greatly admires Klausen’s interpretation”—

“Jacitur oculis a Jove fulmen,”

but the passages which the latter adduce are not to the point. The Greeks do not attribute any governing virtue to the eyes of the gods, further than this, that the immortal beings who are supposed to govern human affairs must see, and take cognizance of them. Jupiter’s eye may glare like lightning, but the real lightning is always hurled from his hand. Compare Soph. Antiq 157 The words βάλλεται ὄσσοις Λιόθεν can bear no other sense naturally than “is flashed in the eyes from Jove.”—Con.

[Note 46 (p. 57)]

“Where women wield the spear.”

The spear (δόρυ) is with the Greeks the regular emblem of war, as the sword is with us; so a famous warrior in Homer is δουρικλυτὸς, a famous spearman, and a warrior generally ἀιχμητὴς. Further, as in the heroic or semi-civilized age, authority presents itself, not under the form of law and peaceful order, so much as under that of force and war, the spear comes to be a general emblem of authority; so in the present passage. St. Paul’s language, Rom xiii. 4, the magistrate weareth not the sword (μάχαιραν) in vain, gives the modern counterpart of the Æschylean phraseology.

[Note 47 (p 57).]

“. . . our healer from much harm.”

παιώνιος. I have no hesitation whatever in leaving Well. here, much as I generally admire his judicious caution. “Ἀγώνίους in the next line,” says Con, “at once convicts the old reading of tautology, and accounts for its introduction.” When a clear cause for a corrupt reading is shown by a natural wandering of the eye, I see no wisdom in obstinately adhering to a less appropriate reading. The emendation originated, according to Peile, with a writer in the Classical Journal; and was thence adopted by Scholefield, Peile, Con., and Franz, who names Ahrens as its author. Linw. also calls it “very probable.”

[Note 48 (p. 57).]

“. . . ye sun-fronting gods.”

δαίμονες ἀντήλιοτ. Med. has given the words a special application—

“Ye images of our gods that stand
Before the eastern gate.”

But I suppose the reference may be only to the general custom of placing the statues of the gods in open public places, and in positions where they might front the sun.—See Hesychius and Tertullian, quoted by Stan.

[Note 49 (p. 58).]

“His pledge is forfeited.”

I agree with Con. that the juridical language used in the previous line fixes down the meaning of ρυσίου here beyond dispute; which meaning, indeed—ἐνέχυρον, a pledge or gage, is that given by the Scholiast on Iliad XI. 674. Stan. enounces this clearly in his Notes; only there is no need of supposing, with him, that the gage means Helen, or any one else. ’Tis merely a juridical way of saying that Paris was worsted in battle—he has forfeited his caution-money.

[Note 50 (p. 59).]

“These spoils, a shining grace, there to remain
An heritage for ever.”

The word ἀρχαɩ̂ον in this version seems most naturally to have a prospective reference, to express which a paraphrase seems necessary in English; but a similar use of Vetustas is common in Latin.—Cic. Attic. XIV. 9, pro-Mil. 35. Virgil’s Æneid X. 792. Sew. takes it retrospectively; thus

“Unto their ancient homes in Hellas land
A pride and joy.”

[Note 51 (p. 60).]

“No more than dyer’s art can tincture brass.”

χαλκονˆ βαϕὰς. One cannot dye a hard impenetrable substance, like copper or brass, by the mere process of steeping, as may be done with a soft substance like cloth. Clytemnestra seems to say that her ears are impenetrable in the same way. So Sym., Con., Sew.; and I have little doubt as to this being the true meaning—but should we not read χαλκὸς more than the brass knows dyeing?

[Note 52 (p. 60).]

“Far from the honors of the blissful gods.”

χωρὶς ἡ τιμὴ θεωˆν. I translate so, simply because this rendering seems to lie most naturally in the words, when interpreted by the immediately preceding context. The other translation which I originally had here,

“To every god his separate hour belongs
Of rightful honor,”

seems to spring from the contrast of the “pæan to the Furies” mentioned below, with the hymns of joyful thanksgivings to the gods that suit the present occasion. But when the term “gods” is used generally on a joyful occasion, it seems more agreeable to Greek feeling to interpret it as excluding than as including the Furies. The hymns in the Eumenides show that they were considered as a dreadful power in the background, rather than prominent figures in the foreground of Hellenic polytheism But, however this be, the more obvious key to such a doubtful passage is surely that of the train of thought which immediately precedes.

[Note 53 (p. 61).]

“Fire and the sea, sworn enemies of old,” etc.

This passage, in the original, boils with a series of high-sounding words, δυσλύμαντα, κεροτοπούμεναι, [Editor: illegible character]μβροκτύπῳ, extremely characteristic both of the general genius of the poet and the special subject of poetic description. I have endeavoured, according to the best of my ability, not to lose a single line of this powerful painting; but, as it is more than likely I may have missed some point, or brought it feebly out, I would refer the reader to the able versions of Sym. and Med., which are very good in this place. About the κακὸς ποιμὴν, whether it refer to the whole tempest, as Sym. makes it, or to a part of it (στρόβος) as in my version, there can be no doubt, I think, that here ποιμὴν can mean nothing but “pilot,” as in the Persian ποιμάνωρ means a commander There can be no objection to retaining the word “shepherd,” but I do not like Con.’s “demon-swain” at all. It seems to me to bring in a foreign, and somewhat of a Gothic idea.

[Note 54 (p. 61).]

“That ocean hell.”

ἄδην πόντιον, I took this from Med. and give him a thousand thanks for supplying me with so literal, and yet so admirable a translation. Sym. is also excellent here, though, as usual, too fine—

“O how the day looked lovely, when ashore
We crawled, escaped from the watery jaws
Of a sea death.”

[Note 55 (p. 61).]

“Far-labouring o’er the loosely-driving main.”

There is a fine word in the original here, σποδουμένου, easily and admirably rendered by Fr.—serstaubt—but to express which I have found myself forced to have recourse to a cognate idea. The main idea is dispersion and diffusion, to drive about like dust, or, perhaps, the meaning may be, to rub down to dust —See Passow. In the present passage the context makes the former meaning preferable.

[Note 56 (p. 61).]

“By Jove’s devising.”

The reader will note here the supreme controlling power of Jove, forming, as it were, a sort of monotheistic keystone to the many-stoned arch of Hellenic Polytheism. Μηχαναɩ̂ς Διὸς here is just equivalent to our phrase by Divine interposition, or, by the interposition of Divine Providence, or the supreme moral superintendence of Jove.

[Note 57 (p. 62).]

“Helen the taker!”

There is an etymological allusion in the original here, concerning which see the Notes to the Prometheus Bound, v 85. The first syllable of Helen’s name in Greek means to take, from ἁιρέω 2 aor [Editor: illegible character]ιλον. “No one who understands the deep philosophy of Æschylus and his oriental turn of thought will suspect the play upon the name of Helen to be a frigid exercise of wit,” says Sew., who has transmuted the pun into English in no bad fashion thus—

“Helen, since as suited well
Hell of nations, heroes’ hell,
Hell of cities, from the tissued
Harem-chamber veils she issued”

[Note 58 (p 62).]

“. . . giant Zephyr”

I see no reason why so many translators, from Stan downward, should have been so fond to render γίγαντος “earth-born” here, as if there were any proof that any such genealogical idea was hovering before the mind of the poet when he used the word. I entirely agree with Con. that the notion of strength may have been all that was intended (as, indeed, we find in Homer the Zephyr always the strongest wind), and, therefore, I retain the original word. Sym Anglicising, after his fashion, says, not inaptly—

“Fanned by Zephyr’s buxom gales,”

and Con. changes giant into Titan, perhaps wisely, to avoid certain ludicrous associations.

[Note 59 (p 62).]

“Kin but not kind.”

Another etymological allusion; κ[Editor: illegible character]δος meaning both kin and care.Sew. has turned it differently—

“And a marriage truly hight,
A marjoy,” etc

Harf, does not relish this “absurd punning” at all, and misses it out in this place; so also Potter; but I agree altogether with Sew. that “there is nothing more fatal to any poet than to generalize his particularities.” Shakespere also puts puns into his most serious passages; a peculiarity which we must even tolerate like an affected way of walking or talking in a beautiful woman; though, for the reason stated in the note to the Prometheus, above referred to, the ancient, when he puns upon proper names, is by no means to be considered as an offender against the laws of good taste, in the same way as the modern.

[Note 60 (p 63).]

“A servant of Até, a priest of Ruin.”

Até the goddess of destruction, already mentioned (p 53), and whose name has been naturalized in English by the authority of Shakespere. In Homer ατη appears (1) as an infatuation of mind leading to perdition; (2) as that perdition effected; (3) as an allegorical personage, eldest born of Jove, the cause of that infatuation of mind and consequent perdition (II. XIX. v. 91). In the tragedians, [Editor: illegible character]τη is more habitually clothed with a distinct and prominent personality.

[Note 61 (p 64).]

“A haughty heart.”

In a passage hopelessly corrupt, and where no two editors agree in the reading, I have necessarily been reduced to the expedient of translating with a certain degree of looseness from the text of the MSS. as given by Well. Through this text, broken and disjointed as it is, the meaning glimmers with a light sufficient to guide the reader, who wishes only to arrive at the idea, without aspiring at the reconstitution of the lost grammatical form of the text, and it is a satisfaction to think that all the translators, from Pot. to Con, however they may vary in single phrases, give substantially the same idea, and in a great measure the same phrase. This idea, a most important one in the Greek system of morals, is well expressed by Sym. in his note on this place—“The Chorus here moralizes and dwells on the consequences to succeeding generations of the crimes of their predecessors. He traces, as it were, a moral succession, handed down from father to son, where one transgression begets another as its inevitable result. The first parent stock was ‘[Editor: illegible character]βρις’ a spirit of insolence or insubordination, breaking out into acts of outrage, the forerunner of every calamity in a Grecian republic, against which the philosophers and tragedians largely declaimed. They denounced it as well from a principle of policy as a sentiment of religion. In short, the poet treats here of the moral concatenation of cause and effect, the consequence to the descendants of their progenitors’ misconduct, operating either by the force of example or of hereditary disposition, which in the mind of the Chorus produces the effect of an irresistible fatality.”—I may mention that I have retained the original word δάιμων in its English form “demon,” this being, according to my feeling, one of the few places where the one can be used for the other without substituting a modern, and, therefore, a false idea.

[Note 62 (p. 65).]

“Fawn with watery love.”

νˆδαρεɩ̂ σάινειν ϕιλότητι. This is one of those bold dramatic touches which mark the hand of a Shakespere, or an Æschylus, and, by transmuting or diluting which, the translator, in my opinion, commits a capital sin. Harf., with his squeamish sensibility, has slurred over the whole passage, and even Fr., like all Germans, an advocate for close translation, gives the rapid generality of “trugend,” Med., from carelessness, I hope, and not from principle, has sinned in the same way, and Kennedy likewise; but I am happy in having both Con. and Sym. for my companions, when I retain a simile which is as characteristic of my author as a crooked beak is of an eagle. This note may serve for not a few similar cases, where the nice critic will do well to consult the Greek author before he blames the English translator.

[Note 63 (p. 67).]

“He might have boasted of a triple coil.”

I consider it quite legitimate in a translator, where critical doctors differ, and where decision is difficult or impossible, to embody in his version the ideas of both parties, where that can be done naturally, and without forcing, as in the present instance. It seems to me on the one hand that την κάτω γὰρ όυ λέγω has more pregnancy of expression when applied to the dead Geryon, than when interpreted of the earth; and, on the other hand, I cannot think with Sym. that the expression τρίμοιρον χλαɩ̂ναν, when applied to the earth, is “rank nonsense” There are many phrases in Æschylus that, if translated literally, sound very like nonsense in English The parenthetic clause “of him below I speak not,” is added from a superstitious feeling, to avoid the bad omen of speaking of a living person as dead. So Well. and Sym., and this appears the most natural qualification in the circumstances.

[Note 64 (p. 7).]

“Thy Phocian spear-guest”

Speaking of the era of the great Doric migration with regard to Megara, Bishop Thirlwall (Hist. Greece, c. VII.) writes as follows:—“Megara itself was, at this time, only one, though probably the principal, among five little townships which were independent of each other, and were not unfrequently engaged in hostilities, which, however, were so mitigated and regulated by local usage as to present rather the image than the reality of war. They were never allowed to interrupt the labours of the husbandman. The captive taken in these feuds was entertained as a guest in his enemy’s house, and when his ransom was fixed, was dismissed before it was paid. If he discharged his debt of honour he became, under a peculiar name (δορύξενος), the friend of his host; a breach of the compact dishonoured him for life both among the strangers and his neighbours—a picture of society which we could scarcely believe to have been drawn from life, if it did not agree with other institutions which we find described upon the best authority as prevailing at the same period in other parts of Greece.”

[Note 65 (p 69).]

“Come, boy, unbind these sandals”

This passage will at once suggest to the Christian reader the well-known passage in Exod. iii. 5, “take off thy shoes from thy feet, for the ground where thou standest is holy ground,” which Ken. aptly adduces, and compares it with Lev. xxx. 19, and Juvenal Sat. VI. 159—

“Observant ubi fests mero pede Sabbata reges,”

and other passages. In the same way the hand held up in attestation before a bench of grave judges, according to our modern usage, must be ungloved.

[Note 66 (p 69)]

“Jove, Jove the perfecter! perfect thou my vow.”

Ζενˆ τέλειε I see no reason in the connection of this passage to give the epithet of τέλειος a special allusion to Jove, as along with Juno, the patron of marriage. Blom., Peile, and among the translators, Med and Ken. take this view. But Pot., Sym., Con., Fr., Voss., and Droys content themselves with the more obvious and general meaning. It is not contended, I presume, by any one that the epithet τέλειος, when applied to Jove, necessarily refers to marriage, independently of the context, as for instance in Eumen. 28. The origin of the epithet may be seen in Homer, Il. IV. 160-168, etc.

[Note 67 (p. 69).]

“. . . unbidden and unhired”

“Poor Louis! With them it is a hollow phantasmagoria, where, like mimes, they mope and mow, and utter false sounds for hire, but with thee it is frightful earnest.”—Carlyle’s French Revolution, the ancient and the modern, with equal felicity, alluding to the custom prevalent in ancient times of hiring women to mourn for the dead. We must also note, however, that there is an example here of that spontaneous prophecy of the heart by god-given presentiment, which is so often mentioned in Homer. The ancients, indeed, were the furthest possible removed from that narrow conception of a certain modern theology, which confines the higher influences of inspiration to a privileged sacerdotal order. In St. Paul’s writings, the whole Church prophesies; and so in Homer the fair Helen, who had no pretensions to the character of a professional soothsayer, pre faces her interpretation of an omen by saying,

“Hear my word, as in my heart the immortal gods suggest the thought,
I will read the omen rightly, as the sure event shall show”
Odys. XV. 172

The words used by Homer to express this action of the divine on the human mind are βάλλειν ὑποτίθεσθαι, and such like, to throw into, and to put under, or suggest.

[Note 68 (p. 70).]

“Unloosed their cables from the shore.”

I have not been curious in rendering this passage, as the word παρήβησεν is hopelessly corrupt; but the general notion of my translation is taken from Sym.’s note.

[Note 69 (p 71).]

“. . Were link with link
In the chain of things not bound together.”

ἐι δὲ μὴ τεταγμένα μοɩ̂ρα κ. τ. λ. In my opinion, Sym., Con., and Peile, are wrong in giving a different meaning to μοɩ̂ραν from that which they assign to μοɩ̂ρα immediately preceding. In such phrases as “truditur dies die” (Horace) and “Day uttereth speech unto day,” the reader naturally attaches the same idea to the same word immediately repeated. The literal translation of this passage, “if by the ordinance of the gods ordered Fate did not hinder Fate,” seems merely to express the concatenation of things by divine decree as given in my version. Sym’s version is—

“I pause Some Fate from Heaven forbids
The Fate within to utter more,
Else had my heart outrun my tongue,
And poured the torrent o’er.”

Med. gives three lines substantially identical with mine—

“Nor would I counteract the laws of Heaven,
My heart would chain my tongue, e’en were it given
To drag the secret of the Fates to the day”

[Note 70 (p. 71).]

“. . . the household altar.”

κτησίου βωμονˆ. Literally, the altar of our family wealth or possession. In the same way, Jove, the supreme disposer of all human wealth, is called Ζεὺς κτήσιος, possessory Jove. See the Suppliants, v. 440—my translation.

[Note 71 (p. 72)]

“My way-god, my leader Apollo!”

“Agyieus (from ἀγυιὰ, a way), a surname of Apollo, describing him as the protector of the streets and public places As such he was worshipped at Acharnæ, Mycenæ, and Tegea”—Dr. Schmitz, in the Mythol. Dict. In the same way, by ενοδιον θεὰν (Soph. Antig. 1200), or “the way goddess,” is understood Hecate The Hindoos make their god Pollear perform a similar function, placing his image in all temples, streets, highways, and, in the country, at the foot of some tree, that travellers may make their adorations and offerings to him before they pursue their journey.—Sonnerat in notes to the Curse of Kehama, Canto V.

[Note 72 (p. 73).]

“Apollo, my leader, whither hast thou led me?”

In this Antistrophe, and the preceding Strophe, there is one of those plays on the name of the god addressed, which appear inappropriate to us, but were meant earnestly enough by the ancients, accustomed to deal with an original language from which the significancy of proper names had not been rubbed away.—See note on Prometheus, v. 85. Besides this, there was naturally a peculiar significancy attached to the names of the gods —See note 18, p. 338, above. In the present passage the first pun is on the name Απόλλων, Apollo, and the verb ἀπόλλυμι, which signifies to destroy) so the Hebrew Abaddon from Abad, he perished.—Apoc. ix. 11), a function of the Sun god familiar enough to the Greek mind, from the description of the pestilence in the opening scene of the Iliad. The second pun is on the title ἀγυιεὺς, leader, or way-god, concerning which see previous note. I have here, as in the case of Helen and Prometheus (v. 85), taken the simple plan of explaining the epithet in the text. The translator who will not do this must either, like Con. and Sym, leave the play on the words altogether unperceptible to the English reader, or, like Sew, be driven to the necessity of inventing a new pun, which may not always be happy English, and is certainly not Greek, thus—

“Apollo! Apollo!
Leader! appaller mine!
Yea! for the second time thou hast with ease
Appalled me, and destroyed me.”

[Note 73 (p 74).]

“The blithe blood, that crimson ran
In my veins, runs pale and wan”

With this Sym aptly compares a passage from the speech of Theodosius in Massinger’s Emperor of the East—

“What an earthquake I feel in me!
And on the sudden my whole fabric totters;
My blood within me turns, and through my veins
Parting with natural redness, I discern it
Changed to a fatal yellow”

Even more strongly expressed than in our Greek poet, perhaps a little too strongly, the words, I discern it, certainly not improving the passage. Harf., as is his fashion, fears to follow the boldness of his author, and translates—

“The ruddy drop is curdling at my heart.”

And in the same spirit Fr. gives dunkelroth.

[Note 74 (p 74).]

“As when in the mortal anguish.”

Sym. takes his stand too confidently on a corrupt text, when he says, “Pot. has entirely omitted the fallen warrior bleeding drop by drop, which is, as it were, introduced into the background by the poet to aggravate the gloom of the picture.” I read καιρία with Dind., Con., Linw., and Fr., with which single word the fallen warrior disappears, who comes in, even in Sym.’s version, rather abruptly.

[Note 75 (p. 74).]

“. . . she seizes him
By the strong black horn.”

Harf. finds this rough Homeric trait too strong for him. Med. has—

“With her black horn she buts him
What is that wrapt round his head?”

But, though there is some colour for this translation in the old Scholiast, I think the reader will scarcely judge very favourably of it, after considering what Peile and Con. have judiciously said on the point. As for authority, all the translators, except Med. and Hume, from Pot. downwards, English and German, are with me. It is scarcely necessary to remark against Harford’s squeamishness, that the bull in ancient symbolical language (see poets and coins, passim) was an animal in every respect as noble and kingly as the lion and the eagle still remain.

[Note 76 (p. 75).]

“Crieth Itys! Itys! aye.”

Procne and Philomele, according to one of the most familiar of old Greek legends, were daughters of Pandion, king of Athens; and one of them having been given in marriage to Tereus, a king of the Thracians, in Daulis, who, after the marriage, offered violence to her sister—the result was, that the wife, in a fit of mad revenge, murdered her own son Itys, and gave his flesh to her husband to eat, and, being afterwards changed into a nightingale, was supposed in her melodious wail continually to repeat the name of this her luckless offspring.

[Note 77 (p. 75).]

“The thick blossoms of its woe”

ἀμϕιθαλη̂ κακοɩ̂ς βίον. I hope this expression will not be considered too strong by those who consider as well the general style of our poet, as the ὁρωˆμεν ἀνθουν πέλαγος Ἀιγα̂ιον νεκρο̂ις, v. 645 of this play (see my translation, supra, p. 61), and the μανιας δεινόν ὰποστάζει άνθηρόν τε μένος of Sophocles.—Antig. v. 960.

[Note 78 (p. 77).]

“Soon my reeking heart shall cast.”

If the reader thinks this a bold phrase, he must bear in mind that it is Cassandra who speaks, and Æschylus who writes. The translation, indeed, is not literal, but the word “θερμόνους,” as Con. says, “has all the marks of genuineness,” and I was more afraid of weakening it in translation than of exaggerating it. Other translations are—

“And I my warm blood soon on earth shall pour.”
—Sym

“But I shall soon press my hot heart to Earth”
—Con

“Ich aber stúrze bald zur Erd im heissen Kampf”
—Fr.

“Ich aber sinke bald im heissen Todeskampf”
—Droys.

[Note 79 (p. 77).]

“Waves shall it dash from the west in the sun’s face”

“The beauty of this image can only be properly appreciated by those who have observed the extraordinary way in which the waves of the sea appear to rush towards the rising sun.”—English Prose Tr. Oxon.

[Note 80 (p. 77).]

“. . . though I should wedge them
As stark as ice?”

I read πη̂γμα with Well and the majority of editors and translators. Sym., who is sometimes a little too imperative in his style, calls this to “obtrude an unnecessary piece of frigidity or fustian on Æschylus.” The reader, of course, will judge for himself; but there are many things in our poet more worthy of the term “fustian” than the word πη̂γμα, applied to πρκος.

[Note 81 (p. 78).]

“Implacable breath of curses on her kin.”

Well. forgets his usual caution, when he receives ἄρην into his text, and rejects ἀρὰν, the reading of the MS. It is paltry to object to the phrase ἄσπονδον ἀρὰν in an author like Æschylus. Franz receives the emendation of Lobeck, modified into Λρη.

[Note 82 (p. 80).]

“Bravely thou praisest; but the happy hear not
Such commendations”

I have here, in opposition to Fr., Sym., Med., and even the cautious Well., reverted to the original order of this and the next line, as they appear in the MSS , being chiefly moved by what is said by Con. “The words ἀλλ ἐυκλεωˆς τοι κατθανε̂ιν χάρις βροτῷ could never have been put by Æschylus into the mouth of Cassandra, who is as far as possible from cherishing the common view of a glorious death, and, indeed, shows in her next speech very plainly what feelings such a thought suggests to her.”

[Note 83 (p. 80)]

“Not with vain screaming, like a fluttering bird.”

“Fearing a wild beast about its nest,” says the Scholiast; fearing the fowler with “its limed wings,” says Med. The original is short and obscure; but there is no need of being definite; nothing is more common than to see a bird fruitlessly fluttering about a bush, and uttering piteous cries. A fit image of vain lamentation without purpose or result.

[Note 84 (p. 81).]

“. . . From bad to worse
Our changes run, and with the worst we end.”

This translation is free, because it did not occur to me that the laconism of the Greek, if literally translated, would be sufficiently intelligible. I have no doubt as to the correctness of this version of a passage which is certainly not a little puzzling at first sight. Two phases of human life are spoken of in the previous lines; one is the change from prosperity to adversity, the other, from adversity down to utter ruin and death. The preference expressed in the line καὶ τανˆτ ἒκέινων κ τ.λ. can refer to nothing but these two So Peile and Con.; and there is a terrible darkness of despair about Cassandra’s whole tone and manner, which renders this account of human life peculiarly natural in her parting words.

[Note 85 (p. 81).]

“Who of mortals will not pray.”

The line τίς ἀν ἔυξαιτο βροτωˆν ἀσινε̂ι, being deficient in metre, one may either supply ὄυκ, with Canter, which gives the meaning expressed in the text, or, retaining the affirmative form, read βροτός, ὤν, with Both. and Fr., which gives an equally good sense thus—

“Who of mortals then may hope
To live an unharmed life, when he
Fell from such height of honor?”

so Pot., Med., Humb., Droys., Fr., and Voss.

[Note 86 (p 81).]

“Weave we counsel now together, and concert a sure design.”

I follow Müller here in dividing the Chorus among twelve, not fifteen speakers. The internal evidence plainly points to this; and for any external evidence of scholiasts and others in such matters, even if it were uncontradicted, I must confess that I think it is worth very little.

[Note 87 (p 82).]

“So wisely spoken.”

Most lame and impotent conclusion!—so the reader has no doubt been all the while exclaiming. Our great poet has here contrived to make one of the most tragic moments of the play consummately ridiculous; and it is in vain to defend him. No doubt, old men are apt enough to be irresolute, and to deliberate, while the decisive moment for action slips through their fingers. So far in character. But why does the poet bring this vacillation so laboriously forward, that it necessarily appears ludicrous? This formal argumentation turns the character of the Chorus into caricature. Nor will it do to say with Con. that this impotent scene was “forced on Æschylus, by the fact of the existence of a Chorus, and the nature of the work he had to do.” A short lyrical ode might have covered worthily that irresolution, which a formal argumentation only exposes. No one blames the Chorus for doing nothing; that is all right enough; but every one must blame the poet for making them talk with such a show of solemn gravity and earnest loyalty about doing nothing.

[Note 88 (p 82).]

“Here, where I struck, I take my rooted stand
Upon the finished deed.”

The natural attitude of decision. So when Brutus administered the famous oath to the Roman people, “neminem Romæ regnare passuros,” he and his colleagues are described by Dionysius (V. 1) as σταντες ἐπι των τομίων.

[Note 89 (p. 83).]

“Thou hast cast off thou hast cut off
Thine own husband.”

I have endeavoured to express the repetition of the off three times as in the original; but the Greek is far more emphatic, the repetition taking place in the same line, ἀπέδικες, ἀπέταμες ἀπόπολις δ ἕσῃ.

[Note 90 (p. 83).]

“But mark my words.”

There is much difficulty in settling the reading and the construction of the Greek here; but having compared all the translations, I find that, from Pot. down to Mrd and Fr, substantially the same sentiment is educed. Sym. who praises Blom’s arrangement, gives—

“Threaten away, for I too am prepared
In the like manner Rule me if thou canst,
Get by thy band the mastery—rule me then.
But if,” etc.

Well. whom I follow, and who objects to Blom.’s construction, gives— “Jubeo antem te, quum et ego ad similes minas paratas sim, victoria vi reportata, mihi imperare, sin minus, et si contraria Dii perfecerint, damno edoctus sero sapere disces.”

[Note 91 (p. 84).]

“And thine eyes with fatness swell.”

I do not know whether I may not have gone too far in retaining the original force of λίπος in this passage I perceive that few of the translators, not even Sew, so curious in etymological translation, keep me in countenance However, I am always very loath to smooth down a strong phrase in Æschylus, merely because the modern ear may think it gross. In this case, I am glad to find that I am supported by Droys.

“Ueber dem Auge glänzt fett Dir das Tropfenblüt.”

though my rendering is a little more free.

[Note 92 (p. 84).]

Strophe i. In the arrangement of the following lyric dialogue, I have followed But, Blom., and Peile, in opposition to that given by Herm., Well, and Fr., not for any metrical reasons sufficiently strong to influence me either one way or other in constituting the text; but because I find the sense complete and continuous after ννˆν δετελειάν, and this alone is a sufficient reason why I, in my subordinate function of a translator, should not suppose anything to have fallen out of the text in this place. How much, however, we are all in the dark about the matter appears from this, that in the place where Blom. and Peile suppose an immense lacuna, the sense in the mouth of Clytemnestra ννˆν δ’ ὤρθωσας runs on with a continuous allusion to the preceding words of the Chorus. For which reason I have not hinted the existence of an omission, nor is it at all likely that the reader has lost much These are matters which belonged to the ancient symmetrical arrangement of the Chorus before the eyes and ears of the spectators, and which I much fear it it impossible for us, readers of a dry MS., to revive at this time of day.

[Note 93 (p. 85)]

“O god that o’er the doomed Atridan halls.”

I am afraid I stand alone, among the translators, in translating δαɩ̂μον in this and similar places, by the English word god; but persuaded as I am that the English words Fiend and Demon are steeped in modern partly Gothic, partly Christian associations of a character essentially opposed to the character and genius of the Greek theology, I choose rather to offend the taste than to confound the judgment of my reader in so important a matter. The Greeks habitually attributed to their gods actions and sentiments, which we attribute only to devils and demons Such beings (in the English sense) were, in fact, altogether unknown to the Greeks. Their gods, as occasion required, performed all the functions of our Devil; so that, to use a familiar illustration, instead of the phrase, what the devil are you about? so familiar to a genuine English ear, the Athenians would have said, what the god are you about? Hence the use of δαιμόνιε in Homer.

[Note 94 (p. 86).]

“The unrelenting old Alastor.”

Along with Sym. and Con. I retain the Greek word here, partly from the reason given in the previous note with regard to δαίμων, partly because the word is familiar to many poetical ears from Shelley’s poetry, partly, also, because I take care so to explain it in the context, that it cannot be misunderstood by the English reader The Greek word ἀλάστωρ means an evil genius. Clement of Alexandria, in a passage quoted by Sym. (Protrept c. II.) classes the Alastors of the ancient tragedy with the Furies and other terrible ministers of heaven’s avenging justice. About the etymology of the word the lexicographers and critics are not agreed. Would there be any harm in connecting it with ἀλαστέω (Il. XII. 163), and ἐπαλαστέω (Odys. I. 252), so that it should signify an angry or wrathful spirit.

[Note 95 (p. 88).]

“Falling he fell, and dying died.”

I have here taken advantage of a Hebraism familiar, through the pages of the Bible, to the English ear, in order to give somewhat of the force of the fine alliteration in the original κάππεσε, κάτθανε .καὶ καταθάψομεν. In the next three lines I have filled up a blank in the text, by what must obviously have been the import of the lost lines, if, indeed, Paley, Klausen, and Con. are not rather right in not insisting on an exact response of stanza to stanza in the anapæstic systems of the musical dialogue.

[Note 96 (p. 88).]

“While great Jove lives.’

μίμνοντος ὲν χρόνῳΔιὸς “The meaning is sufficiently plain, if we do not disturb it by any philosophical notions about the difference between time and cternity.”—Con. The reader will note here the grand idea of retributive justice pursuing a devoted family from generation to generation, and, as it were, entailing misery upon them, concerning which see Sewell’s remarks above, p. 349. Sophocles strikes the same keynote in the choric chaunt of the Antigone, ἀρχαɩ̂α τα Δαβδακιδα̂ν ὄικων ὁρωˆμαι.

[Note 97 (p. 90).]

“. . . in a separate dish concealed
Were legs and arms, and the fingers’ pointed tips”

Editors have a great difficulty in settling the text here; but there is enough of the meaning visible—especially when the passage is compared with Herod. I. 119, referred to by Schutz—to enable the translator to proceed on the assumption of a text substantially the same as that given by Fr., where the second line is supplied—

Τὰ μὲν ποδήρη και χε̂ρων ἄκρους κτένας
[Ἔθετο κάτωθεν πὰντα συγκρύψας τὰ δ ἀυ]
Ἔθρυπτ ἄνωθεν ὰνδρακὰς καθημένοις
Ἄσήμ’ · ὁ δ ἄυτωˆν ἀυτικ’ αγνόιᾳ λαβὼν.

The reader will observe that in these and such like passages, where, after all the labours of the learned, an uncertainty hangs over the text, I think myself safer in giving only the general undoubted meaning that shines through the passage, without venturing on the slippery ground of translating words of which the proper connection may he lost, or which, perhaps, were not written at all by the poet.

[Note 98 (p. 90).]

“. . . while with his heel he spurned
The supper.”

I quite agree with Con. that there is not the slightest reason for rejecting the natural meaning of λακτίσμα δείπνου in this passage. Such expressions are quite Æschylean in their character, and the analogy of the feast of Tereus in Ovid, Met VI. 661,

“Thracius ingenti mensas clamore repellit,”

adduced by Con. is very happy. To push the table away, whether with hand or heel, or with both, in such a case, is the most natural action in the world.

[Note 99 (p. 90).]

“And no diviner vends more potent balms
To drug a doting wit”

I have here expanded the text a little, to express the whole force of the Greek word Ἱατρομάντεις, concerning which see Note to the Eumen. v. 62, below.

[Note 100 (p. 91).]

“Ho! my gallant co-mates, rouse ye!”

These two lines in the mouth of the Chorus make a good consecutive sense; but the symmetrical response of line to line, so characteristic of Greek tragedy, has led Herm., Well., and the other editors of note, to suppose that a line from Ægisthus has fallen out between these lines of the Chorus Blanks of this kind, however, the translator will wisely overlook, so long as they do not seriously disturb the sense.

[* ]See Niebuhr’s Travels (§ 25, c 4), Michaelis’ Commentaries on the Laws of Moses (Art, 135); and Southey’s Thalaba.

[* ]Dictionary—voce Goel, and Commentaries, § 131

[* ]Die Thymele in der Orchestra ist durch ein Aschenkrug als Agamemnon’s Grab bezcichnet.—Droysen.

[* ]Hermes, or Mercury, in his capacity of guide of the dead (ψυχοπομπός) is here called Χθόνιος, or subterranean.

[* ]Iphigenia.

[* ]Proserpine.

[* ]See Note 64 to Agamemnon.

[* ]Hermes or Mercury. See Notes 55 and 56 above.

[* ]The Gorgon Medusa.

[† ]Agamemnon and Electra.

[* ]The Furies.—See next piece.

[Note 1 (p 99)]

“What power thy father lent.”

Jove was regarded as the grand source of the power exercised by all the other gods, even Apollo receiving the gift of prophecy from him. There is a peculiar propriety in the allusion to the father Zeus, as Mercury is requested to perform the same office of σωτήρ or Saviour to Orestes that Jove in a peculiar manner performs to all mankind —See Muller on Zeus Soter. (Eumenides, § 94), whose observations, however, on this particular passage, seem to force an artificial accent on the epithet σώτηρ The opening lines of this piece are wanting in the MSS. and were supplied by Stan. from the Frogs of Aristophanes.

[Note 2 (p 99)]

“* * My early growth of hair
To Inachus I vowed.”

These words will recall to the student of Homer a passage from the twenty-third book of the Iliad, where an account is given of the funeral ceremonies of Patroclus.

“First the horsemen came, and then a cloud of infantry behind,
Tens of thousands, his companions bore Patroclus in the midst,
And the corpse they sadly covered with the locks which grief had shorn”
v. 133-5.

And again—

“Then another deed devised Achilles godlike, swift of foot,
Stationed sad behind the pyre he clipt his locks of yellow hair,
Which, luxuriant shed, he cherished to Spercheius’ flowing stream.”
v 140-3

Compare the beautiful passage on the Greek mythology in Wordsworth’s Excursion, Book IV.

[Note 3 (p 99).]

“O Jove, be thou mine aid”

Of the high functions which belong to the supreme god of the Greeks, that of avenger is not the least notable, and is alluded to with special frequency in the Odyssey, of which poem, retribution in this life for wicked works is the great moral—whence the frequent line—

ἀι κε πόθι Ζεὺς δωˆσι παλίντιτα [Editor: illegible character]ργα γενέσθαι.

[Note 4 (p. 99)]

“And my cheeks, that herald sorrow.”

“As these violent manifestations of grief were forbidden by Solon (Plut. 21), we are to look upon them in this place as peculiarly characteristic of the foreign captive maidens who compose the chorus”—Kl.; though the epithet of ἄμϕιδρυϕὴς ἄλοχος applied to the wife of Protesilaus by Homer (Il. ii. 700, xi. 393), shows that, in the heroic times, at least, the expression of sorrow was almost as violent on the west as on the east side of the Hellespont.

[Note 5 (p. 101).]

“And now fear rules.”

ϕοβεɩ̂τας δέ τις. “People are afraid, and dare not speak out”—Peile. The abruptness of this passage renders it difficult to see the allusion. Paley gives it quite a different turn. “Sunt qui ob commissi sceleris quo adepts sint magnam fortunam (το ἐυτυχε̂ίν) conscientiam torqueantur.” But I do not think that this rendering agrees so well with the words that follow. The thought seems to be—the world judges by results, and men are content, even in fear, to obey a usurper, who shows his right by his success. This brings out a beautiful contrast to the σέβας, or feeling of loyal reverence that filled the public mind towards Agamemnon, who is alluded to in the first words of the Antistrophe.

[Note 6 (p 101)]

“So filthy hands with blood bedabbled.”

I do not see why Well and Kl. should object to πόροι being taken, as the Scholiast hints, for an equivalent to ποταμοὶ. The word simply means “channels,” and in the present connection of purification would naturally explain itself to a Greek ear, as channels of water.Kl.’s rendering of πόρος, ratio expiandae caedis, has no merit but being unpoetical. The ἰονˆσαν ἄτην holds concealed some hopeless blunder; but for the need the κλύσειαν άν μάτην of Fr. may be adopted.

[Note 7 (p. 101).]

“What the masters of my fate
In their strength decree.”

“There is a proverb, Δο̂υλε δεσποτωˆν ἄκουε καὶ δίκαια καὶ αδικα. Slave hear thy master whether right or wrong.” —Scholiast.

[Note 8 (p 101).]

“. . . beneath the veil.”

ὑϕ ε̂ιμάτων. Stan quotes the beautiful picture of Telemachus (Odyssey IV. 114), endeavouring to conceal his filial sorrow from the eyes of Menelaus at Sparta—

“From his eye the tear-drop fell when he heard his father’s name,
And with both his hands before his eyes he held the purple cloak.”

[Note 9 (p. 102)]

“. . . libations pure,
Poured on my father’s tomb.”

These libations are described in various passages of the Classics, of which the following may suffice.—

“Then to all the dead I poured libations, first with honied milk,
Then with sweetest wine, and then with water, and I strewed the grains
Of whitest meal.”
—Odyssey XI. 26

“Go, my Hermione, without the door,
And these libations take, and take my hair,
And, standing over Clytemnestra’s tomb,
Milk-mingled honey and the winy foam
Pour, and thus speak”
—Eurip, Orest 112.

“And with the due libation’s triple flow
She crowns the corpse”
—Soph. Antig, 429.

The χοα̂ισι πρισπόνδαισι, being the wine, water, and milk, particularised in the above extract from Homer. Compare Virgil’s Æn. V. 78, and St. Augustine’s Confessions vi. 2, with regard to his mother’s offering at the tombs of the martyrs—pultes et panem et merum.

[Note 10 (p 102)]

“. . . as who throws lustral ashes.”

καθάρματα. “Ashes of lustral offerings”—Peile. “Alluding to the custom of the Athenians, who, after purifying their houses with incense in an earthen vessel, threw the vessel into the streets, and retired with averted eyes.”—Scholiast.

[Note 11 (p. 102).]

“What other quittance to a foe
Than hate repaid with hate, and blow with blow?”

Why not? πωˆς δ’ου; how should it be otherwise? Observe, here, how far the Christian rule, love thine enemies, was from the Heathen mind. It is very far yet from our practice; though it is difficult to over-estimate the value of having such ideal moral maxims as those of the New Testament to refer to as a generally recognized standard.

[Note 12 (p. 103).]

“Hermes, that swayest underneath the ground”
All the recent editors agree in bringing up the line—

κήρυξ μέγιστε των άνω τε καὶ κάτω,

from v. 162 to this place, where the initial words are plainly wanting. “Hermes is invoked here as the great mediator between the living and the dead.”—Kl. “Herald me in this”—κηρύξας ’εμοι—perform a herald’s function to me in this, the verb chosen with special reference to the name κήρυξ, according to the common practice of the Greek writers. In the second line below, I can have no hesitation in adopting Stan.’s emendation of ὸωμάτων for ομμάτων. Ahrens (in Fr) has tried to make the passage more pregnant by reading ἁιμάτων, but this scarcely seems such an obvious emendation.

[Note 13 (p 103)]

“These words of evil imprecation dire.”

This is said to avoid the bad omen of mingling a curse with a blessing. The ancients were very scrupulous as to the use of evil words in religious services, and, when such were either necessary, or had accidentally crept in, they always made a formal apology. This I have expressed more largely than my text warrants in the next line, where I follow Schutz in reading καλη̂ς for κακη̂ς; a correction which, though not absolutely necessary, is sufficiently plausible to justify Blom., Schol., and Pal. in their adoption of it.

[Note 14 (p. 103)]

Chorus. This chorus seems hopelessly botched in the first half, and all the attempts to mend it are more or less unsatisfactory. If any one think “plashing torrents” a strong phrase, he must know that it is no stronge. than καναχὲς in the original, a word familiar to every student of Homerr The ἐρυμα (or ἐρμα—Herm.), I agree with every interpreter, except Klausen, in applying to the tomb of Agamemnon; of the κακωˆν κεδνωˆν τε, I can make nothing, beyond incorporating the Scholiast’s gloss, ἀπότροπον των ἠμετέρων κακωˆν.

[Note 15 (p. 104)]

Electra The reader will find in Pot. a somewhat amplified translation of the line here—

κήρυξ μεγιστε των άνω τε καὶ κάτω,

mentioned above as having been thrown back by Hermann to the commencement of Electra’s address over the tomb of her father, immediately preceding the short choral ode. It is literally translated by E. P., Oxon.—

“O mightiest herald of the powers above and below,”

but comes in quite awkwardly, and manifestly out of place.

[Note 16 (p. 104).]

“. . . a low-zoned maid’s.”

βαθυζώνου. “High-bosomed,” Potter; “hochgeschurzt,” Droysen; “deep-bosomed,” E. P., Oxon; “Weib im Festgewand,” Franz. Not having a distinct idea of what is meant by this epithet, I have contented myself with a literal rendering.

[Note 17 (p. 104).]

“If it was clipt
From head in Argos, it should be my own.”

This passage has given great trouble to commentators, who cannot see how Electra should say that no person but herself could have owned this lock, which yet she knew was not her own. They have, accordingly, at least Lin., Peile, and Pal., adopted Dobrees’ emendation of ἑνος (one person, i e., Orestes), instead of ἐμου, mine, which, though ingenious, does not appear to me at all necessary. Electra means to say, nobody here could have done it but me, and yet it is not mine (this implied); therefore, of course, the conclusion to be made is clear, ἐυξύμβολον τὸδ ἐστι δοξάσαι, it must have been Orestes!

[Note 18 (p 105).]

“. . . But lo! a further proof”

Imagine such evidence produced as a step in the chain of circumstantial evidence before a court of justice! Even the perturbed state of Electra’s mind may not redeem it from the charge of being grossly ludicrous. Well. and Fr., with that solemn conscientious gravity for which the Germans are notable, have, however, taken it under their wing, followed here, strangely enough, by Peile If the circumstance is to be defended at all, we had better suppose that Æschylus has given the details of the recognition exactly as he had received them from the old popular legend in the mouth of some story-teller. But why should not the father of tragedy, as well as the father of Epos, sometimes nod?

[Note 19 (p. 105).]

“Pray that fair end may fair beginning follow”

This seems to have been a sort of proverbial prayer among the Greeks, used for the sake of a good omen, as we find Clytemnestra, in the Agamemnon (p. 57 above), saying the same thing.

[Editor: illegible character]υ γὰρ πρὸς έυ ϕανε̂ισι προσθήκη πελοι.
v. 486.

[Note 20 (p 106)]

“ . . behold this web”

“The ladies, in the simplicity of ancient times, valued themselves much and, indeed, were highly esteemed, for their skill in embroidery; those rich wrought vests made great part of the wealth of noble houses. Andromache, Helen, and Penelope, were celebrated for their fine work, of which Minerva herself was the patroness, and Dido was as excellent as the best of them.”—Pot. The student will recall a familiar instance from Virgil—

“Munera practrea Iliacis crepta ruinis
Ferre jubet, pallam signis auroque rigentem
Et circumtextum croceo velamen acantho
Ornatus Argivae Helenæ.”
—Æneid I 651.

evidently modelled on Odys. xix. 225.

[Note 21 (p. 106).]

“May Power and Justice and thee, mighty Twain.”

The reader will note this theological triad as very characteristic of the Greeks. Power (Κράτος) is coupled with Jove, as being his most peculiar physical attribute. Personified, this attribute appears in the Prometheus; and in Homer,

“Jove, the lofty pealing Thunderer, and in power the chiefest god,”

answers to the opening words of our own solemn addresses to the Supreme Being—Almighty God Justice, again, belongs to Jove as the highest moral attribute; and this conjunction we find also very distinctly expressed in Homer.

“By Olympian Jove I charge you, and by Themis who presides
O’er the assemblies of the people”
—Odyssey II 68

[Note 22 (p. 107)]

“. . . exasperate at the loss
Of my so fair possessions.”

ἀποχρημάτοισι ζημιάις ταυρόυμενον. Kl. has made sad havoc of this line; but his objections to the old translation are weak, and his transpositions, so far as I can see, only make confusion more confounded. I stick by Stan. Ἀποχρήματος ζημιά est damnum bonorum omnium. Huc facit illud quod sequitur v. 299. και προσπιέζει χρημάτων ἀχηνία.

[Note 23 (p. 107).]

“. . The evil-minded Powers
Beneath the Earth.”

I am quite at a loss to explain the original of this passage further than that I see nothing harsh (as Lin. does) in referring the general term δυσϕρὁνων to the Furies, who are specially mentioned afterwards. It is quite common with Æschylus to give a general description first, and then specialise, and, moreover, in the present instance the λιχήνος which the δυσϕρονες are to send on the flesh of the sinner, are strictly analogous to the λιχὴν ἀϕυλλος (Eumen. v. 788), with which, in the Eumenides, they threaten to curse the Athenian soil. For the rest I should have little objection, in the present state of the MSS., to adopt Lobeck’s suggestion, μηνίματα, into the text, and have in effect so translated.

[Note 24 (p 107)]

“And through the dark his prescient eyebrow arched.”

The reference of this impracticable line to Apollo comes from Pauw, and has been adopted by Schwenck, who reads—

Ὁρωˆν τε λαμπρὸν ὲν σκότῳ νωμωˆν τ’ ’οϕρὺν.

Another way of squeezing a meaning from the line is to refer it to Agamem non—

“With trains of heavier woes
Raised by the Furies from my father’s blood,
Who in the realms of night sees this, and bends
His gloomy brows”
—Pot.

The other translations proposed are meagre and unpoetical.

[Note 25 (p. 107).]

“. . . him no share
In festal cup awaits, or hallowed drop
Of pure libation.”

[Note 26 (p 108)]

“Age to age with hoary wisdom
Speaketh thus to men.”

The old Jewish maxim of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, will here recur to every one; and, indeed, it is, to the present day, an instinctive dictate of social justice, however insufficient it may be as a general motive for individual conduct. In this spirit, wise old Nestor, in the Iliad (II. 354), considers that it would be disgraceful for the Greeks to think of returning home “before some Greek had slept with the wife of some Trojan,” as a retaliation for the woes that Paris had inflicted on Greek social life, in the matter of Helen. In Dante’s Inferno there are many instances, sometimes ingenious, sometimes only ridiculous, of the application of this principle to retributive punishment in a future life.

[Note 27 (p. 108)]

“There where in dark, the dead-man’s day, thou liest.”

Kl. appears to me to have supplied the true key to σκότω ϕάος ’ισόμοιρον, by comparing the exclamation of Ajax in Sophocles, v. 394—

Ιω σκότος ’εμὸν ϕάος
[Editor: illegible character]ερεβος ὠ ϕαεννότατον ὡς εμόι!

The gloomy state of the dead in Hades is pictured yet more darkly, by saying that the night, which covers them, is all that serves them for day

[Note 28 (p. 109).]

“The monarch of the awful dead.”

The Hades of the ancients was, as is well remarked by Kl on this place, in all things an image of this upper world; an observation to be made on the surface of Virgil—

“Quae gratia currum
Armorumque fuit viris, quæ cura nitentes
Pascere equos, eadem sequitur tellure repostos”
Æneid VI 653.

But the parallel most striking to the present passage occurs in the address of Ulysses to Achilles, Odyssey XI 482—

“Achilles,
Never man before was happier, nor shall ever be, than thou,
When thou wert among the living all the Argives honoured thee
Like a god, and now amid the dead thou sway’st with mighty power”

To which address the hero gave the well-known reply, a reply characteristic at once of his own tremendous energy, and of the Greek views of a future state:—

“Noble Ulysses, praise me not the state of death; for I would rather
Be a serf, and break the clods to him that owneth acres few
On Earth, than reign the mighty lord of millions of the shadowy dead.’

[Note 29 (p. 110)]

“Hyperborean bliss.”

“Fair birds have fair feathers;” so the Greeks, who had sent no voyages of discovery to the Arctic seas, were free, without contradiction, to place Utopia at the North Pole. (See Herodot. III. 106, quoted by Nitzsh in his comments on the Phœacians, Od. VII. 201-6) Schutz quotes Pomp. Mela. III. 5—“diutius quam ulli mortalium et beatius vivunt.” Some of these Hyperboreans drank nothing but milk (γαλακτοϕάγοι, Hom. II. XIII. 6), and from this practice the alleged purity of their manners, according to certain modern theories of dietetics, may have arisen.

[Note 30 (p 110).]

“O Jove, O Jove! that sendest from below.”

“Zeus, though his proper region is above, yet, by reason of his perfect concord with his brother in the moral government of the world, exercises authority also in Hades”—Kl This is one of the many instances to be found in Homer and Æschylus of the Monotheistic principle of an enlightened Deism controlling and overruling the apparent confusion and anarchy of Polytheism

[Note 31 (p. 111).]

“Ye that honoured reign below.”

What the true reading of the corrupt original here is, no one can know; but it may be some satisfaction to the student to note that the different readings of all the emendators bring out substantially the same sense. I give the various translations as follows:—

You, whose dreaded power
The infernal realms revere, ye Furies, hear me!
—Pot.

O ye powers that are honoured among the dead, listen to my prayer.
—E. P., Oxon.

Höret ihr Herrscher der Tiefe, hört mïch.
—Droy.

Höret mich Erd, und des Abgrund’s mächte!
—Fr

Neither this “Earth,” nor my “Furies,” can be looked on as part of the text. They are only put in to fill up a gap, where nothing better can be done.

[Note 32 (p 111).]

“And if blithe confidence awhile.”

This passage is desperate. I follow Peile in the translation; though, if I were editing the Greek, I should prefer to follow Well and Pal. in doing nothing.

[Note 33 (p. 111).]

“The mother gave her child
This wolfish nature wild.”

This translation, which is supported by Peile, and Pal., and Lin., seems to me to give θυμὸς that reference to Orestes which connects it best with the previous lines, while it, at the same time, gives the least forced explanation of ’εκ μάτρος.

[Note 34 (p. 112)]

“Like a Persian mourner.”

The student will find a very remarkable difference between this version and that in Pot. and E P. Oxon., arising from the conversion of the word πολεμιστρίας into ’ιηλεμιστρίας, a conjectural emendation which we owe to Hermann and Ahrens, and which appears to me to be one of the most satisfactory that has ever been made on the text of Æschylus. It has, accordingly, been adopted by Kl., Peile, Pal., Fr., and Droy. The oriental wailers were famous, and the “Maryandine and Mysian wailers” are especially mentioned by our poet in the final chorus of “the Persians;” which will be the best commentary on the exaggerated tone of the present passage. I have followed the recent German editors and translators in giving the first part of this Strophe to the Chorus. There seems to be a natural division at the words Ἰὼ, Ἰὼ δαία.

[Note 35 (p 112)]

OrestesWell. has certainly made a great oversight in running on continuously with these two Strophes. However the division be made, a new person must commence with Αέγεις πατρώιον μόρον.

[Note 36 (p. 113)]

Chorus. Here again I follow the later editors and translators in dividing the part given to the Chorus by Well. There is a sort of natural partition of the style and sentiment palpable to any reader. It may also be remarked in general, that the broken and exclamatory style of the lamentation in this Chorus is quite incompatible with long continuous speeches (such as Pot. has given), out of one mouth. The order of persons I give as in Peile.

[Note 37 (p. 114).]

“Scathless myself”

ϕυγεɩ̂ν. Fr. has unnecessarily changed this into τυχεɩ̂ν. In Odyssey XX. 43, Ulysses uses the same language to Athena.

[Note 38 (p. 114).]

“Thou too shalt taste”

That the dead were believed actually to eat the meat and drink that was prepared for them at the funeral feast is evident from the eleventh book of the Odyssey, where they come up in fluttering swarms and sip the pool of blood from the victim which he had sacrificed.

[Note 39 (p. 115).]

“Well spoken both.”

With Kl., Peile, Fr., and Pal., I adopt Hermann’s emendation—

κὰι μὴν ἀμεμϕη̂ τον δ ἐτείνατον λόγον.

and with him give the four lines to the Chorus. A very obvious and natural sense is thus brought out, besides that καὶ μὴν naturally indicates a change of person

[Note 40 (p. 115).]

“. . . try what speed the gods may give thee.”

δαίμονος πειρωˆμενος. Literally trying your god—the dependence of fortune upon God being a truth so vividly before the Greek mind that the term δαίμων came to be used for both in a manner quite foreign to the use of the English language, and which can only be fully expressed by giving both the elements of the word in a sort of paraphrase.

[Note 41 (p 116).]

“. . . this whole house with ills
Is sheer possessed.”

δαὶμον[Editor: illegible character] δόμος κακοɩ̂ς. Literally, “the house is godded with ills,” that is, so beset with evil that we can attribute it only to a special superhuman power—to a god, as the Greeks expressed it, to the devil, as we say.

[Note 42 (p. 116).]

“. . . Sirs, why dare ye shut
Inhospitable doors against the stranger?”

To shut the door upon a stranger or a beggar, seems, in Homer’s days, to have been accounted as great a sin, as it is now, from change of circumstances, necessarily looked on as almost a virtue. Every book of the Odyssey has some testimony to this; suffice it to quote the maxim—

[Note 43 (p 116).]

“The third and crowning cup.

“Alluding first to the slaughter of the children of Thyestes by Atreus, then to the murder of Agamemnon by Clytemnestra, and thirdly, that of Clytemnestra and Ægisthus presently to take place.”—Kl.

[Note 44 (p. 116).]

“. . . his present aid I ask”
Who laid on my poor wits this bloody task.”

I am inclined with Schutz, Kl, and Peile, to think that there is more propriety in referring this to Apollo than to Pylades. It is true, also, as Schutz remarks, that Æschylus generally, if not invariably, applies the word ἐποπτεύω to the notice taken of anything by a god.

[Note 45 (p. 117).]

“Earth breeds a fearful progeny”

The sentiment of this chorus was familiar to the ancients, and was suggested with peculiar force to the minds of the tragedians, from the contemplation of those terrible deeds of old traditionary crime, which so often formed the subject of their most popular and most powerful efforts. Sophocles had a famous chorus in the Antigone, beginning in the same strain, though ranging over a wider and a more ennobling field—“πολλὰ τα δεινὰ κ’ουδὲν ανθρώπου δεινότερον πέλει”

“Things of might hath Nature many
In her various plan,
But of daring powers who dareth
Most on Earth is man”

In imitation of which, the

“Audax omnia perpeti
Gens humana ruit in vetitum nefas”

of Horace has become proverbial. In modern times, the pages of the Times newspaper will supply more ample and various illustrations of the same great truth than the most learned ancient could have collected. In England especially, the strong nature of the Saxon shows something Titanic, both in feats of mechanical enterprise and in crime.

[Note 46 (p. 117).]

“All-venturing woman’s dreadful ire.”

Kl. quotes here the Homeric

ὡς ὀυκ ἀινότερον και κύντερον ἀλλο γυναικὸς.
“Woman like a dog unblushing deeds of terrible name will do.”

So a friend who was in Paris, at the time of the Revolution in 1848, wrote to me—“With the men I can easily manage, but the women are tigers.”

[Note 47 (p 117).]

“Thestios’ daughter, wild with rage.”

Althea, the mother of the famous Calydonian boar-hunter, Meleager, who is so often seen on the sides of ancient sarcophagi. “When Meleager was seven days old, it is said the Fates appeared, declaring that the boy would die, as soon as the piece of wood that was burning on the hearth should be consumed. When Althea heard this, she extinguished the fire-brand, and concealed it in a chest. Meleager himself became invulnerable; but when—in the war between the Calydonians and the Curetes—he had unfortunately killed his mother’s brother, she lighted the piece of wood, and Meleager died”—Dict. Biog.

[Note 48 (p 117)]

“How Scylla, gay, in gold arrayed.”

The daughter of Nisus, king of Megara, who, when Minos, in his expedition against Athens, took Megara, betrayed the city to the enemy, by cutting off the purple or golden hair which grew on the top of her father’s head, and on which his life and the preservation of the city depended —Dict., Biog., voceNisus, and Virgil Georg. I. 404, and Ovid. Met. VIII. 90, quoted here by Sian

[Note 49 (p. 118)]

“O woman! woman! Lemnos saw”

The Lemnian women, as Apollodorus relates (I. 9, 17), having neglected to pay due honor to Venus, were, by that goddess, made so ill-favoured and intolerable to consort with (αυταɩ̂ς έμβάλλη δοσοσμίαν), that their husbands, abandoning them, took themselves other wives from among the captive women that they had brought over from Thrace The Lemnian women, in revenge, murdered both their fathers and their husbands; from which atrocious act, and another bloody deed mentioned by Herodotus (VI. 138), “it hath been the custom,” says the historian, “to call by the name Lemnian any monstrous and inhuman action.”

[Note 50 (p. 118).]

“And honor from the threshold hies,
On which the doom god-spoken lies”

We are not always sufficiently alive to the deep moral power which lay concealed beneath the harlequin dress of the old Greek Polytheism What Æschylus puts into the mouth of a theatrical chorus in sounding rhythm, Xenophon, in plain prose, teaches from the mouth of a Greek captain thus—“Whosoever violates an oath to which the gods are witness, him I can never be brought to look on as a happy man. For, when the gods are once hostile, no one can escape their anger—not by hiding himself in darkness—not by fencing himself within a strong place. For all things are subject to the gods.”—Anab. II 5. Think on some of the Psalms!

[Note 51 (p. 119).]

“But nice regard for the fine feeling ear.”

I have here with a certain freedom of version expressed Kl ’s idea, that the preference expressed by Orestes for a male ear to receive his message arose from the nature of his news; but I do not think it is “inept” to believe, with Bl. and Peiie, that we have here merely an instance of the general secluded state in which Greek women lived, so that it was esteemed not proper to talk with them, in public—as Achilles says, in Euripides—

ἀισχρὸν δέ μοὶ γυναιξὶν συμβὰλλειν λόγους.
“For me to hold exchange of words with women
Were most improper”
—Iphig Aulid 830.

[Note 52 (p. 119).]

“Hot baths.”

To an English ear this sounds more like the apparatus of modern luxury than the accompaniment of travel in the stout heroic times. It is a fact, however, as Kl. well notes, that of nothing is there more frequent mention in Homer than of warm baths. This is especially frequent in the Odyssey, where so many journeys are made Telemachus, for instance, at Pylus, is washed by the beautiful Polycaste, the youngest daughter of his venerable host; and the poet records with pleasure how “out of the bath he came in appearance like to the immortal gods” (III. 468), a verse which might serve as a very suitable motto to a modern work on Hydropathy.

[Note 53 (p 119)]

ElectraWell. is very imperative in taking these words out of Electra’s mouth, and giving them to some other person, he does not exactly know who; but, though she left the stage before, there is no reason why she should not come back; and, in fact, she is just doing what she ought to do in appearing here, and carrying on the deception.

[Note 54 (p. 120).]

“Is audited at nothing.”

The passage is corrupt. I read παρ’ ὀυδέν, with Blomfield. ’Tis certainly difficult to say whether βακχείας καλης should be made to depend on ἐλπὶς, as I have made it, or being changed into κακης, be referred to Clytemnestra.

[Note 55 (p. 120)]

“. . . suasive wile, and smooth deceit!”

The reader need hardly be reminded that these qualities, so necessary to the present transaction, render the invocation (in the next line) peculiarly necessary of the god, who was the recognised patron of thieves, and of whom the Roman lyrist, in a well-known ode sings—

“Te boves olim nisi reddidisses
Per dolum amotas puerum minaci
Voce dum terret, viduus pharetra
Risit Apollo’

[Note 56 (p. 120).]

“The nightly courier of the dead.”

τὸν νύχιον. That there is a great propriety in the epithet nightly, as applied to Mercury, both in respect of his general function as πομπα̂ιος, or leader of the dead through the realms of night, and in respect of the particular business now in hand, and the particular time of the action, is obvious. In spite of some grammatical objections, therefore, I cannot but think it far-fetched in Blom. and Peile to refer the epithet to Orestes. Were I editing the text I should be very much inclined to follow Herm. and Pal. in putting καὶ τὸν νύχιον within brackets, as perhaps a gloss.

[Note 57 (p. 122).]

“The bearer of a tale can make it wear
What face he pleases.”

I translate thus generally, in order to avoid the necessity of settling the point whether κυπτὸς or κρυπτὸς is the proper reading—a point, however, of little consequence to the translator of Æschylus, as the Venetian Scholiast to Il. O. 207 has been triumphantly brought forward to prove the real meaning of this otherwise corrupt and unintelligible verse. Pot. was not in a condition to get hold of the true text—so he has given the best version he could of what he had—

“For the mind catches from the messenger
A secret elevation and bold swell,”

evidently from the reading of Paw.—

[Note 58 (p. 122).]

Choral Hymn. The text of this Chorus is a ruin, with here a pillar and there a pillar, some fragments of a broken cornice, and something like the cell of a god, but the rubbish is so thick, and the excavations so meagre, that perfect recovery of the original scheme is in some places impossible, and restoration in a great measure conjectural. Under these circumstances, with the help of the Commentators (chiefly Peilr and Lin.), I have endeavoured to piece out a connection between the few fragments that are intelligible; but I have been guided throughout more by a sort of poetical instinct than by any philological science, and have allowed myself all manner of liberties, convinced that in this case the most accurate translation is sure to be the worst. In the metre, I follow Peile.

[Note 59 (p. 125).]

“Let’s go aside, the deed being done, that we
Seem not partakers of the bloody work.”

’Tis a misfortune, arising from having such a body as a Chorus always on the stage, that they are often found to be spectators, where they cannot be partakers of a great work, and thus their attitude as secret sympathisers, afraid to show their real sentiments, becomes on many occasions the very reverse of heroic. This strikes us moderns very strongly, apt as we are, from previous associations, to take the Chorus along with the other characters of the play, and judge it accordingly; but to the Greeks, who felt that the Chorus was there only for the purpose of singing, criticisms of this kind were not likely to occur.

[Note 60 (p. 126).]

“I nursed thy childhood, and in peace would die.”

Clytemnestra says only that she wished to be allowed to spend her old age in peace; but she implies further, according to a natural feeling strongly expressed by Greek writers, that it was the special duty of her son to support her old age, and thus pay the fee of his nursing. Thus, in Homer, it is a constant lament over one who dies young in battle—

“Not to his parents
The nursing fee (θρέπτρα) he paid”
—Il. IV. 478.

“In general it was accounted a great misfortune by the Greeks to die childless (ἄπαιδα γηράσκειν, Eurip Ion 621). And at Athens there was a law making it imperative on an heir to afford aliment to his mother.”—Klausen.

[Note 61 (p. 126).]

“Thou art a woman sitting in thy chamber.”

“Go to thy chamber, mother, and mind the business that suits thee;
Tend the loom and the spindle, and give thy maidens the order
Each to her separate work; but leave the bow and the arrows
To the men and to me—for the man in the house is the master”
Odyssey XXI. 350.

So Telemachus says to his mother; and on other occasions he uses what we should think, rather sharp and undutiful language—but in Greece a woman who left the woman’s chamber without a special and exceptional call subjected herself to just rebuke. With regard to the matter here at issue between Orestes and Clytemnestra, Kl. notes that, though the wandering Ulysses is allowed without blame to form an amorous alliance with Calypso, the same excuse is not allowed for the female sitting quietly in her “upper chamber” (ὑπερώιον, Il. II. 514) as Homer has it. For “in ancient times,” says the Scholiast to that passage, “the Greeks shut up their women in garrets (ὑπερ τονˆ δυσεντεύκτους ἀυτάς [Editor: illegible character]ιναι) that they might be difficult to get at.”—How Turkish!

[Note 62 (p 126)]

Orestes. I have little doubt that Kl., Peile, Fr., Well., and Pal., are right in giving the line ἠ̂ κάρτα μάντις to Orestes. I should be inclined to agree with Well. and Pal. also, that after this line a verse has dropt out—“in quo instantem sibi mortem deprecata sit Clytemnestra;” but there is no need of indicating the supposed blank in the translation, as the sense runs on smoothly enough without it.

[Note 63 (p. 127)]

“ . . the eye of this great house, may live.”

An Oriental expression, to which the magnificent phraseology of our Celestial brother who sells tea, has made the English ear sufficiently familiar. He calls our king, or our consul, I forget which, “the Barbarian eye.” Other examples of this style occur in the Persians and the Eumenides.—See p. 172 above.

[Note 64 (p. 127).]

“A pair of grim lions, a double Mars terrible.”

Klausen, who, like other Germans, has a trick, sometimes, of preferring what is far-fetched to what is obvious, considers that this double Mars is the double death, first of Agamemnon in the previous piece, then of Clytemnestra in this; but notwithstanding what he says, the best comment on this passage is that given by the old Scholiast, when he writes “Pylades and Orestes.”

[Note 65 (p 127).]

“Sore chastisement.”

ποινὰ. Ahrens, with great boldness, changes this into Ἐρμα̂ς, which reading has been rashly thrown into the text by Fr. If any special allusion is needed, I agree with Pal. that Orestes is indicated, who is mentioned in the next clause as inflicting the blow, under the guidance of celestial Justice.

[Note 66 (p. 127).]

“Her from his shrine sent the rock-throned Apollo.”

In this corrupt passage I adopt Hermann’s correction of τάν περ for τάπέρ. How much the whole meaning is guesswork, the reader may see, by comparing my translation with Pot. and the E. P. Oxon, in this place, who follow the old Scholiast in referring χρονισθε̂ισαυ to Clytemnestra.

[Note 67 (p. 127).]

“And blithely shall welcome them Fortune the fairest.”

This passage being very corrupt, is rendered freely. I adopt Stan.’s conjecture [Editor: illegible character]δεɩ̂ν ἀκονˆσαι θ’ [Editor: illegible character]εμενοις, and suppose μέτοικοι to refer to Orestes and Electra.

[Note 68 (p. 128).]

“. . . not
My father, but the Sun that fathers all
With light.”

There is a certain mannerism in this description of a thing by the negation of what is similar, to which the tragedians were much addicted. As to the invocation of the sun, see the note in the Prometheus to the speech beginning

O divine ether and swift-winged winds.

[Note 69 (p. 128)]

“Or a torpedo, that with biteless touch
Strikes numb who handles.”

Literally, a lamprey, μύραινα; but to translate so would have been ludicrous; and besides, as Blom. has noted from Athenaeus, it was not a common lamprey that, in the imagination of the Greeks, was coupled with a viper, but “a sort of monstrous reptile begotten between a viper and a lamprey.”

[Note 70 (p. 128).]

“This cloth to wrap the dead.”

’Tis difficult to say whether δρόιτη, in this place, means the bath in which Agamemnon was murdered, or the bier on which any dead body is laid after death. Kl. supports this latter interpretation. I have incorporated a reference to both versions.

[Note 71 (p. 129).]

“Others ’twixt hope and fear may sway, my fate
Is fixed and scapeless.”

I read—

Ἄλλοις ἄν ἐι δή. τουτ’ ἂρ διδ δπη τελε̂ι.
Peile.

[Note 72 (p 129)]

“With soft-wreathed wool, and precatory branch.”

These insignia of suppliants are familiar to every reader of the Classics. I shall only recall two of the most familiar intances In the opening scene of the Iliad the priest of Apollo appears before Agamemnon, and

“In his hand he held the chaplet of the distant-darting Phœbus
On a golden rod”

And in the opening lines of the Œdipus Tyrannus, the old King asks the Chorus—

“Why swarm ye here around the seats of the gods,
With branches furnished such as suppliants bear?”

[Note 73 (p 129).]

“. . . navel of earth, where burns the flame
Of fire immortal”

As the old astronomers made Earth the centre of the planetary system, and as men are everywhere, and at all times, apt to consider their own position and point of view as of more importance in the great whole of things than it really is; so the Greeks, in their ignorant vanity, considered their own Delphi to be the navel, or central point of Earth. As to the immortal fire, Stan. quotes here from Plutarch, who, in his life of Numa (c. ix.), describing the institution of the Vestal Virgins, takes occasion to mention the sacred fire kept alive in Greece at two places, Delphi and Athens, which, if extinguished, was always rekindled from no earthly spark, but from the Sun.

[Note 74 (p. 130).]

“There is atonement.”

Ἐισιν καθαρμόι, Schutz, Pal.; [Editor: illegible character] σται καθαρμός, Bothe. Either of these seems preferable to the vulgate ἐισω. Franz has [Editor: illegible character]ις σοι καθαρμὸς. Eins bleibt Dir Suhnung.

[Note 75 (p. 130).]

“Ye see them not. I see them”

Ghosts and gods are never visible to the bystander, but only to the person or persons who may be under their special influence at the moment of their appearance—so in the Iliad (I. 197), Pallas Athena—

“There behind him stood, and by the yellow hair she seized Pelides,
Seen to him alone, the others saw not where the goddess stood”

and so in a thousand places of the poet To the spectator, however, in the theatre, spiritual beings must be visible, because (as Muller, Eumen 3, properly remarks) they are the very persons from before whose eyes it is the business of the poet to remove the veil that interposes between our everyday life and the spiritual world. That the Furies of the following piece were seen bodily at this part of the present play, and are not supposed to exist merely in the brain of Orestes, is only what a decent regard for common poetical consistency on the part of a great tragic poet seems to imply.

[Note 76 (p. 130).]

“ . . the god whose eyes in love behold thee!”

What god is not said, but the word θεός is used indefinitely without the article. The Greeks had an indefinite style when talking of the divine providence—a god, or some god, or the god, or the gods—a style which arose naturally out of the Polytheistic form of celestial government. Examples of all the different kinds of phraseology are frequent in Homer. Sometimes, in that author, the expression, though indefinite in itself, has a special allusion, plain enough from the context; and in the present passage I see no harm in supposing an allusion to Apollo, under whose immediate patronage Orestes acts through the whole of this piece and that which follows.

[* ]This original germ of the Furies is mentioned frequently in these plays, as πολυκρατεɩ̂ς ἀρὰι ϕθιμενων, Fell Curses of the Dead, in the Chocphoræ, p. 111 above. See also the words of Clytemnestra, My curse beware, p. 126 above.

[* ]Wordsworth’s “Athens and Attica,” London, 1836, c. 11

[† ]“Καὶ τὴν μὲν ἐν Ἀρείῳ πάγῳ βουλὴν Ἐϕιάλτης ἐκόλουσ[Editor: illegible character] καὶ Περικλη̂ς. τὰ δὲ δικαστήρια μισθοϕόρα κατέστησε Περικλη̂ς.”—Aristotle, Pol. II. 9. 3.

[* ]“Τη̂ς ναναρχίας γὰρ ἐν τοɩ̂ς Μηδικοɩ̂ς ὀ δη̂μος ἄιτιος γενόμενος ἐϕρονηματίσθη.”—Aristotle,ibid.

[* ]The progany of Earth and Heaven were called Titans, among whom Phœbe is numbered by Hesiod — Theog. 136.

[† ]Apollo.

[‡ ]One of the waters that descend from Parnassus.

[§ ]Neptune.

[* ]See note to Choephoræ, No. 73

[* ]πομπα̂ιος. Of the dead specially, but also of the living: as of Ulysses in the Odyssey, Book X.

[* ]Literally the unseen world. Sometimes used for the King of the unsoon world—Pluto.

[* ]See Introductory Remarks.

[* ]Lucidae sedes.- Horace III. 3

[* ]See Introductory Remarks. They designate themselves here from their origin ’Apal or imprecations.

[* ]That is, the Furies themselves.

[* ]Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen ass,

Und durch die kummervollen Nächte

Auf seinem Bette weinend sass,

Er kennt Euch nicht, ihr himmlischen Mächte!—Goethe.

[* ]“For strangers and the poor are from Jove.”—Homer.

[* ]See above, p. 141, Note 4.

[* ]That is, Asia. See Introduction to the Agamemnon.

[* ]Alluding to the well-known and beautiful allegoric myth that the goddess of wisdom sprang, full-armed, into birth from the brain of the all-wise Omipotent, without the intervention of a mother.

[† ]See the Preliminary Remarks.

[* ]παρόρνιθας, as we say ill-starred—that is, unfortunate, unlucky, the metaphor being varied, according to the changes of fashions in the practice of divination.

[† ]Alii γελωˆμαι—“fortasse non male”—Paley

[* ]The goddess of Persuasion—πειθὼ.

[* ]Like Erectheus (p. 167 above), one of the most ancient Earth-born kings of Attica

[* ]So the Greeks called anything very ancient, from Ogyges, an old Bœotian king.

[Note 1 (p. 141)]

“Old earth, primeval prophetess, I first
With these my prayers invoke; and Themis next.”

Earth, or Gaea, as the Greeks name her, is described here, and in Pausanias (X. 5), as the most ancient prophetess of Delphi, for two reasons; first, because out of the earth came those intoxicating fumes or vapours, by the inspiration of which the oracles were given forth (see Diodorus XVI. 26); second, because, as Schoemann well observes, Gaea, as the aboriginal divine mother, out of whose womb all the future celestial genealogies were developed, necessarily contained in herself the law of their development, and is accordingly represented by Hesiod as exercising a prophetic power with regard to the fates of the other gods —(Theog 463, 494, 625) The same writer remarks with equal ingenuity and truth, that Themis, her successor in the prophetic office, is only a personification of that law of development which, by necessity of her divine nature, originally lay in Gaea, and I would remark, further, how admirable the instinct was of those old mythologists, who placed Love and Right, and other ineradicable feelings or notions of the human mind, among the very oldest of the gods It is notable also, that previous to Apollo, all the presidents of prophecy at Delphi—including the famous Phemonoe, not mentioned here but by Pausanias l[Editor: illegible character]c, were women, and even Loxias himself could not give forth oracles without the help of a Pythoness. There is a great fitness in this, as women are naturally both more pious and more emotional than men. Hence their peculiar fitness for exercising prophetic functions, of which ancient Germany was witness—(see Cæsar b.c I. 50).

[Note 2 (p 141)]

“. . . rocky Delos’ lake.”

There can be no question that Schutz was right in translating λίμνη, in this passage, lake (and not sea, as Abresch did), it being impossible that a well-informed Athenian, on hearing this passage in the theatre, should not understand the poet to refer to the circular lake in Delos, described by Herodotus in II. 170.

[Note 3 (p. 141).]

“The Sons of Vulcan pioneer his path”

i.e. “The Athenians”—Scholiast—“who,” adds Stan., “were called the sons of Vulcan, because they were skilled in all the arts of which Vulcan and Pallas were patrons; or, because Erichthonius, from whom the Athenians were descended, was the son of Vulcan;” with which latter view Muller and Schoemann concur; and it appears to me sufficiently reasonable. There is no reason, however, for not receiving, along with this explanation, another which has been given, that the sons of the fire-god mean “smiths.” Artificers of this kind were necessary to pioneer the path for the procession of the god in the manner here described, and would naturally form, at least, a part of the convoy.

[Note 4 (p. 141).]

“. . . Loxias, prophet of his father Jove.”

’Tis plain from the whole language of Homer, both in the Iliad and Odyssey, that the fountain of the whole moral government of the world is Jove, and, of course, that all divination and inspiration comes originally from him. Even Phœbus Apollo acts only as his instrument (Nagelsbach Homerische Theologie, p. 105). Stan. compares Virgil Æneid III. 250.

[Note 5 (p. 141)]

“. . . thee, likewise, who ’fore this temple dwellest”

The reading προνάια (or προνᾴα), which I translate, is that of Well. and all the MSS.; but Lin has put πρόνοια, providential or foresecing, into the text, following out a criticism of Lennep on Phalaris, which has been stoutly defended by Hermann, in his remarks on Müller’s Eumenides (Opusc. VI. v. 2, p. 17). This, however, in the face of an express passage of Herodotus (I. 92), as Pal. well observes, has been done rashly; and now Fr. and Schoe. bring forward inscriptions which prove that there is not the slightest cause for tampering with the text. I have not been able to learn the substance of Lennep’s remarks otherwise than from the account of them by Muller in the Anhang, p. 14, but, taken at their highest value, they seem only to prove that a vagueness had taken hold of the ancients themselves in respect to the designation of this temple, not certainly that Æschylus and Herodotus both made a mistake in calling it προνᾴα, or that all the transcribers of their texts made a blunder.

[Note 6 (p. 141).]

“. . . ye Nymphs that love
The hollow Corycian rock.”

“From Delphi, which lies pretty high, the traveller ascended about 60 stadia, or two hours’ travel, till he arrived at the Corycian cave, dedicated to Pan and the Nymphs, in which there were many stalactites and live fountains.”—Sickler.alte geog. II. 134.

[Note 7 (p. 141).]

“Thee, Bromius, too, I worship.”

Bacchus, so called from βρέμω, fremo—the roaring or boisterous god. His connection with Apollo (though drinking songs are not so common now as they were last century) is obvious enough; and some places of the ancient poets where the close connection of these two gods is described, may be seen in Stan. The Scholiast to Euripides Phœnissai (v. 227, Matthiae) says expressly that Apollo and Artemis were worshipped on the one peak of Parnassus, and Bacchus on the other.

[Note 8 (p. 141).]

“. . . the godless Pentheus.”

“A son of Echion and Agave, the daughter of Cadmus. He was the successor of Cadmus as king of Thebes, and being opposed to the introduction of the worship of Dionysus in his kingdom, was torn to pieces by his own mother and two other Mænads, Ino and Autonoe, who in their Bacchic frenzy believed him to be a wild beast The place where Pentheus suffered death is said to have been Mount Cithæron; but, according to some, it was Mount Parnassus.”—Myth. Dict.

[Note 9 (p. 141).]

“Poseidon’s mighty power.”

Next to Jove, Poseidon is the strongest of the gods, as the element which he rules demands; and this strength, in works of art, is generally indicated by the breadth of chest given to this god. So Homer, also, wishing to magnify Agamemnon, says—

“Like to Jove that rules the thunder were his kingly head and eyes;
Belted round the loins like Ares, like Poseidon was his breast.”
Il. II. 478.

The connection of the god of the waters with Delphi is given by Pausanias x. 5, where it is said, that originally Poseidon possessed the oracle in common with Gaea; a legend easily explained by the fact, that all high mountains necessarily produce copious streams of water of which, no less than of the waves of ocean, Poseidon is lord.

[Note 10 (p. 142).]

“A gray-haired woman, weaker than a child.”

Stan. refers here to the account given by Diodorus of the origin of the Delphic oracle, c. xvi. 26, where he relates, that in the most ancient times the prophetess was a young woman; but that, afterwards, one Echecrates, a Spartan, being smitten with the beauty of a prophetess, had offered violence to her, in consequence of which an edict was published by the Delphians, forbidding any female to assume the office of Pythoness till she was fifty years old.

[Note 11 (p. 142)]

“. . . the ravenous crew
That filched the feast of Phineus.”

The Harpies; who, from the names given to them in Homer and Hesiod (and specially from Odyssey xx 66 and 77 compared) seem to have been impersonations of sudden and tempestuous gusts of wind; though, again, it is not impossible that these winds may be symbolical of the rapacious power of swift and sudden death—

“Venit Mors velociter
Rapit nos atrociter,”

as suggested by Braun. See the article by Dr Schmitz in the Biographical Dictionary.

[Note 12 (p. 142).]

“Such uncouth sisterhood, apparel’d so”

With regard to the dress of the Furies, Stan. quotes a curious passage from Diogenes Laertius, which I shall translate:—“Menedemus, the Cynic,” says he, “went to such fantastic excess as to go about in the dress of the Furies, saying, that he was sent as a visitant of human iniquity from Hades, that he might descend again, and report to the Infernal powers. His garb was as follows—a dun-coloured tunic (χιτων) reaching down to the feet, girt with a crimson sash, on his head an Arcadian cap, with the twelve signs of the Zodiac inwoven; tragic buskins, a very long beard, and an ashen rod in his hand.”—VI. 9. 2 The Romans were once put to flight by the Gauls, dressed in the terrible garb of the Furies, with burning torches in their hands.—Livy VII. 17.

[Note 13 (p. 143)]

“ . . A bitter pasture truly
Was thine from Fate.”

So I have thought it best to translate somewhat freely τὸνδε βουκολούμενος πόνον in order to express the original meaning of the verb βουκολουμαι. In this I have followed Müller—diese Schmerzentrift zu weiden This is surely more pregnant and poetical than to say with Fr. “Diese Lebensbahn durcheilend.” The idea of soothing and beguiling, the only one given by Hesychius, cannot apply to this place Pal, who agrees with me in this, translates the word in both places of our author where it occurs (here and in Agam 655) by “brooding over,” which differs little from my idea of feeding on.

[Note 14 (p. 143).]

“Her ancient image.”

“The image of Athena Pallas, on the citadel, which existed in the days of Pausanias, and had maintained for ages its place here by a sort of inviolable holiness In the narrow area of the temple, on the north-east slope of the Acropolis, Erechtheus had placed a carved image, either first made by himself, or, perhaps, fallen from Heaven; and round this, as a centre, the most ancient groups of Attic religion and legend assembled themselves.”—Gerhard, “uber die Minerven Idole Athen’s,” quoted by Schoe.

[Note 15 (p. 144).]

“Behold these wounds.”

I am not able to see what objection lies against the literal rendering of

ὁρά δε πληγὰς τάσδε καρδίᾴ σέθεν,

as I read with Fr. and Linw. Pal and Schoe. take πληγὰς metaphorically to signify the contumelious language used by Clytemnestra to the Furies; but this is surely rather going out of the way. If there were any necessity for deserting the literal meaning, I would rather take Hermann’s way of turning it (Opusc VI. v. 2, p. 28), and read—

ὁρα δε πληγὰς τάσδε καρδιάς δθεν.
Siehe diese Wunden meines Herzens woher sie kommen!

[Note 16 (p. 144)]

“Read with thy heart; some things the soul may scan
More clearly, when the sensuous lid hath dropt,
Nor garish day confounds”

This method of speaking is quite in keeping with ancient ideas on the nature of the connection ’twixt mind and body, as Schoe. has proved from Galen (Kuhn Med gr V. 301) As to the sentiment which follows, Stan. has quoted—“Quum ergo est somno sevocatus animus a societate et a contagione corporis, tum meminit praeteritorum, praesentia cernit, futura providet”—Cic. Divinat. I 30 According to Aelian (var. hist. III. 11). the Peripatetics held the same opinion.

[Note 17 (p 144).]

“Once Clytemnestra famous, now a dream.”

There is another translation of this passage—the old one in Stan —

In somno enim vos nunc Clytemnestra voco,”

to which Pot., E P Oxon., and Mul. adhere; but I cannot help thinking with Hermann (Opusc. VI. p ii. 30), that it is rather flat (matt) when compared with the other. Which of the two the poet meant cannot perhaps be settled now, as the meaning might depend on the rhetorical accent which the player was taught to give by the poet; but I am certain that the version in the text, sanctioned as it is by Wakefield, Schütz, Herm., Lin., and Pal. does not deserve to be stigmatised (in E. P.’s language) as “fanciful nonsense.” When Clytemnestra calls herself “a dream,” she uses the same sort of language which Achilles does to Ulysses regarding his own unsubstantial state as a Shade.—Odys XI.

[Note 18 (p. 144)]

“. . . and seeks
For help from those that are no friends to me.”

I have thought it better to retain the old and most obvious interpretation of this passage; not seeing any proof that προσίκτορες can be used in this general way as applied to the gods who are supplicated, without being affixed as an epithet to some special god; as when we say Ζεὺς ἀϕίκτωρ (Suppl. 1.)

[Note 19 (p. 144)]

Chorus. Whether Hermann in his “Dissertatio de Choro Eumenidum” (Leipzig, 1816) was the first that directed special attention to the peculiar character of this Chorus as indicated by the Scholiast, I do not know (Wellauer says so, and I presume he knew). Certain it is that Pot., by neglecting this indication, has lost a great deal of the dramatic effect of this part of the tragedy. The style of the chorus is decidedly fitful and exclamatory throughout, and must have formed a beautiful contrast to the steady stability of the solemn hymn that follows, beginning, “Mother night that bore me.” As to the particular distribution of the parts of this chorus, that is a matter on which, as Schoe. remarks, no two critics are likely to agree; nor is minute accuracy in this respect, even if it were attainable, a matter of any importance to the dramatic effect of the composition as now read. The only thing to be taken care of is, that we do not blend in a false continuity what was evidently spoken fitfully, and by different speakers, with a sort of staccato movement, as the musicians express it. This is Pot.’s grand error, not only here, but in many other of the choral parts of our poet; and, in this view, some of Hermann’s remarks (Opusc. VI. 2, 38) on Muller’s division are perfectly just. As for myself, by distributing the parts of the chorus among three voices, I mean nothing more than that these parts were likely spoken by separate voices. Scholefield and Dyer’s view (Classical Museum, Vol. I. p 281), that there were three principal Furies prominent above the rest in this piece, is not improbable, but admits of no proof. In my versification I have endeavoured to imitate the rapid Dochmiacs of the original.

[Note 20 (p. 145)]

“Thou being young dost overleap the old.”

The idea of a succession of celestial dynasties proceeding on a system of “development,” as a certain class of modern philosophers are fond to express it, is characteristic of the Greek mythology.—(See p. 47 above, Antistrophe I.) The Furies, according to all the genealogies given of them, were more ancient gods than Apollo, with whom they are here brought into collision. Our poet, as we shall see in the opening invocation of the first grand choral hymn of this piece, makes them the daughters of most ancient Night, who, according to the Theogony (v. 123), proceeded immediately from the aboriginal Chaos. Hesiod himself makes the Errinyes, along with the giants, to be produced from the blood of Uranus, when his genitals were cut off by Kronos (Theog. 185); a genealogy, by the way, quite in consistency with the Homeric representation given in the Introductory Remarks, of the origin of the Furies from the curses uttered by injured persons, worthy of special veneration, on those by whom their sacrosanct character had been violated.

[Note 21 (p. 147).]

“But where beheading, eye-out-digging dooms.”

In this enumeration of horros I have omitted κακονˆ τε χλο̂υνις, concerning which Lin. says, “Omnino de hoc loco maximis in tenebris versamur; nam neque de lectione, ncque de verborum significatione certi quidquam constat.”

[Note 22 (p. 147).]

“She was murdered here,
That murdered first her husband.”

The reasons given by Well. and Her. (Opusc. vi. 2. 42) why the two lines, 203-4 W., should not both be given with Stan., Schutz, and Mul., to Apollo, have satisfied Lin., Pal., Fr., Schoe., Dr., E. P. Oxon., and But. Certainly the epithets ὅμαιμος and αυθέντης (which latter the Scholiast interprets μιαρὸς) sound anything but natural in the mouth of Apollo. The emphasis put on δμαιμος in this very connection by the Furies, in v. 575, infra, noted by Hermann, should decide the question.

[Note 23 (p. 147).]

“. . . matrimonail Hera.”

Literally the perfect Hera, the perfecting or consummating Hera, Ἤρα τελεια, marriage being considered the sacred consummating ceremony of social life, and, therefore, designated among the Greeks by the same term, τέλος, which they used to express initiation into the Eleusinian mysteries. As Jove presides over all important turns in human fate, there is also neces sarily a Ζὲυς τελειος. See Blom Agam. 946, and Passow in voce τέλειος. Conf. Æn. iii. 605, Juno pronuba.

[Note 24 (p. 147).]

“The nuptial bed, to man and woman fated.”

Stan. has remarked that this word fated, μορσίμη, so applied, is Homeric (Od. XVI. 392); and, indeed, though we seem to choose our wives, we choose them oft-times so strangely, that a man may be said, without exaggeration, to have as little to do with his marriage as with his birth or his death—but all the three in a peculiar sense belong to that Μοɩ̂ρα, or divine lot, which distributes all the good and evil of which human life is made up.

[Note 25 (p. 149)]

Chorus. For the arrangement of this Chorus I refer the reader back to what I said on the previous one. The concluding part I have here arranged as an Epode, because it seems more continuous in its idea than what precedes—less violent and exclamatory.

[Note 26 (p. 150).]

“On Libyan plains beside Tritonian pools.”

Æschylus here follows the tradition of Apollodorus (I. 3, § 6), that the epithet Τριτογένεια, given by Homer to Pallas, was derived from the lake Tritonis in Libya, near which she is said to have been born. Compare Virgil Æn. IV. 480.

[Note 27 (p. 150).]

“. . . with forward foot firm planted,
Erect, or with decorous stole high-seated.”

I have not the slightest doubt that τίθησιν·ο̂ρθὸν πόδα in this passage can only mean to plant the foot down firmly and stand erect; if so, τίθησι κατηρεϕη̂ πόδα can only mean to sit, “the feet being covered by the robes while sitting”—Lin.; so also Pal. and Schoe. Sitting statues of the gods were very common in ancient times, as we see in the Egyptian statues, and in the common representations of the Greek and Roman Jupiter (see Thirlwall’s History of Greece, c. VI.). I am sorry that Hermann (p. 57) should have thrown out the idea that κατηρεϕη̂ς in this passage may mean “enveloped in clouds,” which has been taken up by Franz—

“Sichtbar sic jezt herschreitet, oder Wolkumhüllt,”

because manifestly κατηρεϕη̂ς, in this sense, forms no natural contrast to ὀρθὸς. The “forward foot firm-planted,” I have taken from Muller’s note, p. 112, as, perhaps, pointing out more fully what may have been in the poet’s eye, without, however, meaning to assert seriously against a severe critic like Hermann, that the words of the text necessarily imply anything of the kind.

[Note 28 (p. 150).]

“The ordered battle on Phlegrean fields
Thou musterest”

The peninsula of Pallene in Macedonia, as also the district of Campania about Baiæ and Cumae, were called Phlegraean, or fire-fields (ϕλέγω), in all likelihood from the volcanic nature of the country, to which Strabo (Lib. V. p. 245) alludes. These volcanic movements in the religious symbolism of early Greece became giants; and against these the Supreme Wisdom and his wise daughter had to carry on a war worthy of gods.

[Note 29 (p. 151)]

Choral Hymn. “This sublime hymn is of a character, in some respects, kindred to the καταδέσεις, or incantations of antiquity, which were directed to Hermes, the Earth, and other infernal Deities for the pupose of binding down certain hated persons to destruction. For this reason it is called ὔμνος δέσμιος This character is specially indicated by the refrain or burden, which occurs in the first pair of Strophes; such repetitions containing the emphatic words of the incantation being common in all magical odes. So in Theocritus (Idyll. 2), we have constantly repeated, ‘Iungx, bring me the man, the man whom I mean, to my dwelling,’ and, in the song of the Fates at the marriage of Thetis in Catullus, the line—‘Currite ducentes subtemina, currite fusi!’ and there can be no question, the movements and gestures of the Furies while singing this hymn were such as to indicate the scapeless net of woe with which they were now encompassing their victim.”—Mül The reader will observe how impressively the metre changes on the recurrence of this burden, the rhythm in the original being Pæonic υ υ υ—, the agitated nature of which foot, when several times repeated, is sufficiently obvious. I have done what I could to make the transition and contrast sensible to the modern ear.

[Note 30 (p. 151).]

“The seeing and the sightless”

αλαο̂ισι και δεδορκόσι, i.e. the living and the dead, an expression familiar to the Greeks, and characteristic of a people who delighted to live in the sun. βλέπειν ϕάος—to look on the light, is the most common phrase in the tragedians for to live; and wisely so—

“Since light so necessary is to life,
And almost life itself, if it be true
That light is in the soul,
The soul in every part.”
—Milton

Pot. has allowed himself to be led quite astray here by a petulant criticism of De Pauw.

[Note 31 (p. 151).]

“The gleeless song, and the lyreless strain.”

ὔμνος ’αϕόρμιγκτος. “The musical character of this Choral Hymn must be imagined as working upon the feelings with a certain solemn grandeur. The κιθάρα or lyre is silent; an instrument which, as the Greeks used it, always exercised a soothing power, restorative of the equipoise of the mind: only the flute is heard, whose notes, according to the unanimous testimony of antiquity, excited feelings, now of thrilling excitement, now of mute awe; always, however, disturbing the just emotional tenor of the soul. Assuredly the ὔτνος ἀϕόρμιγκτος in this place is no mere phrase.”—Muller.

[Note 32 (p 152).]

“This work of labour earnest”

I have paraphrased, or rather interpolated, in this Antistrophe, a little, because I do not see much in it that is either translatable or worth translating. A meaning has been squeezed out of the two lines beginning σπευδόμενοι; but one cannot help feeling, after all, that there is something wrong, and saying with honest Wellauer, “certi nihil video.” The main idea, shimmering through the first three lines, is plain enough—that the Furies exercise a function, the legitimacy of which no one is entitled to question This the words, μηδ ες ἄγκρισιν ’ελθεɩ̂ν, plainly indicate; and it is upon this, and Schoe.’s conjectural emendation of the first line—

σπευδομένος ἀπέχειν τινὰ τα̂σδε μερίμνας,
“Diesem Geschäft das wir treiben verbleibe man ferne,”

that my paraphrase proceeds. With regard to the second part of this Strophe, beginning with Μάλα γὰρ δυν, I follow Well. and all the later editors, except Schoe., in retaining it for metrical reasons, in the place to which Heath transposed it. Schoe’s observations, however, are worthy of serious consideration, as it is manifest that, if these Pæonic lines be replaced to where they stand in all the old editions, viz.:—between ὀρχησμοɩ̂ς τ’ ε̂πιϕθόνοις ποδός and πιπτων δ’ουκ ὀιδεν, their connection with what precedes, and also with what follows, will be more obvious than what it is now. Fr.’s observation, however, in answer to this, is not to be kept out of view—that this second part of the Antistrophe takes up the idea, as it takes up the measure, with which the corresponding part of the Strophe, as now arranged, ends, viz.—διόμεναί κρατερὸν ὄνθ, which the reader will find clearly brought out in my version—the concluding lines of the Pæonic section of the Strophe—

“Though fleet we shall find him,”

being taken up in the opening lines of the Pæonic section of the Antistrophe—

“But swift as the wind,
We follow and find.”

[Note 33 (p. 154).]

“The cry that called me from Scamander’s banks.”

The Sigean territory in the Troad was disputed between the Athenians and the people of Mitylene; which strife Herodotus informs us (V. 94) ended, by the activity of Pisistratus, in favour of the Athenians—b. c. 606. In that same territory, continues the historian, there was a temple of Pallas, where the Athenians hung up the arms of the poet Alcæus, who, though “ferox bello,” had been obliged to flee from the battle which decided the matter in favour of the Athenians Æschylus, like a true patriot and poet, throws the claim of the Athenians to this territory as far back into the heroic times as possible; and, by the words put into the mouth of Athena, makes the claim on the part of the Lesbians tantamount to sacrilege.—See Scholiast and Stan.

[Note 34 (p. 155).]

“He’ll neither swear himself, nor take my oath.”

“The Greek words, ἀλλ ὅρκον ὀυ δεξαιτ [Editor: illegible character]ν, ὀυ δονˆναι θέλει, have, in the juridical language of Athens, decidedly only this meaning; and, in the present passage, there is no reasonable ground for taking them in any other sense, though it is perfectly true that in some passages, ὅρκου διδόναι signifies simply to swear, and ὅρκον δέχεσθαι, to accept an attestation on oath.”—Schoemann.

[Note 35 (p. 155).]

“In old Ixíon’s guise.”

“Ixíon was the son of Phlegyas, his mother Dia, a daugher of Deioneus. He was king of the Lapithæ, or Phlegyes, and the father of Peirithous. When Deioneus demanded of Ixíon the bridal gifts he had promised, Ixíon treacherously invited him as though to a banquet, and then contrived to make him fall into a pit filled with fire. As no one purified Ixíon from this treacherous murder, and all the gods were indignant at him, Zeus took pity on him, purified him, and invited him to his table.”—Mythol. Dict.

[Note 36 (p. 156).]

“The ancient city of famous Priam thou
Didst sheer uncity.”

The original ἄπολιν Ιλίου πόλιν [Editor: illegible character]θηκας, contains a mannerism of the tragedians too characteristic to be omitted ’Tis one of the many tricks of that wisdom of words which the curious Greeklings sought, and did not find, in the rough Gospel of St. Paul.

[Note 37 (p. 156).]

“For thee, in that thou comest to my halls.”

The best exposition that I have seen of the various difficulties of this speech, is that of Schoe., unfortunately too long for extract. As to κατηρτὺκὼς, Lin. has, in the notes to his edition, justly characterised his own translation of it, in the Dictionary as durissimum. The first δμως, of course, must go; and there is nothing better than changing it with Pauw, Müll., and Schoe., into ’εμο̂ις. The second δμως must likewise go; say ὀσιὼς with Müll. or ὅυτως with Schoe. There is then no difficulty.

[Note 38 (p. 157)]

Choral Hymn. This chorus contains a solemn enumeration of some of the main texts of Greek morality, and is in that view very important. The leading measure is the heptasyllabic trochaic verse so common in English, varied with cretics and dactyles. I have amused myself with giving a sort of imitation of the rhythm, so far as the trochees and cretics are concerned; to introduce the dactyles in the places where they occur, would produce—as I found by experiment—a tripping effect altogether out of keeping with the general solemnity of the piece

[Note 39 (p. 158).]

“But who sports, a careless liver.”

’Tis impossible not to agree with Schoe. that these two lines are corrupt beyond the hope of emendation. He proposes to read—

τίς δὲ μηδὲν ἐυσεβεɩ̂
καρδίας ἄγᾳ τρεων.

A very ingenious restoration; and one which, as matters now stand, I should have little scruple in introducing into the text; but, for poetical purposes, I have not been willing to lose the image with which the present reading, ἐν ϕἀει, supplies me and Fr.—

“Wer der nicht bei Wonneglanz
Trauer auch im Herzen hegt,” etc.

[Note 40 (p. 158).]

“To the wise mean strength is given,
Thus the gods have ruled in heaven.”

This is one of those current common-places of ancient wisdom, which are now so cheap to the ear, but are still as remote from the general temper and the public heart as they were some thousands of years ago, when first promulgated by some prophetic Phemonoe of the Primeval Pelasgi. The great philosopher of common sense, Aristotle, seized this maxim, as the groundwork of practical ethics, some three hundred years before Christ—‘Φθείρεται γαρ, says he, ἡ σωϕροσύνη και ἡ ἀνδρεία ὑπὸ τη̂ς ὑπερβολη̂ς καὶ τη̂ς ’ελλειψεως, ὑπὸ δὲ τη̂ς μεσότητος σώζεται; and Horace, the poet of common sense, preachea many a quiet, tuneful sermon to the same ancient text—

“Auream quisquis mediocritatem
Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti
Sordibus tecti, caret invidenda
Sobrius aula.”

[Note 41 (p. 158).]

“Pride, that lifts itself unduly”

I will not multiply citations here to show the reader how this pride or insolence of disposition, [Editor: illegible character]βρις (the German Uebermuth), is marked by the Greek moralists as the great source of all the darker crimes with which the annals of our floundering race are stained (See Note, p. 349 above). They are wrong who tell us that Humility is a Christian and not a Heathen virtue: no doubt the name ταπεινοϕροσύνη, used in the New Testament, was not the fashionable one among the Greeks: but that they had the thing, every page of their poetry testifies, with this difference, however, to be carefully noted, that while Heathen humility is founded solely on a sense of dependence, Christian humility proceeds also, and perhaps more decidedly, from a sense of guilt. Neither does the phraseology of Heathen and Christian writers on this subject differ always so much as people seem to imagine; between the μη ὐπερϕρονε̂ιν παρ [Editor: illegible character] δεɩ̂ ϕρονεɩ̂ν of St. Paul (Rom. xii. 3), and the ὀυδεπώποτε ὐπερ ἄνθρωπον ἐϕρόνησα of Xenophon (Cyropaed. VIII), it were a foolish subtlety that should attempt to make a distinction.

[Note 42 (p. 159).]

“Give the air-shattering Tyrrhene trump free voice.”

“It is a correct and significant observation made by the Scholiast on Iliad XVIII. 219, that Homer never mentions the trumpet (σάλπιγξ) in the narrative part of his poem, but only for a comparison: familiar as he was with the instrument, he was not ignorant that the use of it was new, and not native in Greece. Indeed, it was never universally adopted in that country: the Spartans and Cretans marching into battle, first to the accompaniment of the lyre, and afterwards of the flute. The tragedians again are quite familiar with the Tuscan origin of the trumpet, though they make no scruple of introducing it into their descriptions of the Hellenic heroic age”—Müll.; Etrusker I. p. 286.

[Note 43 (p. 160)]

EnterApollo Here commences a debate between the daughters of Night and the god accusing and defending, which, as Grote (History of Greece, I. 512) remarks, is “eminently curious.” And not only curious, but unfortunately, to our modern sense at least, not a little ludicrous in some places. The fact is, that the strange moral contradictions and inconsistencies so common in the Greek mythology, so long as they are concealed or palliated under a fair imaginative show, give small offence; but when placed before the understanding, in order to be interrogated by the strict forms of judicial logic, they necessarily produce a collision with our practical reason and a smile is the result.

[Note 44 (p 161).]

“. . . himself did bind
With bonds his hoary-dated father Kronos.”

“In the fable of the binding of Kronos by his son Jove, Æschylus saw nothing disrespectful to the character of the supreme ruler, but only the imaginative embodiment of the fact, that one celestial dynasty had been succeeded by another. The image of binding, and of the battles of the Titans generally, might seem to his mind not the most appropriate; but the offence that lay in them was softened not a little by the consideration that the enchainment of Kronos and the Titans was only a temporary affair, leading to a reconciliation The result was, that the Titans themselves at last acknowledged the justice of their punishment, and submitted themselves to Jove, as the alone legitimate ruler of Earth; and Herr Welcker is quite wrong in supposing that either here, or in the Agamemnon, or the Prometheus, there is any indication that the mind of Æschylus was fundamentally at war with his age in regard to the celestial dynasties.”—Schoemann’s Prometheus, p. 97.

[Note 45 (p. 162).]

“. . . How
With any clanship share lustration?”

Or, with Buck., “what laver of his tribe shall receive him?”—the word in the original being ϕρατόρων. The ancient Hellenic tribes ϕράτραι were social unions, founded originally in the family tie, and afterwards extended. These unions had certain religious ceremonies which they performed in common, and to which allusion is here made. (Compare Livy VI. 40, 41, nos privatim auspicia habemus of the Patrician families.) To be ἀϕρήτωρ, or excluded from a tribe (Il. IX. 63), was among the Greeks of the heroic ages a penalty half-civil, half-religious, similar in character to the excommunciation of the middle ages. Of this extremely interesting subject, the English reader will find a most luminous exposition in Grote’sGreece, vol. iii. p. 74.

[Note 46 (p. 162).]

“. . . whom we call
The mother begets not.”

Strange as this doctrine may seem to our modern physiologists, it seems founded on a very natural notion; and to the Greeks, who had such a low estimate of women, must have appeared perfectly orthodox. The same doctrine is enunciated by the poet in the Suppliants, v. 279, when he says, “the male artist has imprinted a Cyprian character on your female features”—the image being borrowed from the art of coining. And this, like many fancies cherished by the Greeks, seems to have had its home originally in Egypt. Stan. quotes from Diodorus I. 80, who says—“The Egyptians count none of their sons bastards, not even the sons of a bought slave. For they are of opinion that the father is the only author of generation; the mother but supplieth space and nourishment to the fœtus.” In the play of Euripides, Orestes uses the same argument (Orest. 543).

[Note 47 (p 162)]

“Now, hear my ordinance, Athenians!”

This address of the goddess, of practical wisdom, in constituting the Court of the Areopagus, was pointed by the poet directly against the democratic spirit, in his day beginning to become rampant in Athens; and is applicable not less to all times in which great and, perhaps, necessary social changes take place. The poet states, with the most solemn distinctness, that the mere love of liberty will never protect liberty from degenerating into licentiousness; but that a religious reverence for law is as essential to society as a religious jealousy of despotism. Only he who profoundly fears God can dispense with the fear of man; and he who fears both God and man is the only good citizen.

[Note 48 (p. 162)]

“. . . Here, on this hill,
The embattled Amazons pitched their tents of yore.”

The Amazons, “as strong as men” (αντιάνειραι, Il. III. 189), are famous in the history of the Trojan war; and their expedition against Athens, mentioned here, was familiar to every Athenian eye, from the painting in the Stoa Pæcile, described by Pausanias (I. 15). As to the historical reality of these hardy females, the sober Arrian (VII. 13) is by no means inclined (after the modern German fashion) to brush them, with a stroke of his pen, out of the world of realities; and, considering what a strange and strangely adaptable creature man is, I see no reason why we should be sceptical as to their historical existence.

[Note 49 (p 163).]

“Thou say’st.”

“This is an ancient way of replying to a captious question, as we see in the Gospel (Matth. xxvii.), where, when Pilate asks, ‘art thou the king of the Jews,’ our Lord, Jesus Christ, answers in these very words Συ λέγεις—‘Thou say’st.’ ”—Stan.

[Note 50 (p. 163).]

“Such were thy deeds in Pheres’ house.”

“Alluding to Admetus, son of Pheres, whom Apollo raised from the dead, having obtained this boon from the Fates, on condition that some one should die in his stead.—See the well-known play of Euripides, the Alcestes.”—Stan. The Scholiast on that play, v. 12, as Dindorf notes, remarks that, on this occasion, Apollo moved the inflexible goddesses by the potent influence of wine. This is alluded to a few lines below.

[Note 51 (p. 164).]

“. . . all my father lives in me.”

κάρτα δ’ειμι τονˆ πατρος; specially wisdom and energy.—So Milton—

“All my father shines in me.”
—Paradise Lost, VII.

Compare the Homeric epithet of Pallas ὁβριμοπάτρη with Nagelsbach’s Comprehensive Commentary—Hom. Theologie, p. 100.

[Note 52 (p. 164)]

Apollo.Fr., who examined the Medicean Codex, says that there is here discernible the mark which introduces a new speaker. Who that speaker is, however, the sense does not allow us to decide; but Orestes and the Chorus having spoken, I do not see why Apollo, who showed such eagerness before, should not now also, put in his word; and, therefore, deserting Well., I follow the old arrangement of Vict. and Stan.

[Note 53 (p. 167).]

“Sharing alone the strong keys that unlock
His thunder-halls.”

As Pallas possesses all her father’s characteristic qualities of wisdom and strength, so she is entitled to wield all his instruments, and even the thunder. Stan quotes—

“Ipsa (Pallas) Jovis rapidum jaculata e nubibus ignem.”
—Virgil, Æn I. 46

And Wakefield compares Callim, Lavac. Pall, 132. So the aegis, or shield of dark-rushing storms (ἀισσω), belongs to Pallas no less than to Zeus (Il. V. 738).

[Note 54 (p. 167).]

“. . . thou shalt hold
An honoured seat beside Erectheus’ home.”

Erectheus, who, as his name signifies ([Editor: illegible character]ραζε, Eretz, Heb, Erde, Teut., Earth), was the earth-born, or Adam of Attic legend, had a temple on the Acropolis, beside the temple of the city-protecting (πολιάς) Pallas, of which the ruins yet remain. The cave of the Furies was on the Hill of Mars, directly opposite.—See Introductory Remarks.

[Note 55 (p. 168).]

“. . . save my city
From brothered strife, and from domestic brawls.”

It was a principle with the Romans that no victory in a civil war should be followed by a triumph; and, accordingly, in the famous triumph of Julius Cæsar, which lasted three days, there was nothing to remind the Roman eye that the conqueror of Pharsalia had ever plucked a leaf from Pompey’s laurels. In v. 826, I read with Mul. ’ου δόμοις παρων, the present reading, μόλις, being clumsy any way that I have seen it translated.

[Note 56 (p. 169).]

“The fortress of gods.”

This designation is given to Athens with special reference to the Persian wars; for the Persians destroyed everywhere the temples of the Greek gods (only in the single case of Delos are they said to have made an exception), and the Athenians, in conquering the Persians, saved not only their own lives, but the temples of the gods from destruction.

[Note 57 (p. 169).]

“Woe to the wretch, by their wrath smitten.”

Well., as usual, is too cautious in not changing μὴ κύρσας into δὴ κύρσας with Pauw and Mül., or μὴν with Lin. and Schoe.

[Note 58 (p 169)]

“Not for his own, for guilt inherited.”

“The sins of the fathers, as in the Old Testament, so also among the Greeks, are visited on the children even to the third and fourth generation; nay, even the idea of original sin, derived from the Titanic men of the early ages, and exhibiting itself as a rebellious inclination against the gods more or less in all—this essentially Christian idea was not altogether unknown to the ancient Greeks.”—Schoemann.

[Note 59 (p. 170)]

“And, when Hermes is near thee.”

What we call a “god-send,” or a “wind-fall,” was called by the Greeks [Editor: illegible character]ρμαιον, or a thing given by the grace of Hermes. In his original capacity as the patron god of Arcadian shepherds, Hermes was, in like manner, looked on as the giver of patriarchal wealth in the shape of flocks.—Il. xiv. 490.

[Note 60 (p 170).]

“Ye Fates, high-presiding.”

There is no small difficulty in this passage, from the state of the text; but, unless it be the Furies themselves that are spoken of, as Kl imagines (Theol. p. 45), I cannot think there are any celestial powers to whom the strong language of the Strophe will apply but the Fates If the former supposition be adopted, we must interrupt the chaunt between Athena and the Furies, putting this Strophe into the mouth of the Areopagites, as, indeed, Kl. proposes; but this seems rather a bold measure, and has found no favour. It remains, therefore, only to make such changes in the text as will admit of the application of the whole passage to the Fates, who stand in the closest relation to the Furies, as is evident from Strophe III. of the chorus (p. 146 above). This Mül. has done; and I follow him, not, however, without desiring some more distinct proof that ματροκασιγνη̂ται, in Greek, can possibly mean sisters.—See Schoe.’s note.

[Note 61 (p. 170).]

“Jove, that rules the forum, nobly
In the high debate hath conquered.”

Ζεὺς ἀγορα̂ιος. The students of Homer may recollect the appeal of Telemachus to the Ithacans in council assembled (Odys. II. 68). Jove, as we have already had occasion to remark, has a peculiar right of presidency over every grand event of human life, and every important social institution; so that, on certain occasions, the Greek Polytheism becomes, for the need, a Monotheism—somewhat after the same fashion as the aristocratic Government of the old Roman Republic had the power of suddenly changing itself, on important occasions, into an absolute monarchy, by the creation of a Dictator.

[Note 62 (p. 172).]

“Gracious-minded sisterhood.”

The Furies were called Ευμενίδες, or gracious, to propitiate their stern deity by complimentary language. Suidas says (voc. Ευμενίδες) that Athena, in this play, calls the Furies expressly by this name; but the fact is, that it does not occur in the whole play. Either, therefore, the word ἔυϕρων, which I have translated “gracious-minded” in the play, must be considered to have given occasion to the remark of the lexicographer (which seems sufficient), or, with Hermann and Schoe., we must suppose something to have fallen out of the present speech.

note

On p. 132, after the dramatis persona, I perceive that I have stated that the scene of this piece changes from Delphi to the Hill of Mars, Athens. This is either inaccurate, or, at least, imperfect; for the first change of scene is manifestly (as stated p. 148), to the temple of Athena Pallas, on the Acropolis; and, though the imagination naturally desires that the institution of the Court of the Areopagus should take place on the exact seat of its future labours, yet the construction of the drama by no means necessitates another change of scene, and the allusion to the Hill of Mars in p 162 is easily explicable on the supposition that it lies directly opposite the Acropolis, and that Pallas points to it with her finger.

[* ]Classical Museum, No. XV. p. 1.

[* ]Buck (Introduction, p. xiii.) has very aptly compared here the position of Antigone, in the well-known play of that name, and the half-approving, half-condemning tone of the Chorus in that play

[* ]The most remarkable passages of the ancients where reference is made to the Prometheus Unbound of Æschylus are.—Cicero, Tusc II. 10, Arrian. Periplus Pont. Eux. p. 19; Strabo, Lib I p. 33 and IV. 182-3; Plutarchus vit Pompeii, init.; Athenæus. XV p 672, Cas.

[† ]“Veniat Æschylus non poeta solum, sed etiam Pythagoreus. Sic enim accepimus. Quo modo fert apud eum Prometheus dolorem, quem excipit ob furtum Lemnium “—Tusc Quast. II. 10, Welcker, Prilogie, p. 7.

[‡ ]“Chorus consilietur amicis.”—Horace.

[* ]On the stage, of course, her transmutation can only be indicated by the presence of a pair of ox horns on her virgin forehead.

[* ]ἡ ποικιλείμων νύξ. Buntgewandige—Schoe. “Various-vested Night.”—Coleridge, in a Sonnet to the Autumnal Moon.

[* ]ἀιθέριον κίνυγμα.

[* ]Saturn the father of Jove.

[† ]“And the Lord said, I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth, both man and beast, and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air: for it repenteth me that I have made him”—Gen. vi. 7.

[* ]The Sea of Azof

[* ]

“Of all the things that breathe the air, and creep upon the Earth,
The weakest thing that breathes and creeps on nurturing Earth is Man.”
Homer’s Odvs. xviii. 130.

[* ]i.e. Delphi —See Schol. to Iliad II. 519.

[* ]Rhea’s bosomed sea—the Hadriatic.

[† ]The Ionian sea.

[* ]The Danaids, daughters of Danaus, who colonized Argos from Egypt This forms the subject of the next plav—the Suppliants.

[* ]See the Agamemnon, Note 15

[* ]Compare Odyssey, I. 32.

[Note 1 (p. 183).]

“This Scythian soil, this wild untrodden waste”

“The ancient Greek writers called all the Northern tribes (i.e. all who dwelt in the Northern parts of Europe and Asia) generally by the name of Scythians and Celto-Scythians; while some even more ancient than these make a division, calling those beyond the Euxine, Ister, and Adria, Hyperboreans, Sarmatians, and Arimaspi; but those beyond the Caspian Sea, Sacæ and Massagetæ.” Strabo, Lib. XI. p. 507.—Stan.

[Note 2 (p 183).]

“This daring wretch”

λεωργὸν, a difficult word; “evil-doer”—Med. and Prow.;Bosewicht—Toelp.;Freveler—Schoe. The other translation of this word—“artificer of man” (Potter)—given in the Etym. was very likely an invention of Lexicographers to explain this very passage. But the expounders did not consider that Æschylus through the whole play makes no allusion to this function of the fire-worker. It was, I believe, altogether a recent form of the myth.—See Weiske. “The precise etymology of the word is uncertain.”—Lin.

[Note 3 (p 183).]

“. . . a kindred god”

“A fellow deity”—Med. But this is not enough. Vulcan, as a smith, and Prometheus were kindred in their divine functions, for which reason they were often confounded in the popular legends, as in the case of the birth of Pallas from the brain of Jove, effected by the axe, some say of Hephaestus, some of Prometheus—Apollodor. I. 3-6. Euripid. Ion. 455; from which passage of the tragedian Welcker is of opinion that Prometheus, not Hephaetus, must have a place in the pediment of the Parthenon representing the birth of Pallas.—Class. Museum, Vol. II. p. 385.

[Note 4 (p. 183).]

“High-counselled son
Of right-decreeing Themis”

Not Clymene according to the Theogony (V. 508) or Asia, one of the Oceanides according to Apollodorus (I. 2), which parentage has been adopted by Shelley in his Prometheus Unbound. That Æschylus in prefe

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Table of Contents

EDITOR’S NOTE

PREFACE

ON THE GENIUS AND CHARACTER OF THE GREEK TRAGEDY

THE LIFE OF ÆSCHYLUS

PERSONS

INTRODUCTORY REMARKS

AGAMEMNON

Watch.

Chorus.

Chorus.

Clytem.

Chorus.

Clytem.

Chorus.

Clytem.

Chorus.

Clytem

Chorus.

Clytem.

Chorus.

Clytem

Chorus.

Clytem.

Chorus

Clytem.

Chorus.

Clytem.

Chorus.

Chorus.

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Clytem.

Herald.

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Herald

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Herald.

Chorus.

Aga.

Clytem.

Aga.

Clytem.

Aga.

Clytem.