III.

O veteran, sprung from Æacus, thy spear Chilled the Lapithæ with fear, And from their hills the Centaurs drove. When glory called, and prosperous gales Swelled the Argo’s daring sails, Intrepid didst thou pass that strait Where ruin oft the crashing bark attends, And ocean’s foam descends From the Symplegades’ obstructing height. Next didst thou land on perjured Ilion’s shore, With Hercules illustrious son of Jove, Then first its bulwarks streamed with gore: Till crowned with fame a partner of his toil, Europe again thou sought’st and Phthia’s frozen soil.

THE NURSE OF HERMIONE, CHORUS.

NUR. How doth a rapid series of events The most disastrous, O my dearest friends, This day invade us! for within these doors Hermione my mistress, by her sire Forsaken, and grown conscious of the guilt She hath incurred, by that attempt to murder Andromache and her unhappy son, Resolves to die, because she dreads, lest fired With indignation at her guilt, her lord Should cast her forth with scorn, or take away Her life, because she purposed to have slain The innocent. The servants who attend Can hardly by their vigilance prevent her From fixing round her neck the deadly noose, Or snatch the dagger from her hand, so great Is her affliction, and she now confesses That she has done amiss. My strength’s exhausted In striving to withhold my royal mistress From perishing by an ignoble death. But enter ye these mansions, and attempt To save her life, for strangers can persuade Far better than old friends.

CHOR. We hear the voice Of her attendants from within confirm Th’ intelligence thou hither cam’st to bring: That hapless woman seems just on the point Of showing with what rage she by her guilt Is hurried on: for lo, she rushes forth From yon abodes, already hath she ’scaped Her servants’ hands, and is resolved to die.

HERMIONE, NURSE, CHORUS.

HER. Ah me! these ringlets how will I tear off, How rend my cheeks!

NUR. What mean’st thou, O my daughter? Wilt thou thus injure that fair frame?

HER. Away, O thou slight veil, I pluck thee from my head, And toss thy scattered fragments in the air.

NUR. Cover thy bosom with the decent robe.

HER. Why with a robe my bosom should I hide? The crimes I have committed ’gainst my lord Are clear, well known, and cannot be concealed.

NUR. Griev’st thou because thou hast formed schemes to slay Thy rival?

HER. I with many groans bewail Those hostile darings, execrable wretch, Wretch that I am, an object of just hate To all mankind.

NUR. Thy husband such offence Will pardon.

HER. From my hand why didst thou snatch The sword? Restore, restore it, O my friends, That I this bosom may transpierce. Why force me To quit yon pendant noose?

NUR. In thy distraction Shall I forsake and leave thee thus to die?

HER. Where shall I find (inform me, O ye Fates) The blazing pyre, ascend the craggy rock, Plunge in the billows, or amidst the woods On a steep mountain waste the life I loathe, That after death the gods beneath may take me To their protection?

CHOR. Why wouldst thou make efforts So violent? some mischiefs sent by Heaven Sooner or later visit all mankind.

HER. Me like a stranded bark, thou, O my sire, Hast left forsaken and without an oar. To thee I owe my ruin. I no longer In these my bridal mansions can reside. To the propitious statues of what God With suppliant haste shall I repair, or fall At a slave’s knees, myself an abject slave? I from the land of Phthia, like a bird Upborne on azure wings, would speed my flight, Or imitate that ship whose dashing oars ’Twixt the Cyanean straits first urged their way.

NUR. As little, O my daughter, can I praise That vehemence which caused thee to transgress Against the Trojan dame, as these thy fears Which are immoderate. For such slight offence Thy lord, misled by the pernicious tongue Of a barbarian woman, from his couch Will not expel thee: for thou art not his By right of conquest, borne from vanquished Troy; But thee, the daughter of a mighty king, He with abundant dower, and from a city Most flourishing, received: nor will thy sire, His child forsaking, as thou dread’st, permit thee To be cast forth: but enter these abodes, Nor show thyself without, lest some affront Thou shouldst receive if haply thou art seen Before these doors.

[_Exit_ NURSE.

CHOR. Behold a man, whose dress Is of such different fashion that it speaks The foreigner, comes swiftly from the gate.

ORESTES, HERMIONE, CHORUS.

ORE. Is this th’ abode of great Achilles’ son, The regal mansion, O ye foreign dames?

CHOR. It is as thou hast said. But who art thou That ask’st this question?

ORE. Agamemnon’s son, And Clytemnestra’s; but my name’s Orestes: I to Dodona, th’ oracle of Jove, Am on my road; but since I now have reached The land of Phthia, first would I inquire How fares Hermione, the Spartan dame, My kinswoman; doth she yet live and prosper? For though from me far distant be the land In which she now resides, she still is dear.

HER. O son of Agamemnon, who thus make Your seasonable appearance, like the haven To mariners amidst a furious storm, Take pity, I implore you by those knees, On me a wretch whose inauspicious fortunes You witness. Hence around your knees I fling These arms, which ought to prove of equal force With hallowed branches by the suppliant borne.

ORE. What’s this? am I deceived? or do my eyes Indeed behold the queen of these abodes, And Menelaus’ daughter?

HER. Th’ only child Whom to the Spartan monarch Helen bore. Mistake me not.

ORE. O Phœbus, healing power, Protect us! But what dire mischance hath happened? Or from the gods, or human foes, proceed The evils thou endur’st?

HER. Some from myself, But others from the husband whom I wedded The rest from one of the immortal gods. I utterly am ruined.

ORE. What afflictions Can any woman who’s yet childless feel But those which from her nuptial union spring?

HER. Hence these distempers of the soul arise, And well do you anticipate my words.

ORE. Enamoured with another, is thy lord False to thy bed?

HER. He loves a captive dame, The wife of Hector.

ORE. This of which thou speak’st Is a great evil, when one man possesses Two wives.

HER. ’Twas thus, till I avenged the wrong.

ORE. Didst thou with arts familiar to thy sex Plot ’gainst thy rival’s life?

HER. I would have killed Her and her spurious son.

ORE. Hast thou despatched them? Or were they screened from their impending fate?

HER. Old Peleus to these worthless objects showed Too great a reverence.

ORE. Was there any friend Ready to aid thee in the purposed slaughter?

HER. My sire, who for this cause from Sparta came.

ORE. Yet by that aged man was he subdued?

HER. Abashed he fled, and left me here alone.

ORE. I understand thee well: thy husband’s wrath Thou fear’st for what thou’st done.

HER. The fact you know: Hence justly will he take away my life. What can be said? yet by immortal Jove, Our grandsire, I conjure you, send me far From these domains, or to my father’s house. Had but these walls a voice, they would proclaim The sentence of my exile, for the land Of Phthia hates me. If my lord return From Phœbus’ oracle, for the misdeeds I have committed, he will strike me dead, Or force me to become that harlot’s slave Whom erst I ruled.

ORE. By some will it be asked Whence then into such errors didst thou fall?

HER. My ruin I derive from the admission Of these vile women, who inflamed my pride By uttering these rash words: “Wilt thou endure Beneath thy roof that odious slave who shares Thy bridal couch? by Juno, awful queen, I would not suffer such a wretch to breathe In my polluted chamber.” When I heard The language uttered by these crafty sirens, Artificers of mischief, who, to suit Their purpose, in persuasive strains displayed The power of eloquence, I was puffed up With folly: for what need had I to hold My lord in reverence while possessed of all That I could wish? abundant wealth was mine, O’er these abodes I reigned, and any children I to my husband might hereafter bare Would be legitimate; but hers, by mine In strict subjection held, a spurious race. But never, never (I this truth repeat) Should wedded men, who have the gift of reason, Let women have a free access, and visit Their consort. For they teach her evil lessons: Urged by the hopes of lucre, one corrupts Her chastity; a second hath already Transgressed herself, and wishes that her friend May be as vicious: many by their lust Are led astray: hence to their husband’s house A train of mischief rises. Guard the doors Of your abodes with locks and massive bars; Since from the intrusion of these female guests, No good, but mischiefs numberless ensue.

CHOR. Thou to thy tongue hast given too free a scope In thus aspersing the whole female race: Thy present woes indeed our pardon claim; Yet every woman is in duty bound To gloss o’er the misconduct of her sex.

ORE. Wisdom pertained to him who taught mankind To hear the reasons by both parties urged In a debate. Aware of the confusion In these abodes, and of the strife ’twixt thee And Hector’s wife, I stayed not to observe Whether thou in this house wouldst still remain, Or through a fear of yonder captive dame Abandon it: I therefore hither came, Nor waited for intelligence from thee. And if a satisfactory account Of thy proceedings thou to me canst give, I will convey thee hence. For thou, who erst Wert mine, with this thy present husband liv’st, Through the perfidious conduct of thy sire, Who ere he entered the domains of Troy Affianced thee to me, and then to him Who now possesses thee, again engaged, If he the Phrygian city should subdue. But I forgive thy father for this wrong, When hither great Achilles’ son returned, And to the bridegroom sued that he would loose Thy plighted hand; of all my various fortunes Informing him, and of my present woes; How feasible it were for me to wed Among my friends, but that for such an exile As I am, driven from my paternal throne, ’Twould not be easy to obtain a consort In any foreign land: on this he grew More arrogant, and bitterly reproached me Both with my mother’s murder, and those Furies Whose blood-stained visages inspire dismay. By the misfortunes of my house bowed down To earth, I grieved indeed, but grieving bore The weight of these calamities, and reft Of thee my bride, reluctantly departed. But since thy fortunes now have undergone A change so unexpected, and involved In woe, thou stand’st aghast; from these abodes Thee will I take and to thy sire convey. For wondrous is the force of kindred ties; And in misfortunes nought exceeds the friend Who from the self-same house derives his birth.

HER. My father will take care how to dispose Of me in marriage, nor is it my province Such question to decide. But, O convey me From these loathed mansions with the utmost speed, Lest when my husband at his first return Enters the doors, he intercept my flight; Or, hearing that I leave his grandson’s house, Peleus pursue me with his rapid steeds.

ORE. Be of good cheer against that aged man, And from thy furious lord, Achilles’ son, Who treated me with scorn, fear nought; this hand Hath with such cautious artifice prepared For him th’ inevitable snares of death, Of which no previous mention will I make: But when it is accomplished, this exploit Shall on the rock of Delphi be proclaimed. I who my mother slew, if th’ armed friends Whom I have stationed in the Pythian realm Observe their oaths, will teach him that he ought To have abstained from wedding any dame Betrothed to me. He in an evil hour Shall claim atonement for his father’s death Of Phœbus mighty king; nor shall repentance For these audacious blasphemies avail To save the miscreant on whose impious head Apollo wreaks just vengeance; by his wrath O’ertaken, and entangled in my snares, He wretchedly shall perish. For the gods Subvert the prosperous fortunes of their foes Nor suffer pride to rear her towering crest.

[_Exeunt_ ORESTES _and_ HERMIONE.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

Phœbus, thou god who with a mound Of stately towers didst Ilion’s rock surround; And thou, O Neptune, ruler of the main, Borne swiftly by thy azure steeds In a light car, who cleav’st the watery plain; After exerting with unwearied toil Such skill as human works exceeds, ’Gainst wretched Troy when Mars his javelin bore, Why, faithless to that chosen soil, Left ye your city drenched in gore?

I. 2.

The steeds ye yoked on Simois’ banks Whirled many a chariot through the broken ranks; No hero gathered in that stubborn fray One laurel to adorn his head: Phrygia’s illustrious rulers swept away, Took their last voyage to a distant shore, And mingled with the vulgar dead, While the polluted altars ceased to gleam Upwafting to the skies no more Their frankincense in odorous steam.

II. 1.

Slain by his wife Atrides fell; His furious son sent to the shades of Hell The murderess, and returned th’ unnatural deed, That fatal stroke the god approved, His oracles ordained that she should bleed, When young Orestes at the inmost shrine Was by a heavenly impulse moved, His hands in gore maternal to imbrue. O Phœbus, O thou power divine, How shall I think th’ assertion true?

II. 2.

In Greece doth many a dame complain Chaunting rude dirges for her children slain; Others their native land reluctant leave, And to a foreign lord are brought. Nor yet hast thou alone just cause to grieve, Nor to thy friends hath Heaven’s peculiar hate These signal miseries wrought: Victorious Greece still feels as deep a wound, From whence the thunderbolt of fate Through Phrygia scattered deaths around.

PELEUS, CHORUS.

PEL. Answer my questions, O ye Phthian dames, For doubtful is the rumour I have heard, That Menelaus’ daughter, when she left This house departed from the realm. I come Anxious to learn if this account be true. For ’tis their duty who remain at home To guard the fortunes of their absent friends.

CHOR. What thou hast heard, O Peleus, is the truth, And ill would it become me to conceal The woes in which I deeply am involved: Our royal mistress from these walls is fled.

PEL. What feared she? say.

CHOR. The anger of her lord, Lest he from these abodes should cast her forth.

PEL. Because she plotted to have slain the boy?

CHOR. E’en so it was. Yon captive too she dreaded.

PEL. But from these mansions did she go, attended, Or by her father or by whom?

CHOR. The son Of Agamemnon from this land conveyed her.

PEL. What are his views? to take her for his bride?

CHOR. Thy grandson too he meditates to slay.

PEL. Stationed in secret ambush, or resolved To meet the dauntless warrior face to face?

CHOR. Beneath Apollo’s unpolluted fane With Delphi’s citizens.

PEL. Atrocious crime! Ah me! will no one with his utmost speed Go to the altar of the Pythian god, And to our friends disclose what passes here, Ere by his foes Achilles’ son is slain?

MESSENGER, PELEUS, CHORUS.

MES. What evil tidings do I bring to you, O aged man, and all my master’s friends!

PEL. By a sad presage which affects my soul I of th’ impending evil am forewarned.

MES. Know then, O Peleus, that your wretched grandson Is now no more, with such unnumbered wounds He by the Delphic citizens transpierced, And by that stranger from Mycene died.

CHOR. Alas! alas! but what resource is left For thee, thou hoary veteran? do not fall; Raise thyself up.

PEL. To very nothing now Am I reduced, I utterly am ruined: The power of speech deserts me, and these limbs Forget their office.

MES. Hear me, and from earth Arise, if, with th’ assistance of your friends, You for this murder wish to be revenged.

PEL. How hast thou compassed wretched me, who stand On the last verge of spiritless old age, O cruel fate! say how the only son Of my deceased, my only son, was slain. These tidings though unwelcome would I hear.

MES. After we reached Apollo’s sacred realm, While thrice the chariot of the sun performed Its bright career, we satiated our eyes With viewing all around. The circumstance Which raised suspicion first, was this: the people Who dwell within the temple of the god Held frequent meetings, and in crowds assembled. Meanwhile the son of Agamemnon went Through the whole city, and in every ear Whispered malignant words like these: “Behold Him who is visiting the hallowed shrine Of Phœbus piled with gold, the treasures given By all mankind; the miscreant comes again On the same purpose which first drew him hither, To overthrow the temple of the god.” Through the whole city hence an evil rumour Went forth, and all the magistrates, to whom The holy treasures were consigned, assembled, In secret councils held, and placed a guard Behind the massive columns in the fane. We, unapprized of this, meantime had caught Some sheep, that fed amid Parnassus’ grove, And with our Delphic friends and Pythian seers Approached the altar: some one said: “Young man, What vows on thy behalf shall we address To Phœbus? for what purpose art thou come?” He answered: “To the god I wish to make A due atonement for my past offence, Because I erst from him with impious tongue Claimed satisfaction for my father’s blood.” Hence did Orestes’ calumnies appear To have great weight, suggesting that my lord Spoke an untruth, and that he hither came With vile designs. Beneath the holy roof, That to Apollo he might offer up His prayers in that oracular abode, He now advanced, and as they blazed, observed The victims: here a troop with falchions armed Screened by the branching laurels stood; the son Of Clytemnestra was the sole contriver Of all these stratagems. Our lord stood forth, And, in the sight of this insidious band, Adored the god: while they with their keen swords, Ere he discerned them, pierced Achilles’ son Unsheathed in mail. He instantly retreated; For he as yet had by no deadly wound Been smitten; but snatched up in his retreat Those glittering arms which near the portals hung, And stood a champion terrible to view, Close to the blazing altar: with loud voice He questioned the inhabitants of Delphi: “Me who a pious votary hither come, Why, or for what offences, would ye slay!” Although the number of his foes was great, None of them answered, but all hands hurled stones: On every side assaulted by a storm Thick as the falling snows, he warded off, Extending the broad margin of his shield, Each missile weapon: but of no avail Was this resistance: for the spear, the shaft, The dart, were thrown at once, and at his feet Mixed instruments of sacrifice lay scattered. Th’ agility with which your grandson shunned The blows they aimed, was wondrous to behold: They in a circle gathering round, closed in, Nor gave him space to breathe, till from the altar Descending with a leap like that which bore The hapless Grecian chief to Phrygia’s coast, He rushed among them: like a flock of doves Who see the hawk appear, they turned and fled: In heaps on heaps promiscuous, many fell, Some in the narrow passage wounded lay, While others o’er them trampled, and their groans Unholy echoed through the hallowed dome. But, tranquil as the waters in a calm, In golden arms my lord resplendent stood, Till from the inmost sanctuary burst forth A deep-toned voice of horror, which impelled The recreant warriors to renew the fight: Achilles’ son then smitten through the flank With a keen sword, by one of Delphi fell, Who slew him, yet ignobly, with the aid Of multitudes. But after he to earth Was fallen, what sword transpierced him not, what hand Threw not a stone to smite him? his whole frame, So graceful erst, was with unnumbered wounds Disfigured: till at length his mangled corse, Which stained the altar’s basis, from the fane Drenched with the blood of victims they cast forth. But gathering up with speed, his loved remains To you we bear, O venerable man, That o’er them you may shed the plenteous tear, And grace them with sepulchral rites. Thus Phœbus, Who prophesies to others, mighty king, And deals out justice to th’ admiring world, Hath on Achilles’ son revenged himself, And, like some worthless human foe, revived An ancient grudge: how then can he be wise?

[_Exit_ MESSENGER.

CHOR. But lo! our royal master, from the land Of Delphi borne, approaches these abodes! Wretched was he, by such untimely doom O’ertaken: nor art thou, O aged man, Less wretched than the slaughtered youth: for thou Into thy doors receiv’st Achilles’ son, But not as thou couldst wish; thou too art fallen Into affliction’s snare.

PEL. What piteous object, Ah me! do I behold, and with these hands Receive into my house! we are undone, We are undone, O thou Thessalian city; I have no children, no descendants left, To occupy these mansions. On what friend Shall I a wretched sufferer turn my eyes, And hope to find relief? O thou dear face, Ye cheeks, ye hands! thee would to Heaven that fate In those embattled fields of Troy had slain Beside the waves of Simois!

CHOR. He in death Hence would have found renown; thou too, old man, Wouldst have been happier.

PEL. Thou, O wedlock, wedlock, These mansions and my city hast o’erthrown. My grandson, through the inauspicious nuptials By thee contracted, would to heaven my gates Had ne’er received that execrable fiend Hermione, thy bane! O had she first With thunderbolts been smitten! nor hadst thou, Presumptuous mortal, charged the Delphic god With having aimed the shaft which slew thy sire!

CHOR. I will awake the sad funereal dirge, And wailing pay to my departed lord Such customary tribute as attends The shades of mighty chiefs.

PEL. Ah me! at once With misery and old age bowed down to earth, I shed th’ incessant tear.

CHOR. Thus hath the god Ordained, the god’s vindictive arm hath wrought All these calamities.

PEL. O most beloved, This house, ah me! a desert hast thou left, And me a miserable old man made childless.

CHOR. Before thy children, O thou aged man, Thou shouldst have died.

PEL. Shall I not rend my hair, And beat with desperate hands this hoary head? O city! Phœbus hath of both my sons Deprived me.

CHOR. O thou miserable old man, What evils hast thou witnessed and endured! How wilt thou pass the remnant of thy life?

PEL. Childless, forlorn, no period to my woes Can I discover, but till death must drink The bitter potion.

CHOR. Sure the gods in vain Showered blessings on thy nuptials.

PEL. Fled and withered Is all our ancient pomp.

CHOR. Alone thou mov’st Around thy lonely house.

PEL. I have no city. Thee, O my sceptre, to the ground I cast, And from yon dreary caverns of the main, Daughter of Nereus, me wilt thou behold Utterly ruined, grovelling in the dust.

CHOR. Ha! who was it that moved? what form divine Do I perceive? look there! ye nymphs, attend, With rapid passage through the fleecy clouds Borne onward, some divinity arrives At Phthia’s pastures, famed for generous steeds.

THETIS, PELEUS, CHORUS.

THE. O Peleus, mindful of the ties which bound Our plighted love, I hither from the house Of Nereus come, and with these wholesome counsels Begin; despair not, though thy present woes Are grievous: for e’en I who should have borne A race of children such as ne’er might cause My tears to stream, have lost the son who crowned Our hopes, Achilles, swift of foot, the first Of Grecian heroes. But to thee, the motives Which brought me hither, will I now relate; O listen to my voice. Back to that altar Devoted to the Pythian god, convey This body of Achilles’ slaughtered son, And bury it; so shall his tomb declare The murderous violence Orestes’ band Committed: but yon captive dame, I mean Andromache, on Helenus bestowed In marriage, in Molossia’s land must dwell, And her young son, the only royal branch Which of the stem of Æacus remains; From him in long succession shall a race Of happy kings Molossia’s sceptre wield: Nor will our progeny, O aged man, Be utterly extinct, when blended thus With Ilion, still protected by the gods, Though by Minerva’s stratagems it fell. But, as for thee, that thou mayst know the blessing Of having wedded me, who am by birth A goddess and the daughter of a god, From all the ills which wait on human life Releasing, thee immortal will I make And incorruptible; with me a goddess In Nereus’ watery mansions thou a god Hereafter shalt reside, and from the waves Emerging with dry feet, behold our son Achilles, to his parents justly dear, Inhabiting that isle whose chalky coasts Are laved by the surrounding Euxine deep. But go to Delphi’s city by the gods Erected, thither bear this weltering corse, And when thou hast interred it, to this land Return, and in that cave which through the rock Of Sepia time hath worn, thy station keep Till from the waves I with my sister choir The fifty Nereids come, to bear thee hence. Thou must endure the woe’s imposed by fate, For thus hath Jove ordained. But cease to grieve For the deceased: for by the righteous gods The same impartial sentence is awarded To the whole human race, and death’s a debt Which all must pay.

PEL. Hail, venerable dame, Daughter of Nereus, my illustrious wife: For what thou dost is worthy of thyself, And of thy progeny. I cease to grieve At thy command, O goddess, and will go, Soon as my grandson’s corse I have interred, To Pelion’s cave, where first thy beauteous form I in these arms received. The man whose choice Is by discretion guided, should select A consort nobly born, and give his daughters To those of virtuous families, nor wish To wed a damsel sprung from worthless sires, Though to his house a plenteous dower she bring: So shall he ne’er incur the wrath of Heaven.

CHOR. A thousand shapes our varying fates assume, The gods perform what we could least expect, And oft the things for which we fondly hoped Come not to pass: but Heaven still finds a clue To guide our steps through life’s perplexing maze. And thus does this important business end.