Check this mad impulse of a heart insane, 975 Though great.
_Hercules:_ But what is this? With dire intent The giants are in arms. Great Tityus Has fled the shades, and, towering aloft With torn and empty breast, has almost gained The heavens. Cithaeron totters to his base, Pallene trembles, Tempe faints in fear. 980 One has Mount Pindus snatched away, and one Mount Oeta. Mimas rages horribly.
Now comes Erinnys with her flaming torch, And shakes her hissing scourge; my face she seeks Nearer and nearer with ill-omened brands On funeral pyres enkindled. There I see Tisiphone with snake-encircled head; 985 With brandished torch she guards the gate of hell, Now that their watch-dog has been stolen away.
[_He catches sight of his children._] But see where lurk the children of the king, The impious spawn of Lycus whom I hate.
To your detested sire I'll send you now.
Let darting arrows from my bowstring fly; 990 Such errands fit my noble weapons well.
[_He aims an arrow at one of the children._] _Amphitr.:_ What will he do in his blind passion's rage?
Now he has bent his mighty bow, and now His quiver loosed. The hissing dart is sped.
Straight through the neck it flies, and leaves the wound.
_Hercules:_ The rest will I hunt out, yea, all that lurk 995 Within this city's walls, without delay.
A greater war against Mycenae waits, That by my hands those Cyclopean walls May be o'erthrown; and that the royal hall, Its high walls shattered, noble roof in-fall'n, Doors burst, may be to utter ruin brought, 1000 And all its royal secrets be revealed.
[_He sees his second son hiding._] Ah, here I see another hiding son Of that most wicked sire.
[_He seizes the child and drags him from the scene._] _Amphitryon_ [_standing where he can see what is being done behind the scenes_]: Behold the child, His coaxing hands stretched out to clasp the knees Of his mad father, begs with piteous tones.
Oh, crime unspeakable, pathetic, grim: For by his pleading hand the child is caught, 1005 And, madly whirled again and yet again, Sent headlong through the air. A sickening sound-- And with his scattered brains the roof is wet.
But wretched Megara, her little son Protecting in her arms, flees madly forth.
_Hercules_ [_behind the scenes, to_ Megara _also behind the scenes_]: Though thou shouldst hide thee in the Thunderer's arms, 1010 This hand of mine will seek and snatch thee forth.
_Amphitryon_ [_standing throughout this scene as above_]: Oh, whither, wretched woman dost thou flee?
What flight, what hiding-places dost thou seek?
No place is safe from angry Hercules.
Embrace his knees the rather, and with prayer Attempt to soothe his wrath. 1015 _The voice of Megara:_ O husband, spare; Thy Megara behold and recognize; This son of thine thy face and manner bears.
See how he stretches out his hands to thee.
_The voice of Hercules:_ At last I have thee, stepdame, in my power.
Come thou with me, and pay full penalty For all my wrongs; free thy poor, troubled lord From his base yoke. But ere the mother dies, 1020 This little monster must be put to death.
_The voice of Megara:_ What wouldst thou, madman? Shed thine infant's blood?
_Amphitr.:_ The child, in terror of his father's face, Died ere he felt the blow. 'Twas fear that snatched His spirit forth. Now 'gainst his trembling wife, His mighty club is raised--her bones are crushed, Her head is stricken from the mangled trunk 1025 And may no more be seen.
[_To himself._] O stubborn age, Too long enduring, canst thou bide this sight?
But if thy grief is irksome, death is near.
[_To_ Hercules.]
Impale me on thy darts; that club of thine, With blood of monsters smeared, raise to my death.
Come, slay me who am falsely called thy sire, 1030 And so remove this blot upon thy name, That I no longer may thy fame obscure.
_Theseus:_ Why shouldst thou wantonly provoke thy death, Old man? Why this mad haste to die? Away, And hide. From this one crime spare Hercules.
[_Enter_ Hercules.]
_Hercules:_ 'Tis well; the household of the shameless king 1035 Is utterly destroyed. To thee, O wife Of mighty Jove, this promised sacrifice Have I performed; my vows I've gladly paid; And other victims shall thine Argos give.
_Amphitr.:_ Thou hast not yet enough atonement made, O son. Complete the sacrifice. Behold, 1040 A victim at the altar stands, and waits, With willing neck, thy hand. I offer here My life, and eagerly; I seek to die.
Slay me.
[Hercules _appears to be fainting_.]
But what is this? His eye's keen glance Cannot maintain its gaze; grief dims his sight; And do I see the hands of Hercules A-tremble? Now his eyelids fall in sleep, His head sinks down upon his weary breast, 1045 His knees give way, and down upon the earth His whole great body falls; as when some ash Is felled in forest glades, or when some cliff Falls down and makes a harbor in the sea.
[_To_ Hercules.]
Dost thou yet live? Or has thy furious rage, Which sent thy friends to death, slain thee as well?
[_He examines the prostrate body._] He slumbers; this his measured breathing proves. 1050 Let him have time for rest, that heavy sleep May break his madness' force, and so relieve His troubled heart.
[_To attendants._] Ye slaves, his arms remove, Lest, waking, he again his madness prove.
* * * * * _Chorus:_ Let heaven and heaven's creator mourn, The fertile earth, the wandering wave 1055 Upon the restless sea. And thou, Who over lands and ocean's plains Dost shed thy light, whose beauteous face Drives night away, O glowing Sun, Grieve more than all. For equally 1060 Thy risings had Alcides seen, And eke thy settings; both thy homes Were known to him. His spirit loose From monstrous madness; loose him, ye Who rule above. His mind restore To sanity again. And thou, 1065 O Sleep, subduer of our ills, The spirit's rest, thou better part Of human life, swift-wingéd one, Astraea's child, of cruel Death The sluggish brother, mixing false 1070 With true, prescient of future things, But oftenest of misery; O sire of all things, gate of life, Day's respite and the comrade true Of night, who com'st impartially To king and slaves, with gentle hand The wearied spirit comforting; 1075 Thou who dost force the race of men Who quail at mortal doom, to gain A foretaste of the sleep of death: Subdue and overwhelm him quite With heavy stupor; let his limbs, Unconquered hitherto, be held Fast bound in chains of deepest sleep; Take not the spell from his fierce heart, 1080 Until his former mind return To its accustomed course.
But see, prone on the ground he lies, His savage dreams in his fierce heart Still hold their sway. Not yet, alas, Is his dire madness overcome.
Accustomed to recline his head 1085 Upon his heavy club, see now, He feels about with empty hand To find the ponderous trunk, his arms With fruitless motion tossed. Not yet Has all the fever from his veins Been driven out, but rages on; As waves, by mighty tempests vexed, 1090 Toss wildly on and swell with rage, Although the winds have ceased to blow.
Oh, calm this tempest in his soul; Let piety and manly strength Return; or, rather, let his mind 1095 Be still by mad impulses stirred, And his blind error go the way It has begun. For madness now Alone can make him innocent.
To have the hands unstained by guilt Is best, but next to this is sin Done in unconsciousness.
Now let thy breast resound with blows, 1100 And let those arms which once have borne The heavens up be smitten now By thy victorious hands; thy cries Be heard throughout the realms of air, By her who rules the world of night, 1105 And Cerberus crouching in his cave, His neck still burdened with thy chains.
Let Chaos with the dolorous sound Re-echo, and the widespread waves Of ocean, and the air above 1110 Which had thy darts in better use Beheld. Thy breast, with ills beset So mighty, must with no light blow Be smitten. With one great sound of grief Let heaven, sea, and hell be filled.
And thou, brave shaft, above his neck 1115 So long suspended, armament And weapon too, thou quiver huge, Smite heavily his savage back.
Thou sturdy club of oak, come beat His mighty shoulders, and oppress 1120 His breast with thy hard-knotted stock.
Let all his weapons worthily Of so great grief lament with him.
[_To the dead children._] But you, who in your father's praise Can never share, who ne'er from kings Have taken deadly recompense, Who never in the Argive games Have learned to bend your youthful limbs, In wrestling and in boxing strong 1125 To strive; who have but dared as yet To poise the slender Scythian dart With steady hand, and pierce the stag Who safety seeks in flight, but not The lion fierce with tawny mane: 1130 Go to your Stygian refuge, go, Ye guiltless shades, who on life's verge Have by your father's mad assault Been overwhelmed. Poor children, born Of an ill-omened, luckless race, 1135 Fare on along your father's toilsome path, To where the gloomy monarchs sit in wrath!
ACT V _Hercules_ [_waking up in his right mind_]: What place is this? What quarter of the world?
Where am I? 'Neath the rising sun, or where The frozen Bear wheels slowly overhead?
Or in that farthest land whose shores are washed 1140 By the Hesperian sea? What air is this I breathe? What soil supports my weary frame?
For surely have I come again to earth.
[_His eyes fall on his murdered children._] Whence came those bloody corpses in my house?
Do I behold them, or not even yet Have those infernal visions left my mind? 1145 Even on earth the ghostly shapes of death Still flit before mine eyes. I speak with shame: I am afraid. Some great calamity, Some hidden ill my prescient soul forebodes.
Where is my father? Where my faithful wife, Proud of that troop of children at her side? 1150 Why does my left side miss the lion's skin, My shield in danger and my couch in sleep?
Where is my bow, my darts? Who, while I live Has dared remove my arms? Who so great spoils Has gained? Who then so bold as not to fear 1155 The very slumber of a Hercules?
'Twould please me well to see my victor--well.
Arise, thou victor, whom my sire begot, A later wonder, leaving heaven behind; At whose begetting, longer than at mine, The night stood waiting.
[_He recognizes his dead wife and children._] Oh, what sight is this?
My sons lie murdered, weltering in their blood; 1160 My wife is slain. What Lycus rules the land?
Who could have dared to do such things in Thebes, And Hercules returned? Whoever dwells Along Ismenus' stream, in Attic plains, Or in the land Dardanian Pelops rules, 1165 By two seas lapped, come to my aid, and tell The name of him who has this murder done.
If not, my wrath will turn against you all; For he's my foe who shows me not my foe.
Why dost thou hide, Alcides' vanquisher?
I care not whether thou dost vengeance seek For those wild horses of the Thracian king, 1170 Or Geryon's flock, or Libya's vanquished lords; I do not shun the fight; see, here I stand, Defenseless, even though with my own arms Thou com'st against me, armorless. But why Do Theseus and my father shun my glance?
Why do they turn away? Postpone your tears, 1175 And tell me who has given my loved ones all To death. What, father, art thou silent still?
Then do thou tell me, Theseus, faithful friend.
Each turns away in silence, and his face, As if in shame, conceals; while down his cheeks The tears flow stealthily. In so great ills What cause for shame can be? Is this the work 1180 Of him who ruthlessly at Argos rules?
Has dying Lycus' hostile soldiery With such disaster overwhelmed our house?
O father, by the praises of my deeds, By thine own name which ever was to me Propitious, tell, I pray thee, who it is Who hath o'erthrown my house. Whose prey am I? 1185 _Amphitr.:_ Let ills like these in silence pass away.
_Hercules:_ And I be unavenged?
_Amphitryon:_ But vengeance hurts.
_Hercules:_ Who has, inactive, ever borne such wrongs?
_Amphitr.:_ He who feared greater wrongs.
_Hercules:_ Than these my wrongs Can any greater, heavier be feared? 1190 _Amphitr.:_ The part thou knowest of thy woes is least.
_Hercules:_ Have pity. See, I stretch my suppliant hands.
But what is this? He will not touch my hands.
In these must be the sin.
But whence this blood?
Why is that shaft, once dipped in Hydra's gall, 1195 Now wet with infant gore? They are my own, These arrows that I see; the guilty hand I need no longer seek; for who but me Could bend that mighty bow, or whose right hand Could draw the string that scarcely yields to me?
[_To_ Amphitryon _and_ Theseus.]
To you I turn again. O father, tell: Is this my deed? 1200 [_Both men hesitate in silence._] They hesitate--'tis mine.
_Amphitr.:_ Thine is the grief; thy stepdame's is the crime.
From fault of thine this sad mischance is free.
_Hercules:_ Now hurl thy wrathful bolts from all the heavens, O sire, who hast forgotten me, thy son; Avenge at least, though with a tardy hand, Thy grandsons. Let the star-set heavens resound, And darting lightnings leap from pole to pole. 1205 Let me be bound upon the Caspian rocks, And let the birds of prey devour my flesh.
Why lacks Prometheus' cliff a prisoner?
Prepare for me the bare, steep mountain side Of Caucasus, that, on his towering peak, The birds and beasts of prey may feed on me.
Or let the blue Symplegades, which hedge 1210 The Scythian deep, stretch out my fettered hands This way and that; and, when with rhythmic change The rocks together clash, which fling to heaven The sea that lies between the rushing cliffs, May I lie there, the mountains' restless check. 1215 Or why not heap a mighty pyre of wood, And burn my body stained with impious blood?
Thus, thus it must be done; so Hercules Shall to the lower world return again.
_Amphitr.:_ Not yet has madness ceased to vex his heart.
But now his wrath has changed, and, fury's sign, 1220 He rages 'gainst himself.
_Hercules:_ Ye dire abodes Of fiends, ye prison-house of damnéd shades, Ye regions set apart for guilty throngs, If any place of exile lie beyond Deep Erebus, unknown to Cerberus And me, there hide ye me. I'll go and dwell 1225 Upon the farthest bound of Tartarus.
O heart, too hard! Who worthily will weep For you, my children, scattered through my house?
This face, woe-hardened, knows not how to weep.
Bring me my sword, and give me here my darts, 1230 My mighty club.
[_He addresses the four corpses in order._] For thee, poor murdered boy, I'll break my shafts; for thee my mighty bow Shall be asunder riven; to thy shades My heavy club shall burn; and on thy pyre My quiver, full of venomed darts, shall lie.
My arms shall pay their penalty for sin. 1235 You, too, my guilty hands, with these shall burn, Too prompt to work a cruel stepdame's will.
_Theseus:_ Who ever called an act of madness crime?
_Hercules:_ Unbridled madness often ends in crime.
_Amphitr.:_ Now is there need of Hercules to bear This greatest weight of woe.
_Hercules:_ Not yet is shame 1240 So utterly extinguished in my heart, That I can bear to see all people flee My impious presence. Arms, my Theseus, arms!
I pray you give them quickly back to me.
If I am sane, trust weapons to my hands; If madness still remains, O father, fly; For I shall quickly find the road to death. 1245 _Amphitr.:_ By holy ties of birth, and by the name That makes us one, be it of father true, Or foster-father; by these hoary locks Which pious souls revere: I pray thee spare My lonely age and my enfeebled years.
Spare thou thyself to me, the only prop 1250 Of this my falling house, the only light That's left to cheer my woeful heart. No fruit Of all thy toils have I as yet enjoyed; But ever either stormy seas I've feared, Or monsters. Every savage king who raves In all the world, for impious altars famed, 1255 Is cause of dread to me. Thy father longs For joy of thee, to feel and see thee near.
_Hercules:_ Why I should longer keep my soul in life, And linger on the earth, there is no cause; For I have lost my all: my balanced mind, 1260 My arms, my reputation, children, wife, The glory of my strength--my madness too.
There is no remedy for tainted souls; But death alone can cure me of my sin.
_Amphitr.:_ And wilt thou slay thy father?
_Hercules:_ Lest I do, I'll kill myself.
_Amphitryon:_ Before thy father's face?
_Hercules:_ Such impious sights I've taught him to behold.
_Amphitr.:_ Nay, rather think upon thy worthy deeds, 1265 And grant thyself remission of one sin.
_Hercules:_ Shall he give absolution to himself, Who granted none to other men? My deeds Which have deserved the praise of men, I did Because another bade. This is my own.
Then help me, father, whether piety Or my sad fortune move thee to my aid, 1270 Or the glory of my manhood, now profaned.
Give me my arms again, that my right hand May vanquish fate.
_Theseus:_ Thy father's prayers, indeed, Are strong enough; but by my pleadings, too, Be moved. Rise up, and meet adversity With thine accustomed force. Thy strength of mind 1275 Recall, which no misfortune ever yet Has daunted. Now must thou with all thy might Contend, and curb the wrath of Hercules.
_Hercules:_ If yet I live, I have committed wrong; But if I die, then have I suffered it.
I haste to purge the earth of such as I.
Now long enough has there been hovering Before my eyes that monstrous shape of sin, 1280 So impious, savage, merciless, and wild.
Then come, my hand, attempt this mighty task, Far greater than the last. Dost hesitate Through cowardice? Or art thou brave alone 'Gainst boys and trembling mothers?
Give my arms, Or else I shall from Thracian Pindus strip 1285 The woods, the groves of Bacchus, and shall burn Cithaeron's ridgy heights along with me.
The homes of Thebes together with their lords, The temples with their gods, will I o'erthrow, And 'neath a ruined city will I lie. 1290 And if this weight of walls should prove too light For these strong shoulders, and the seven gates Be not enough to crush me to the earth, The mighty mass of earth which separates The upper from the nether skies I'll take, And hurl its crushing weight upon my head.
_Amphitr.:_ Lo, I return thine arms. 1295 _Hercules:_ Now are thy words More worthy of the sire of Hercules.
See, by this arrow pierced, my child was slain.
_Amphitr.:_ 'Tis true, but Juno shot it by thy hand.
_Hercules:_ Then I myself shall use it now.
_Amphitryon:_ Behold, How throbs his heart within his anxious breast.
_Hercules:_ The shaft is ready. 1300 _Amphitryon:_ Ah now wilt thou sin, Of thine own will and with full consciousness.
Have then thy will; we make no further prayer.
For now my grief has gained a safe retreat.
Thou only canst preserve my son to me; Thou canst not take him from me. For my fear I've sounded to the depths and feel no more.
Thou canst no longer give me any pain, 1305 Though happy thou canst make me even yet.
Decide then as thou wilt decide: but know That here thy cause and reputation stand In doubtful balance. Either thou dost live, Or thou dost kill thy sire. This fleeting soul, Now worn with age and shattered by its grief, Is trembling on my lips in act to go. 1310 Art thou so slow to grant thy father life?
I can no longer brook delay, nor wait To thrust the fatal sword into my breast.
And this shall be a sane Alcides' crime.
_Hercules:_ Now stay, my father, stay; withhold thy hand.
Yield thee, my manhood; do a father's will. 1315 Add this task also to thy former toils-- And live! Lift up my father's fainting form, O Theseus, friend; for these my guilty hands That pious duty shun.
_Amphitryon:_ But I with joy Will clasp this hand, with its support I'll walk, 1320 And to my aching heart I'll clasp it close, And banish all my woes.
_Hercules:_ Where shall I flee?
Where hide myself? What land shall bury me From human sight? What Tanaïs or Nile, What Tigris, with the waves of Persia mad, What warlike Rhine, or Tagus, flowing full 1325 And turgid with Iberia's golden sands, Can ever cleanse this right hand of its stains?
Though chill Maeotis pour its icy floods Upon me; though the boundless sea should pour Its waters o'er my hands; still would they be Deep dyed with crime. Where wilt thou take thyself, Thou murderer? Wilt flee to east, or west? 1330 Known everywhere, I have no place of flight.
The whole world shrinks from sight of me; the stars Avert their courses from me, and the sun Saw even Cerberus with milder face.
O Theseus, faithful friend, seek out a place, 1335 Far off from here, where I may hide myself.
Since thou a lenient judge of others' sins Hast ever been, grant mercy now to me.
Restore me to the infernal shades, I beg, And load me with the chains thou once didst wear. 1340 That place will hide me--but it knows me too!
_Theseus:_ My land awaits thy coming; there will[18] Mars Wash clean thy hands, and give thee back thy arms.
That land, O Hercules, now calls to thee, Which even gods from sin is wont to free.
FOOTNOTES: HIPPOLYTUS OR PHAEDRA HIPPOLYTUS OR PHAEDRA DRAMATIS PERSONAE HIPPOLYTUS Son of Theseus and Antiope, an Amazon.
_Phaedra_ Wife of Theseus and stepmother of Hippolytus.
_Theseus_ King of Athens.
_Nurse_ Of Phaedra.
_Messenger._ _Chorus_ Of Athenian citizens.
THE SCENE is laid throughout in the court in front of the royal palace at Athens; and the action is confined to the space of one day.
_Theseus had wed Antiope, the Amazon, and of their union had been born Hippolytus. This youth grew up to love the chase, austere and beautiful, shunning the haunts of men, and scorning the love of women.
Theseus had meanwhile slain Antiope, and married Phaedra, Cretan Minos' child._ _And now, for four years past, the king has not been seen upon the earth, for, following the mad adventure of his bosom friend, Pirithoüs, he has descended into Tartara, and thence, men think, he never will return._ _Deserted by her lord, the hapless Phaedra has conceived a hopeless passion for Hippolytus; for Venus, mindful of that ancient shame, which Phaedra's ancestor, Apollo, had exposed, has sent this madness on her, even as Pasiphaë, her mother, had been cursed with a most mad and fatal malady._ ACT I _Hippolytus_ [_in hunting costume, assigning duties and places to his servants and companions of the hunt_]: Up comrades, and the shadowy groves With nets encircle; swiftly range The heights of our Cecropian hills; Scour well those coverts on the slopes Of Parnes, or in Thria's vale 5 Whose chattering streamlet roars along In rapid course; go climb the hills Whose peaks are ever white with snows Of Scythia. Let others go Where woods with lofty alders stand 10 In dense array; where pastures lie Whose springing grass is waked to life By Zephyr's breath, dew laden. Go, Where calm Ilissus flows along The level fields, a sluggish stream, 15 Whose winding course the barren sands With niggard water laps. Go ye Along the leftward-leading way, Where Marathon her forest glades Reveals, where nightly with their young The suckling mothers feed. Do you, 20 Where, softened by the warming winds From southern lands, Acharnae melts His snows, repair; let others seek Hymettus' rocky slopes, far famed For honey; others still the glades Of small Aphidnae. All too long That region has unharried lain 25 Where Sunium with its jutting shore Thrusts out the curving sea.
If any feels the forest's lure, Him Phlye calls, where dwells the boar Now scarred and known by many a wound, The farmers' fear. 30 Now free the dogs from straining leash, That hunt in silence; but the hounds Of keen Molossian breed hold fast In check; let the savage Cretans strain With chaffing necks upon their chains; The Spartans hold in strongest curb, 35 With caution bind, for bold their breed, And eager for the prey.
The time will come when their baying loud Through the hollow rocks shall echo; now Let them snuff the air with nostrils keen, And with lowered muzzles seek the tracks 40 Of beasts, while yet the dawn is dim, And while the dewy earth still holds The marks of treading feet. Let some On burdened necks the wide nets bear, And others haste to bring the snares 45 Of smooth-wrought cords. Let feathers, dyed With crimson, hedge the timid deer With terrors vain. Do thou use darts Of Crete, and thou the heavy spear By both hands wielded. Thou shalt sit 50 In hiding and with clamors loud Drive out the frightened beasts; and thou, When all is done, with curving blade Shalt break the victims.
And thou, be with thy worshiper, O goddess of the chase, whose rule 55 Extends o'er all the secret haunts Of earth; whose darts unerring pierce The flying prey; whose thirst is quenched By cool Araxes' distant stream, Or for whose sport the Ister spreads His frozen waves. Thy hand pursues 60 Gaetulian lions, Cretan deer; And now the swiftly fleeing does With lighter stroke are pierced. To thee The spotted tigers yield, to thee The bisons, shaggy backed, and the wild, Broad-hornéd oxen of the woods. 65 Whatever feeds upon the plains In desert pasture lands; whate'er The needy Garamantian knows, Whate'er the Arab rich in woods, Or wild Sarmatian, wandering free Across the lonely wilderness; 70 Whate'er the rugged Pyrenees Or deep Hyrcanian glades conceal: All fear thy bow, thou huntress queen.
If any worshiper of thine Takes to the hunt thy favoring will, His nets hold fast the struggling prey; 75 No birds break from his snares; for him The groaning wagons homeward come With booty rich; the hounds come back With muzzles deeply dyed in blood, And all the rustic throng returns In shouting triumph home. 80 But lo, the goddess hears. The hounds Are baying loud and clear to announce The start. I'm summoned to the woods.
Here, here I'll hasten where the road Most quickly leads away.
[_Exit._] * * * * * _Phaedra:_ O mighty Crete, thou mistress of the deep, 85 Whose ships uncounted sail through every sea Wherever Nereus shows their beaks the way, E'en to Assyria's shores; why dost thou here Compel me thus in woe and tears to live, A hostage given to the hated foe, 90 And to a foeman wed? Behold my lord, Deserting me, his bride, is far away, And keeps his wonted faith. Through shadows deep Of that dark pool which may not be recrossed, This doughty follower of a madcap prince Has gone, that from the very throne of Dis 95 He might seduce and bear away his queen.
With such mad folly linked he went away, Restrained by neither fear nor shame. And so, In deepest Acheron, illicit love This father of Hippolytus desires.
But other, greater griefs than this oppress My sorrowing soul; no quiet rest by night, 100 No slumber deep comes to dissolve my cares; But woe is fed and grows within my heart, And there burns hot as Aetna's raging fires.
My loom stands empty and my listless hands Drop idly from their tasks. No more I care 105 To make my votive offerings to the gods, Nor, with the Athenian women mingled, dance Around their sacred shrines, and conscious brands Toss high in secret rites. I have no heart With chaste and pious prayers to worship her, That mighty goddess who was set to guard This Attic land. My only joy is found 110 In swift pursuit of fleeing beasts of prey, My soft hands brandishing the heavy spear.
But what will come of this? Why do I love The forest glades so madly? Ah, I feel The fatal malady my mother felt; For both have learned within the forest depths To sin in love. O mother, now my heart 115 Doth ache for thee; for, swept away by sin Unspeakable, thou boldly didst conceive A shameful passion for the savage lord Of the wild herd. Untamable was he, That stern and lustful leader of the flock; And yet he loved. But in my passion's need 120 What god can help me? Where the Daedalus Who can my love relieve? Should he return Who shut our monster in the labyrinth, He could not by his well-known Attic skill Avail to save me from this dire mischance.
For Venus, filled with deadly hate of us, The stock of Phoebus, seeks through me to avenge 125 The chains which fettered her in shame to Mars, And all our house with direful love she fills.
No princess of our race has ever loved In modest wise, but always monstrously.
_Nurse:_ O wife of Theseus, glorious child of Jove, Drive from thy modest breast these shameful thoughts. 130 Put out these flames; and give thyself no hope Of such dire love as this. Whoe'er at first Has set himself to fight and conquer love, A safe and easy victory finds. But he, Who dallies with its evil sweets, too late Refuses to endure the galling yoke 135 Which he himself has placed upon his neck.
I know full well how scornful of the truth, How harsh the swollen pride of princesses, How it refuses to be bent aright.
Whatever outcome chance allots, I'll bear; For dawning freedom makes the agéd brave.
To will to live uprightly nor to fall 140 From virtue's ways is best; but next to this Is sense of shame, the knowing when to stop A sinful course. What, pray, will be the end For thee, poor mistress? Why dost heap thy house With further infamy? Wouldst thou outsin Thy mother? For thy impious love is worse Than her unnatural and monstrous love.
The first you would impute to character, The last to fate. If, since thy husband sees 145 No more the realms of earth, thou dost believe That this thy sin is safe and free from fear, Thou art in error. Grant that he is held Imprisoned fast in Lethe's lowest depths, And must forever feel the bonds of Styx: Would he, thy sire, who by his spreading sway Encroaches on the sea, who gives their laws 150 Unto a hundred peoples, e'er permit So great a crime as this to lie unknown?
Keen is a parent's watchful care. And yet, Suppose that by our craft and guile we hide This crime from him: what of thy mother's sire, Who floods the earth with his illuming rays? 155 And what of him who makes the earth to quake, The bolts of Aetna flashing in his hand, The father of the gods? And dost thou think That it can be that thou couldst hide thy sin From these thy grandsires, all-beholding ones?
But even should the favor of the gods, Complaisant, hide thy shame from all the world; 160 Though to thy lust alone should fall that grace