Part 20

_Hercules:_ If on the heights of Caucasus I lay In chains, to greedy birds of prey exposed, While Scythia wailed in sympathy with me, No sound of woe should issue from my lips; Or should the huge, unfixed Symplegades 1380 Together clash and threaten me with death, I'd bear unmoved the threatened agony. Should Pindus fall upon me, Haemus too, Tall Athos which defies the Thracian seas, And Mimas at whose towering peaks are hurled The bolts of Jove--if e'en the sky itself 1385 Should fall upon my head, and Phoebus' car In blazing torture on my shoulders lie: No coward cry of pain would ever show The mind of Hercules subdued. Nay more: Although a thousand monstrous beasts at once Should rush upon and rend me limb from limb; Though here Stymphalus' bird with clangor wild, 1390 And there with all his strength the threat'ning bull, And all fierce, monstrous things, should press me hard; Nay, though the very soil of earth should rise And shriek[39] its rage at me from every side; Though Sinis dire should hurl me through the air: Though sore bestead and mangled, still would I In silence bear it all. No beasts, no arms, No weapon wielded by the hand of man, Could force from me a single word of pain. 1395

_Alcmena:_ No woman's poison burns thy limbs, my son; But thy long years of work, thy constant toils, Have for thy woe some evil sickness bred.

_Hercules:_ Sickness, say'st thou? Where may this sickness be? Does any evil still upon the earth Exist, with me alive? But let it come. Let someone quickly bring my bow to me-- 1400 But no: my naked hands will be enough. Now bid the monster come.

_Alcmena:_ Alas, his pains, Too great, have reft his senses quite away. Remove his weapons, take those deadly shafts Out of his reach, I pray. His burning cheeks 1405 Some violence portend. Oh, where shall I, A helpless, agéd woman hide myself? That grief of his has changed to maddened rage, And that alone is master of him now. Why should I, therefore, foolish that I am, Seek hiding-place or flight? By some brave hand Alcmena has deserved to meet her death. So let me perish even impiously, 1410 Before some craven soul command my death, Or some base creature triumph over me. But see, outworn by woe, his weary heart Is in the soothing bonds of slumber bound; His panting chest with labored breathing heaves. Have mercy, O ye gods. If ye from me 1415 Have willed to take my glorious son, at least Spare to the world, I pray, its champion. Let all his pains depart, and once again Let great Alcides' frame renew its strength.

[_Enter_ Hyllus.]

_Hyllus:_ O bitter light, O day with evil filled! Dead is the Thunderer's daughter, and his son 1420 Lies dying. I alone of all survive. By my own mother's crime my father dies, But she by guile was snared. What agéd man, Throughout the round of years, in all his life, Will e'er be able to recount such woes? One day has snatched away my parents both. 1425 But though I say naught of my other ills, And cease to blame the fates, still must I say: My sire, the mighty Hercules, is gone.

_Alcmena:_ Restrain thy words, child of illustrious sire, And matched with sad Alcmena in her grief; Perchance long slumber will assuage his pain. But see, repose deserts his weary heart, 1430 And gives him back to suffering, me to grief.

_Hercules_ [_awakening in delirium_]: Why, what is this? Do I with waking eyes See little Trachin on her craggy seat, Or, set amongst the stars, have I at length Escaped the race of men? Who opes for me The gate of heaven? Thee, father, now I see, 1435 Thee, and my stepdame too at last appeased. What heavenly sound is this that fills my ears? Great Juno calls me son! Now I behold The gleaming palace of the heavenly world, And Phoebus' path worn by his burning wheels. [_Beginning to come out of his delirium._] I see night's couch; her shadows call me hence. 1440 But what is this? who shuts me out of heaven, And from the stars, O father, leads me down? I felt the glow of Phoebus on my face, So near to heaven was I; but now, alas, 'Tis Trachin that I see. Oh, who to earth Has given me back again? A moment since, 1445 And Oeta's lofty peak stood far below, And all the world was lying at my feet. How sweet the respite that I had from thee, O grief. Thou mak'st me to confess--but stay, Let not such shameful words escape thy lips. [_To_ Hyllus.] This woe, my son, is of thy mother's gift. Oh, that I might crush out her guilty life With my great club, as once the Amazons 1450 I smote upon the snowy Caucasus. O well-loved Megara, to think that thou Wast wife of mine when in that fit I fell Of maddened rage! Give me my club and bow; Let my hand be disgraced, and with a blot Let me destroy the luster of my praise-- My latest conquest on a woman gained! 1455

_Hyllus:_ Now curb the dreadful threatenings of thy wrath; She has her wound--'tis over--and has paid The penalty which thou wouldst have her pay: For now, self-slain, my mother lies in death.

_Hercules:_ O grief, still with me! She deserved to die Beneath the hands of angry Hercules. 1460 O Lichas, thou hast lost thy mate in death. So hot my wrath, against her helpless corpse I still would rage. Why does her body lie Secure from my assaults? Go cast it out To be a banquet for the birds of prey.

_Hyllus:_ She suffered more than even thou wouldst wish. Self-slain, and grieving sore for thee, she died. 1465 But 'tis not by a cruel wife's deceit, Nor by my mother's guile, thou liest low. By Nessus was this deadly plot conceived, Who, smitten by thine arrow, lost his life. 'Twas in the centaur's gore the robe was dipped, 1470 And by thy pains he doth requite his own.

_Hercules:_ Then truly are his pains well recompensed, And my own doubtful oracles explained. This fate the talking oak foretold to me, And Delphi's oracle, whose sacred voice Shook Cirrha's temples and Parnassus' slopes: 1475 "By hand of one whom thou hast slain, some day, Victorious Hercules, shalt thou lie low. This end, when thou hast traversed sea and land, And the realm of spirits, is reserved for thee." Now will we grieve no more; such end is meet; Thus shall no conqueror of Hercules 1480 Survive to tell the tale. Now shall my death Be glorious, illustrious, renowned, And worthy of myself. This final day Will I make famous in the ears of men. Go, cut down all the woods, and Oeta's groves Bring hither, that a mighty funeral pyre May hold great Hercules before he dies. And thee, dear son of Poeas, thee I ask 1485 To do this last, sad office for thy friend, And all the sky illumine with the flames Of Hercules. And now to thee this prayer, This last request, Hyllus, my son, I make: Among my captives is a beauteous maid, Of noble breeding and of royal birth. 'Tis Iole, the child of Eurytus. 1490 Her would I have thee to thy chamber lead With fitting marriage rites; for, stained with blood, Victorious, I robbed her of her home And fatherland; and in return, poor girl, Naught save Alcides have I given her; And he is gone. Then let her soothe her woes In the embrace of him who boasts the blood 1495 Of Jove and Hercules. Whatever seed She has conceived of me let her to thee Bring forth. [_To_ Alcmena.] And do thou cease thy plaints, I pray, For me, great mother; thy Alcides lives; And by my might have I my stepdame made To seem but as the concubine of Jove. 1500 Whether the story of the night prolonged At Hercules' begetting be the truth, Or whether I was got of mortal sire-- Though I be falsely called the son of Jove, I have indeed deserved to be his son; For I have honored him, and to his praise 1505 My mother brought me forth. Nay, Jove himself Is proud that he is held to be my sire. Then cease thy tears, O mother; thou shalt be Of high degree among Argolic dames. For no such son as thine has Juno borne, Though she may wield the scepter of the skies, 1510 The Thunderer's bride. And yet, though holding heaven, She grudged Alcides to a mortal birth, And wished that she might call him son of hers. Now, Titan, must thou go thy way alone; For I, who have thy constant comrade been, Am bound for Tartara, the world of shades. Yet down to hell I bear this noble praise: 1515 That openly no monster conquered me, But that I conquered all--and openly.

* * * * *

_Chorus:_ Bright sun, thou glory of the world, At whose first rays wan Hecate Unyokes the weary steeds of night, 1520 To east and west the message tell; To those who suffer 'neath the Bear, And who, beneath thy burning car Are tortured: Hercules prepares To speed him to the world of shades, 1525 The realm of sleepless Cerberus, Whence he will[40] ne'er again return. Let thy bright rays be overcast With clouds; gaze on the mourning world With pallid face; and let thy head In thick and murky mists be veiled. 1530 When, Titan, where, beneath what sky, Shalt thou behold upon the earth Another such as Hercules? Whom shall the wretched land invoke, If any hundred-headed pest, In Lerna born, spring up anew 1535 And spread destruction; if again Some boar in ancient Arcady Infest the woods; or if again Some son of Thracian Rhodope, With heart more hard than the frozen lands That lie 'neath snowy Helice, Should stain his stalls with human gore? 1540 Who will give peace to the trembling folk If angry gods with monstrous birth Should curse the world again? Behold, The mate for common man he lies, Whom earth produced a mate for Jove. Let lamentations loud resound 1545 Through all the world; with streaming hair Let women smite their naked arms; Let all the temples of the gods Be closed save Juno's; she alone Is free from care. To Lethe and the Stygian shore 1550 Now art thou going, whence no keel Will ever bring thee back. Thou goest, Lamented one, unto the shades, Whence, death o'ercome, thou once return'dst In triumph with thy prize; but now, An empty shade, with fleshless arms, Wan face, and slender, drooping neck, 1555 Thou goest back. Nor will the skiff (Which once bore only thee and feared That even so 'twould be o'erturned) Bear thee alone across the stream. But not with common shades shalt thou Be herded. Thou with Aeacus[41] And pious kings of Crete shalt sit In judgment on the deeds of men, And punish tyrants. O ye kings, 1560 Be merciful, restrain your hands. 'Tis worthy praise to keep the sword Unstained with blood; while thou didst reign, Upon thy realm to have allowed Least privilege to bloody[42] fate. But place among the stars is given To manly virtue. Shalt thou hold 1565 Thy seat within the northern skies, Or where his fiercest rays the sun Sends forth? Or in the balmy west Wilt shine, where thou mayst hear the waves On Calpe's shore resound? What place In heaven serene shalt thou obtain? 1570 When great Alcides is received Among the stars, who will be free From fear? May Jove assign thy place Far from the raging Lion's seat, And burning Crab, lest at sight of thee The frightened stars confuse their laws And Titan quake with fear. 1575 So long as blooming flowers shall come With wakening spring; while winter's frosts Strip bare the trees, and summer suns Reclothe them with their wonted green; While in the autumn ripened fruits Fall to the ground: no lapse of time 1580 Shall e'er destroy thy memory Upon the earth. For thou shalt live As comrade of the sun and stars. Sooner shall wheat grow in the sea, Or stormy straits with gentle waves Beat on the shore; sooner descend The Bear from out his frozen sky And bathe him in forbidden waves: 1585 Than shall the thankful people cease To sing thy praise. And now to thee, O father of the world, we pray: Let no dread beast be born on earth, No monstrous pest; keep this poor world From abject fear of heartless kings; Let no one hold the reins of power 1590 Who deems his kingdom's glory lies In the terror of his naked sword. But if again some thing of dread Appear upon the earth, Oh, give, We pray, another champion. But what is this? The heavens resound. 1595 Behold Alcides' father mourns, He mourns his son. Or is't the sound Of grieving gods, or the cry of fear Of the timid stepdame? Can it be That at the sight of Hercules Great Juno flees the stars? Perchance Beneath the added weight of heaven Tall Atlas reels. Or do the shades 1600 Cry out in fear of Hercules, While Cerberus with broken chains In panic flees the sight? Not so: Behold, 'tis Poeas' son, who comes With looks of gladness. See, he bears The well-known quiver and the shafts 1605 Of Hercules.

FOOTNOTES:

[38] Reading, _auctor_.

[39] Reading, _fremens_.

[40] Reading, _remeabit_.

[41] Reading, _Aeacon_.

[42] Reading, _minimum cruentis_.

ACT V

[_Enter_ Philoctetes.]

_Nurse:_ Speak out, good youth, and tell the end, I pray, Of Hercules. How did he meet his death?

_Philoctetes:_ More gladly than another meets his life.

_Nurse:_ What? Did he then rejoice him in the fire?

_Philoctetes:_ He showed that burning flames were naught to him. 1610 What is there in the world which Hercules Has left unconquered? He has vanquished all.

_Nurse:_ What chance for glory on the funeral pyre?

_Philoctetes:_ One evil thing remained upon the earth Which he had not o'ercome--the power of fire. 1615 But this has now been added to the beasts, And fire is one of great Alcides' toils.

_Nurse:_ But tell us in what way he conquered fire.

_Philoctetes:_ When all his sorrowing friends began to fell The trees on Oeta's slopes, beneath one hand The beech-tree lost its foliage and lay, Its mighty trunk prone on the ground. One hand With deadly stroke attacked the towering pine, 1620 Which lifted to the stars its threatening top, And called it from the clouds. In act to fall, It shook its rocky crag, and with a crash Whelmed all the lesser forest in its fall. Within the forest was a certain oak, Wide-spreading, vast, like that Chaonian tree Of prophecy, whose shade shuts out the sun, Embracing all the grove[43] within its arms. 1625 By many a blow beset, it groans at first In threatening wise, and all the wedges breaks; The smiting axe bounds back, its edges dulled, Too soft for such a task. At length the tree, Long wavering, falls with widespread ruin down. Straightway the place admits the sun's bright rays; 1630 The birds, their tree o'erthrown, fly twittering round, And seek their vanished homes on wearied wing. Now every tree resounds; even the oaks Feel in their sacred sides the piercing steel, Nor does its ancient sanctity protect 1635 The grove. The wood into a pile is heaped; Its logs alternate rising high aloft, Make all too small a pyre for Hercules: The pine inflammable, tough-fibered oak, The ilex' shorter trunks. But poplar trees, 1640 Whose foliage adorned Alcides' brow, Fill up the space and make the pyre complete. But he, like some great lion in the woods Of Libya lying, roaring out his pain, Is borne along--but who would e'er believe That he was hurrying to his funeral pyre? His gaze was fixed upon the stars of heaven, 1645 Not fires of earth, when to the mount he came And with his eyes surveyed the mighty pyre. The great beams groaned and broke beneath his weight. Now he demands his bow. "Take this," he said, "O son of Poeas, take this as the gift And pledge of love from Hercules to thee. These deadly shafts the poisonous hydra felt; 1650 With these the vile Stymphalian birds lie low; And every other monster which I slew With distant aim. O noble youth, go on In victory, for never 'gainst thy foes Shalt thou send these in vain. Wouldst wish to bring Birds from the very clouds? Down shall they fall, And with them come thine arrows sure of prey. 1655 This bow shall never disappoint thy hand. Well has it learned to poise the feathered shaft And send it flying in unerring course. The shafts themselves as well, loosed from the string, Have never failed to find their destined mark