Part 6

GHOST OF DARIUS. Therefore through them hath come calamity Most huge and past forgetting; nor of old Did ever such extermination fall Upon the city Susa. Long ago Zeus in his power this privilege bestowed, That with a guiding sceptre one sole man Should rule this Asian land of flock and herd. Over the folk a Mede, Astyages, Did grasp the power: then Cyaxares ruled In his sire’s place, and held the sway aright, Steering his state with watchful wariness. Third in succession, Cyrus, blest of Heaven, Held rule and ’stablished peace for all his clan: Lydian and Phrygian won he to his sway, And wide Ionia to his yoke constrained, For the god favoured his discretion sage. Fourth in the dynasty was Cyrus’ son, And fifth was Mardus, scandal of his land And ancient lineage. Him Artaphrenes, Hardy of heart, within his palace slew, Aided by loyal plotters, set for this. And I too gained the lot for which I craved, And oftentimes led out a goodly host, Yet never brought disaster such as this Upon the city. But my son is young And reckless in his youth, and heedeth not The warnings of my mouth. Mark this, my friends, Born with my birth, coeval with mine age— Not all we kings who held successive rule Have wrought, combined, such ruin as my son!

CHORUS. How then, O King Darius? whitherward Dost thou direct thy warning? from this plight How can we Persians fare towards hope again?

GHOST OF DARIUS. By nevermore assailing Grecian lands, Even tho’ our Median force be double theirs— For the land’s self protects its denizens.

CHORUS. How meanest thou? by what defensive power?

GHOST OF DARIUS. She wastes by famine a too countless foe.

CHORUS. But we will bring a host more skilled than huge.

GHOST OF DARIUS. Why, e’en that army, camped in Hellas still, Shall never win again to home and weal!

CHORUS. How say’st thou? will not all the Asian host Pass back from Europe over Helle’s ford?

GHOST OF DARIUS. Nay—scarce a tithe of all those myriads, If man may trust the oracles of Heaven When he beholds the things already wrought, Not false with true, but true with no word false If what I trow be truth, my son has left A chosen rear-guard of our host, in whom He trusts, now, with a random confidence! They tarry where Asopus laves the ground With rills that softly bless Boeotia’s plain— There is it fated for them to endure The very crown of misery and doom, Requital for their god-forgetting pride! For why? they raided Hellas, had the heart To wrong the images of holy gods, And give the shrines and temples to the flame! Defaced and dashed from sight the altars fell, And each god’s image, from its pedestal Thrust and flung down, in dim confusion lies! Therefore, for outrage vile, a doom as dark They suffer, and yet more shall undergo— They touch no bottom in the swamp of doom, But round them rises, bubbling up, the ooze! So deep shall lie the gory clotted mass Of corpses by the Dorian spear transfixed Upon Plataea’s field! yea, piles of slain To the third generation shall attest By silent eloquence to those that see— _Let not a mortal vaunt him overmuch_. For pride grows rankly, and to ripeness brings The curse of fate, and reaps, for harvest, tears! Therefore when ye behold, for deeds like these, Such stern requital paid, remember then Athens and Hellas. Let no mortal wight, Holding too lightly of his present weal And passionate for more, cast down and spill The mighty cup of his prosperity! Doubt not that over-proud and haughty souls Zeus lours in wrath, exacting the account. Therefore, with wary warning, school my son, Though he be lessoned by the gods already, To curb the vaunting that affronts high Heaven! And thou, O venerable Mother-queen, Beloved of Xerxes, to the palace pass And take therefrom such raiment as befits Thy son, and go to meet him: for his garb In this extremity of grief hangs rent Around his body, woefully unstitched, Mere tattered fragments of once royal robes! Go thou to him, speak soft and soothing words— Thee, and none other, will he bear to hear, As well I know. But I must pass away From earth above, unto the nether gloom; Therefore, old men, take my farewell, and clasp, Even amid the ruin of this time, Unto your souls the pleasure of the day, For dead men have no profit of their gold!

[_The GHOST OF DARIUS sinks._]

CHORUS. Alas, I thrill with pain for Persia’s woes— Many fulfilled, and others hard at hand!

ATOSSA. O spirit of the race, what sorrows crowd Upon me! and this anguish stings me worst, That round my royal son’s dishonoured form Hang rags and tatters, degradation deep! I will away, and, bringing from within A seemly royal robe, will straightway strive To meet and greet my son: foul scorn it were To leave our dearest in his hour of shame.

[_Exit ATOSSA._]

CHORUS. Ah glorious and goodly they were, the life and the lot that we gained, The cities we held in our hand when the monarch invincible reigned, The king that was good to his realm, sufficing, fulfilled of his sway, A lord that was peer of the gods, the pride of the bygone day! Then could we show to the skies great hosts and a glorious name, And laws that were stable in might; as towers they guarded our fame! There without woe or disaster we came from the foe and the fight, In triumph, enriched with the spoil, to the land and the city’s delight. What towns ere the Halys he passed! what towns ere he came to the West, To the main and the isles of the Strymon, and the Thracian region possess’d! And those that stand back from the main, enringed by their fortified wall, Gave o’er to Darius, the king, the sceptre and sway over all! Those too by the channel of Helle, where southward it broadens and glides, By the inlets, Propontis! of thee, and the strait of the Pontic tides, And the isles that lie fronting our sea-board, and the Eastland looks on each one, Lesbo and Chios and Paros, and Samos with olive-trees grown, And Naxos, and Myconos’ rock, and Tenos with Andros hard by, And isles that in midmost Aegean, aloof from the continent, lie— And Lemnos and Icaros’ hold—all these to his sceptre were bowed, And Cnidos and neighbouring Rhodes, and Soli, and Paphos the proud, And Cyprian Salamis, name-child of her who hath wrought us this wrong! Yea, and all the Ionian tract, where the Greek-born inhabitants throng, And the cities are teeming with gold—Darius was lord of them all, And, great by his wisdom, he ruled, and ever there came to his call, In stalwart array and unfailing, the warrior chiefs of our land, And mingled allies from the tribes who bowed to his conquering hand! But now there are none to gainsay that the gods are against us; we lie Subdued in the havoc of wreck, and whelmed by the wrath of the sky!

Enter XERXES in disarray.

XERXES. Alas the day, that I should fall Into this grimmest fate of all, This ruin doubly unforeseen! On Persia’s land what power of Fate Descends, what louring gloom of hate? How shall I bear my teen? My limbs are loosened where they stand, When I behold this aged band— Oh God! I would that I too, I, Among the men who went to die, Were whelmed in earth by Fate’s command!

CHORUS. Ah welladay, my King! ah woe For all our heroes’ overthrow— For all the gallant host’s array, For Persia’s honour, pass’d away, For glory and heroic sway Mown down by Fortune’s hand to-day! Hark, how the kingdom makes its moan, For youthful valour lost and gone, By Xerxes shattered and undone! He, he hath crammed the maw of hell With bowmen brave, who nobly fell, Their country’s mighty armament, Ten thousand heroes deathward sent! Alas, for all the valiant band, O king and lord! thine Asian land Down, down upon its knee is bent!

XERXES. Alas, a lamentable sound, A cry of ruth! for I am found A curse to land and lineage, With none my sorrow to assuage!

CHORUS. Alas, a death-song desolate I send forth, for thy home-coming! A scream, a dirge for woe and fate, Such as the Asian mourners sing, A sorry and ill-omened tale Of tears and shrieks and Eastern wail!

XERXES. Ay, launch the woeful sorrow’s cry, The harsh, discordant melody, For lo, the power, we held for sure, Hath turned to my discomfiture!

CHORUS. Yea, dirges, dirges manifold Will I send forth, for warriors bold, For the sea-sorrow of our host! The city mourns, and I must wail With plashing tears our sorrow’s tale, Lamenting for the loved and lost!

XERXES. Alas, the god of war, who sways The scales of fight in diverse ways, Gives glory to Ionia! Ionian ships, in fenced array, Have reaped their harvest in the bay, A darkling harvest-field of Fate, A sea, a shore, of doom and hate!

CHORUS. Cry out, and learn the tale of woe! Where are thy comrades? where the band Who stood beside thee, hand in hand, A little while ago? Where now hath Pharandákes gone, Where Psammis, and where Pelagon? Where now is brave Agdabatas, And Susas too, and Datamas? Hath Susiscanes past away, The chieftain of Ecbatana?

XERXES. I left them, mangled castaways, Flung from their Tyrian deck, and tossed On Salaminian water-ways, From surging tides to rocky coast!

CHORUS. Alack, and is Pharnuchus slain, And Ariomardus, brave in vain? Where is Seualces’ heart of fire? Lilaeus, child of noble sire? Are Tharubis and Memphis sped? Hystaechmas, Artembáres dead? And where is brave Masistes, where? Sum up death’s count, that I may hear!

XERXES. Alas, alas, they came, their eyes surveyed Ancestral Athens on that fatal day. Then with a rending struggle were they laid Upon the land, and gasped their life away!

CHORUS. And Batanochus’ child, Alpistus great, Surnamed the Eye of State— Saw you and left you him who once of old Ten thousand thousand fighting-men enrolled? His sire was child of Sesamas, and he From Megabates sprang. Ah, woe is me, Thou king of evil fate! Hast thou lost Parthus, lost Oebares great? Alas, the sorrow! blow succeedeth blow On Persia’s pride; thou tellest woe on woe!

XERXES. Bitter indeed the pang for comrades slain, The brave and bold! thou strikest to my soul Pain, pain beyond forgetting, hateful pain. My inner spirit sobs and sighs with dole!

CHORUS. Another yet we yearn to see, And see not! ah, thy chivalry, Xanthis, thou chief of Mardian men Countless! and thou, Anchares bright, And ye, whose cars controlled the fight, Arsaces and Diaixis wight, Kegdadatas, Lythimnas dear, And Tolmus, greedy of the spear! I stand bereft! not in thy train Come they, as erst! ah, ne’er again Shall they return unto our eyes, Car-borne, ’neath silken canopies!

XERXES. Yea, gone are they who mustered once the host!

CHORUS. Yea, yea, forgotten, lost!

XERXES. Alas, the woe and cost!

CHORUS. Alas, ye heavenly powers! Ye wrought a sorrow past belief, A woe, of woes the chief! With aspect stern, upon us Ate looms!

XERXES. Smitten are we—time tells no heavier blow!

CHORUS. Smitten! the doom is plain!

XERXES. Curse upon curse and pang on pang we know!

CHORUS. With the Ionian power We clashed, in evil hour! Woe falls on Persia’s race, yea, woe again, again!

XERXES. Yea, smitten am I, and my host is all to ruin hurled!

CHORUS. Yea verily—in mighty wreck hath sunk the Persian world!

XERXES. (_holding up a torn robe and a quiver_) See you this tattered rag of pride?

CHORUS. I see it, welladay!

XERXES. See you this quiver?

CHORUS. Say, hath aught survived and ’scaped the fray?

XERXES. A store for darts it was, erewhile!

CHORUS. Remain but two or three!

XERXES. No aid is left!

CHORUS. Ionian folk such darts, unfearing, see!

XERXES. Right resolute they are! I saw disaster unforeseen.

CHORUS. Ah, speakest thou of wreck, of flight, of carnage that hath been?

XERXES. Yea, and my royal robe I rent, in terror at their fall!

CHORUS. Alas, alas!

XERXES. Yea, thrice alas!

CHORUS. For all have perished, all!

XERXES. Ah woe to us, ah joy to them who stood against our pride!

CHORUS. And all our strength is minishèd and sundered from our side!

XERXES. No escort have I!

CHORUS. Nay, thy friends are whelmed beneath the tide!

XERXES. Wail, wail the miserable doom, and to the palace hie!

CHORUS. Alas, alas, and woe again!

XERXES. Shriek, smite the breast, as I!

CHORUS. An evil gift, a sad exchange, of tears poured out in vain!

XERXES. Shrill out your simultaneous wail!

CHORUS. Alas the woe and pain!

XERXES. O, bitter is this adverse fate!

CHORUS. I voice the moan with thee!

XERXES. Smite, smite thy bosom, groan aloud for my calamity!

CHORUS. I mourn and am dissolved in tears!

XERXES. Cry, beat thy breast amain!

CHORUS. O king, my heart is in thy woe!

XERXES. Shriek, wail, and shriek again!

CHORUS. O agony!

XERXES. A blackening blow—

CHORUS. A grievous stripe shall fall!

XERXES. Yea, beat anew thy breast, ring out the doleful Mysian call!

CHORUS. An agony, an agony!

XERXES. Pluck out thy whitening beard!

CHORUS. By handfuls, ay, by handfuls, with dismal tear-drops smeared!

XERXES. Sob out thine aching sorrow!

CHORUS. I will thine best obey.

XERXES. With thine hands rend thy mantle’s fold—

CHORUS. Alas, woe worth the day!

XERXES. With thine own fingers tear thy locks, bewail the army’s weird!

CHORUS. By handfuls, yea, by handfuls, with tears of dole besmeared!

XERXES. Now let thine eyes find overflow—

CHORUS. I wend in wail and pain!

XERXES. Cry out for me an answering moan—

CHORUS. Alas, alas again!

XERXES. Shriek with a cry of agony, and lead the doleful train!

CHORUS. Alas, alas, the Persian land is woeful now to tread!

XERXES. Cry out and mourn! the city now doth wail above the dead!

CHORUS. I sob and moan!

XERXES. I bid ye now be delicate in grief!

CHORUS. Alas, the Persian land is sad and knoweth not relief!

XERXES. Alas, the triple banks of oars and those who died thereby!

CHORUS. Pass! I will lead you, bring you home, with many a broken sigh!

[_Exeunt._]

THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES

ARGUMENT

Laius, king of the Cadmeans, was warned by the oracle of Delphi that he should not beget a child. But he disobeyed this command, and when a son was born to him, he cast the child away, that he might perish on Cithaeron. But a herdsman found the babe yet alive, and he was nourished in Corinth and grew to manhood, not knowing his true parentage, and was named Oedipus; and he slew, unknowingly, his father, Laius, and afterwards saved the town of the Cadmeans from a devouring monster, and married the widowed queen, Iocaste, and begat sons and daughters. But when he learned what he had wrought unwittingly, he fell into despair, and the queen slew herself. But before Oedipus died, he laid a curse upon his male children, Eteocles and Polynices, that they should make even division of the kingdom by the sword; and it fell out even so, for the two brothers strove together for the inheritance, and Polynices brought an army, from Argos, against Eteocles; and the brothers fought, and fell each by the other’s hand, and the curse was fulfilled.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

ETEOCLES. A SPY. CHORUS OF CADMEAN MAIDENS. ANTIGONE. ISMENE. A HERALD.

ETEOCLES. Clansmen of Cadmus, at the signal given By time and season must the ruler speak Who sets the course and steers the ship of State With hand upon the tiller, and with eye Watchful against the treachery of sleep. For if all go aright, _thank Heaven_, men say, But if adversely—which may God forefend!— One name on many lips, from street to street, Would bear the bruit and rumour of the time, _Down with Eteocles!_—a clamorous curse, A dirge of ruin. May averting Zeus Make good his title here, in Cadmus’ hold! You it beseems now boys unripened yet To lusty manhood, men gone past the prime And increase of the full begetting seed, And those whom youth and manhood well combined Array for action—all to rise in aid Of city, shrines, and altars of all powers Who guard our land; that ne’er, to end of time, Be blotted out the sacred service due To our sweet mother-land and to her brood. For she it was who to their guest-right called Your waxing youth, was patient of the toil, And cherished you on the land’s gracious lap, Alike to plant the hearth and bear the shield In loyal service, for an hour like this. Mark now! until to-day, luck rules our scale; For we, though long beleaguered, in the main Have with our sallies struck the foemen hard. But now the seer, the feeder of the birds, (Whose art unerring and prophetic skill Of ear and mind divines their utterance Without the lore of fire interpreted) Foretelleth, by the mastery of his art, That now an onset of Achaea’s host Is by a council of the night designed To fall in double strength upon our walls. Up and away, then, to the battlements, The gates, the bulwarks! don your panoplies, Array you at the breast-work, take your stand On floorings of the towers, and with good heart Stand firm for sudden sallies at the gates, Nor hold too heinous a respect for hordes Sent on you from afar: some god will guard! I too, for shrewd espial of their camp, Have sent forth scouts, and confidence is mine They will not fail nor tremble at their task, And, with their news, I fear no foeman’s guile.

Enter a SPY.

THE SPY. Eteocles, high king of Cadmus’ folk, I stand here with news certified and sure From Argos’ camp, things by myself descried. Seven warriors yonder, doughty chiefs of might, Into the crimsoned concave of a shield Have shed a bull’s blood, and, with hands immersed Into the gore of sacrifice, have sworn By Ares, lord of fight, and by thy name, Blood-lapping Terror, _Let our oath be heard— Either to raze the walls, make void the hold Of Cadmus—strive his children as they may— Or, dying here, to make the foemen’s land With blood impasted_. Then, as memory’s gift Unto their parents at the far-off home, Chaplets they hung upon Adrastus’ car, With eyes tear-dropping, but no word of moan. For their steeled spirit glowed with high resolve, As lions pant, with battle in their eyes. For them, no weak alarm delays the clear Issues of death or life! I parted thence Even as they cast the lots, how each should lead, Against which gate, his serried company. Rank then thy bravest, with what speed thou may’st, Hard by the gates, to dash on them, for now, Full-armed, the onward ranks of Argos come! The dust whirls up, and from their panting steeds White foamy flakes like snow bedew the plain. Thou therefore, chieftain! like a steersman skilled, Enshield the city’s bulwarks, ere the blast Of war comes darting on them! hark, the roar Of the great landstorm with its waves of men! Take Fortune by the forelock! for the rest, By yonder dawn-light will I scan the field Clear and aright, and surety of my word Shall keep thee scatheless of the coming storm.

ETEOCLES. O Zeus and Earth and city-guarding gods, And thou, my father’s Curse, of baneful might, Spare ye at least this town, nor root it up, By violence of the foemen, stock and stem! For here, from home and hearth, rings Hellas’ tongue. Forbid that e’er the yoke of slavery Should bow this land of freedom, Cadmus’ hold! Be ye her help! your cause I plead with mine— A city saved doth honour to her gods!

[_Exit ETEOCLES, etc._]

Enter the CHORUS OF MAIDENS.