Chapter 4
Some furlongs northward where the brakes begin West of that narrowing range of warrior hills Whose brooks have bled with battle when thy son Smote Acarnania, there all they made halt, And with keen eye took note of spear and hound, Royally ranked; Laertes island-born, The young Gerenian Nestor, Panopeus, And Cepheus and Ancaeus, mightiest thewed, Arcadians; next, and evil-eyed of these, Arcadian Atalanta, with twain hounds Lengthening the leash, and under nose and brow Glittering with lipless tooth and fire-swift eye; But from her white braced shoulder the plumed shafts Rang, and the bow shone from her side; next her Meleager, like a sun in spring that strikes Branch into leaf and bloom into the world, A glory among men meaner; Iphicles, And following him that slew the biform bull Pirithous, and divine Eurytion, And, bride-bound to the gods, Aeacides. Then Telamon his brother, and Argive-born The seer and sayer of visions and of truth, Amphiaraus; and a four-fold strength, Thine, even thy mother's and thy sister's sons. And recent from the roar of foreign foam Jason, and Dryas twin-begot with war, A blossom of bright battle, sword and man Shining; and Idas, and the keenest eye Of Lynceus, and Admetus twice-espoused, And Hippasus and Hyleus, great in heart. These having halted bade blow horns, and rode Through woods and waste lands cleft by stormy streams, Past yew-trees and the heavy hair of pines, And where the dew is thickest under oaks, This way and that; but questing up and down They saw no trail nor scented; and one said, Plexippus, Help, or help not, Artemis, And we will flay thy boarskin with male hands; But saying, he ceased and said not that he would, Seeing where the green ooze of a sun-struck marsh Shook with a thousand reeds untunable, And in their moist and multitudinous flower Slept no soft sleep, with violent visions fed, The blind bulk of the immeasurable beast. And seeing, he shuddered with sharp lust of praise Through all his limbs, and launched a double dart, And missed; for much desire divided him, Too hot of spirit and feebler than his will, That his hand failed, though fervent; and the shaft, Sundering the rushes, in a tamarisk stem Shook, and stuck fast; then all abode save one, The Arcadian Atalanta; from her side Sprang her hounds, labouring at the leash, and slipped, And plashed ear-deep with plunging feet; but she Saying, Speed it as I send it for thy sake, Goddess, drew bow and loosed, the sudden string Rang, and sprang inward, and the waterish air Hissed, and the moist plumes of the songless reeds Moved as a wave which the wind moves no more. But the boar heaved half out of ooze and slime His tense flank trembling round the barbed wound, Hateful, and fiery with invasive eyes And bristling with intolerable hair Plunged, and the hounds clung, and green flowers and white Reddened and broke all round them where they came. And charging with sheer tusk he drove, and smote Hyleus; and sharp death caught his sudden soul, And violent sleep shed night upon his eyes. Then Peleus, with strong strain of hand and heart, Shot; but the sidelong arrow slid, and slew His comrade born and loving countryman, Under the left arm smitten, as he no less Poised a like arrow; and bright blood brake afoam, And falling, and weighed back by clamorous arms, Sharp rang the dead limbs of Eurytion. Then one shot happier; the Cadmean seer, Amphiaraus; for his sacred shaft Pierced the red circlet of one ravening eye Beneath the brute brows of the sanguine boar, Now bloodier from one slain; but he so galled Sprang straight, and rearing cried no lesser cry Than thunder and the roar of wintering streams That mix their own foam with the yellower sea; And as a tower that falls by fire in fight With ruin of walls and all its archery, And breaks the iron flower of war beneath, Crushing charred limbs and molten arms of men; So through crushed branches and the reddening brake Clamoured and crashed the fervour of his feet, And trampled, springing sideways from the tusk, Too tardy a moving mould of heavy strength, Ancaeus; and as flakes of weak-winged snow Break, all the hard thews of his heaving limbs Broke, and rent flesh fell every way, and blood Flew, and fierce fragments of no more a man. Then all the heroes drew sharp breath, and gazed, And smote not; but Meleager, but thy son, Right in the wild way of the coming curse Rock-rooted, fair with fierce and fastened lips, Clear eyes, and springing muscle and shortening limb-- With chin aslant indrawn to a tightening throat, Grave, and with gathered sinews, like a god,-- Aimed on the left side his well-handled spear Grasped where the ash was knottiest hewn, and smote, And with no missile wound, the monstrous boar Right in the hairiest hollow of his hide Under the last rib, sheer through bulk and bone, Peep in; and deeply smitten, and to death, The heavy horror with his hanging shafts Leapt, and fell furiously, and from raging lips Foamed out the latest wrath of all his life. And all they praised the gods with mightier heart, Zeus and all gods, but chiefliest Artemis, Seeing; but Meleager bade whet knives and flay, Strip and stretch out the splendour of the spoil; And hot and horrid from the work all these Sat, and drew breath and drank and made great cheer And washed the hard sweat off their calmer brows. For much sweet grass grew higher than grew the reed, And good for slumber, and every holier herb, Narcissus, and the low-lying melilote, And all of goodliest blade and bloom that springs Where, hid by heavier hyacinth, violet buds Blossom and burn; and fire of yellower flowers And light of crescent lilies, and such leaves As fear the Faun's and know the Dryad's foot; Olive and ivy and poplar dedicate, And many a well-spring overwatched of these. There now they rest; but me the king bade bear Good tidings to rejoice this town and thee. Wherefore be glad, and all ye give much thanks, For fallen is all the trouble of Calydon.
ALTHAEA.
Laud ye the gods; for this they have given is good, And what shall be they hide until their time. Much good and somewhat grievous hast thou said, And either well; but let all sad things be, Till all have made before the prosperous gods Burnt-offering, and poured out the floral wine. Look fair, O gods, and favourable; for we Praise you with no false heart or flattering mouth, Being merciful, but with pure souls and prayer.
HERALD.
Thou hast prayed well; for whoso fears not these, But once being prosperous waxes huge of heart, Him shall some new thing unaware destroy.
CHORUS.
O that I now, I too were By deep wells and water-floods, Streams of ancient hills; and where All the wan green places bear Blossoms cleaving to the sod, Fruitless fruit, and grasses fair, Or such darkest ivy-buds As divide thy yellow hair, Bacchus, and their leaves that nod Round thy fawnskin brush the bare Snow-soft shoulders of a god; There the year is sweet, and there Earth is full of secret springs, And the fervent rose-cheeked hours, Those that marry dawn and noon, There are sunless, there look pale In dim leaves and hidden air, Pale as grass or latter flowers Or the wild vine's wan wet rings Full of dew beneath the moon, And all day the nightingale Sleeps, and all night sings; There in cold remote recesses That nor alien eyes assail, Feet, nor imminence of wings, Nor a wind nor any tune, Thou, O queen and holiest, Flower the whitest of all things, With reluctant lengthening tresses And with sudden splendid breast Save of maidens unbeholden, There art wont to enter, there Thy divine swift limbs and golden. Maiden growth of unbound hair, Bathed in waters white, Shine, and many a maid's by thee In moist woodland or the hilly Flowerless brakes where wells abound Out of all men's sight; Or in lower pools that see All their marges clothed all round With the innumerable lily, Whence the golden-girdled bee Flits through flowering rush to fret White or duskier violet, Fair as those that in far years With their buds left luminous And their little leaves made wet From the warmer dew of tears, Mother's tears in extreme need, Hid the limbs of Iamus, Of thy brother's seed; For his heart was piteous Toward him, even as thine heart now Pitiful toward us; Thine, O goddess, turning hither A benignant blameless brow; Seeing enough of evil done And lives withered as leaves wither In the blasting of the sun; Seeing enough of hunters dead, Ruin enough of all our year, Herds and harvests slain and shed, Herdsmen stricken many an one, Fruits and flocks consumed together, And great length of deadly days. Yet with reverent lips and fear Turn we toward thee, turn and praise For this lightening of clear weather And prosperities begun. For not seldom, when all air As bright water without breath Shines, and when men fear not, fate Without thunder unaware Breaks, and brings down death. Joy with grief ye great gods give, Good with bad, and overbear All the pride of us that live, All the high estate, As ye long since overbore, As in old time long before, Many a strong man and a great, All that were. But do thou, sweet, otherwise, Having heed of all our prayer, Taking note of all our sighs; We beseech thee by thy light, By thy bow, and thy sweet eyes, And the kingdom of the night, Be thou favourable and fair; By thine arrows and thy might And Orion overthrown; By the maiden thy delight, By the indissoluble zone And the sacred hair.
MESSENGER.
Maidens, if ye will sing now, shift your song, Bow down, cry, wail for pity; is this a time For singing? nay, for strewing of dust and ash, Rent raiment, and for bruising of the breast.
CHORUS.
What new thing wolf-like lurks behind thy words? What snake's tongue in thy lips? what fire in the eyes?
MESSENGER.
Bring me before the queen and I will speak.
CHORUS.
Lo, she comes forth as from thank-offering made.
MESSENGER.
A barren offering for a bitter gift.
ALTHAEA.
What are these borne on branches, and the face Covered? no mean men living, but now slain Such honour have they, if any dwell with death.
MESSENGER.
Queen, thy twain brethren and thy mother's sons.
ALTHAEA.
Lay down your dead till I behold their blood If it be mine indeed, and I will weep.
MESSENGER,
Weep if thou wilt, for these men shall no more.
ALTHAEA.
O brethren, O my father's sons, of me Well loved and well reputed, I should weep Tears dearer than the dear blood drawn from you But that I know you not uncomforted, Sleeping no shameful sleep, however slain, For my son surely hath avenged you dead.
MESSENGER.
Nay, should thine own seed slay himself, O queen?
ALTHAEA.
Thy double word brings forth a double death.
MESSENGER.
Know this then singly, by one hand they fell.
ALTHAEA.
What mutterest thou with thine ambiguous mouth?
MESSENGER.
Slain by thy son's hand; is that saying so hard?
ALTHAEA.
Our time is come upon us: it is here.
CHORUS.
O miserable, and spoiled at thine own hand.
ALTHAEA.
Wert thou not called Meleager from this womb?
CHORUS.
A grievous huntsman hath it bred to thee.
ALTHAEA.
Wert thou born fire, and shalt thou not devour?
CHORUS.
The fire thou madest, will it consume even thee?
ALTHAEA.
My dreams are fallen upon me; burn thou too.
CHORUS.
Not without God are visions born and die.
ALTHAEA.
The gods are many about me; I am one.
CHORUS
She groans as men wrestling with heavier gods.
ALTHAEA.
They rend me, they divide me, they destroy.
CHORUS.
Or one labouring in travail of strange births.
ALTHAEA.
They are strong, they are strong; I am broken, and these prevail.
CHORUS.
The god is great against her; she will die.
ALTHAEA.
Yea, but not now; for my heart too is great. I would I were not here in sight of the sun. But thou, speak all thou sawest, and I will die. I would I were not here in sight of the sun.
MESSENGER.
O queen, for queenlike hast thou borne thyself, A little word may hold so great mischance. For in division of the sanguine spoil These men thy brethren wrangling bade yield up The boar's head and the horror of the hide That this might stand a wonder in Calydon, Hallowed; and some drew toward them; but thy son With great hands grasping all that weight of hair Cast down the dead heap clanging and collapsed At female feet, saying This thy spoil not mine, Maiden, thine own hand for thyself hath reaped, And all this praise God gives thee: she thereat Laughed, as when dawn touches the sacred night The sky sees laugh and redden and divide Dim lips and eyelids virgin of the sun, Hers, and the warm slow breasts of morning heave, Fruitful, and flushed with flame from lamp-lit hours, And maiden undulation of clear hair Colour the clouds; so laughed she from pure heart Lit with a low blush to the braided hair, And rose-coloured and cold like very dawn, Golden and godlike, chastely with chaste lips, A faint grave laugh; and all they held their peace, And she passed by them. Then one cried Lo now, Shall not the Arcadian shoot out lips at us, Saying all we were despoiled by this one girl? And all they rode against her violently And cast the fresh crown from her hair, and now They had rent her spoil away, dishonouring her, Save that Meleager, as a tame lion chafed, Bore on them, broke them, and as fire cleaves wood So clove and drove them, smitten in twain; but she Smote not nor heaved up hand; and this man first, Plexippus, crying out This for love's sake, sweet, Drove at Meleager, who with spear straightening Pierced his cheek through; then Toxeus made for him, Dumb, but his spear spake; vain and violent words, Fruitless; for him too stricken through both sides The earth felt falling, and his horse's foam Blanched thy son's face, his slayer; and these being slain, None moved nor spake; but Oeneus bade bear hence These made of heaven infatuate in their deaths, Foolish; for these would baffle fate, and fell. And they passed on, and all men honoured her, Being honourable, as one revered of heaven.
ALTHAEA.
What say you, women? is all this not well done?
CHORUS.
No man doth well but God hath part in him.
ALTHAEA.
But no part here; for these my brethren born Ye have no part in, these ye know not of As I that was their sister, a sacrifice Slain in their slaying. I would I had died for these, For this man dead walked with me, child by child, And made a weak staff for my feebler feet With his own tender wrist and hand, and held And led me softly and shewed me gold and steel And shining shapes of mirror and bright crown And all things fair; and threw light spears, and brought Young hounds to huddle at my feet and thrust Tame heads against my little maiden breasts And please me with great eyes; and those days went And these are bitter and I a barren queen And sister miserable, a grievous thing And mother of many curses; and she too, My sister Leda, sitting overseas With fair fruits round her, and her faultless lord, Shall curse me, saying A sorrow and not a son, Sister, thou barest, even a burning fire, A brand consuming thine own soul and me. But ye now, sons of Thestius, make good cheer, For ye shall have such wood to funeral fire As no king hath; and flame that once burnt down Oil shall not quicken or breath relume or wine Refresh again; much costlier than fine gold, And more than many lives of wandering men.
CHORUS.
O queen, thou hast yet with thee love-worthy things, Thine husband, and the great strength of thy son.
ALTHAEA.
Who shall get brothers for me while I live? Who bear them? who bring forth in lieu of these? Are not our fathers and our brethren one, And no man like them? are not mine here slain? Have we not hung together, he and I, Flowerwise feeding as the feeding bees, With mother-milk for honey? and this man too, Dead, with my son's spear thrust between his sides, Hath he not seen us, later born than he, Laugh with lips filled, and laughed again for love? There were no sons then in the world, nor spears, Nor deadly births of women; but the gods Allowed us, and our days were clear of these. I would I had died unwedded, and brought forth No swords to vex the world; for these that spake Sweet words long since and loved me will not speak Nor love nor look upon me; and all my life I shall not hear nor see them living men. But I too living, how shall I now live? What life shall this be with my son, to know What hath been and desire what will not be, Look for dead eyes and listen for dead lips, And kill mine own heart with remembering them, And with those eyes that see their slayer alive Weep, and wring hands that clasp him by the hand? How shall I bear my dreams of them, to hear False voices, feel the kisses of false mouths And footless sound of perished feet, and then Wake and hear only it may be their own hounds Whine masterless in miserable sleep, And see their boar-spears and their beds and seats And all the gear and housings of their lives And not the men? shall hounds and horses mourn, Pine with strange eyes, and prick up hungry ears, Famish and fail at heart for their dear lords, And I not heed at all? and those blind things Fall off from life for love's sake, and I live? Surely some death is better than some life, Better one death for him and these and me For if the gods had slain them it may be I had endured it; if they had fallen by war Or by the nets and knives of privy death And by hired hands while sleeping, this thing too I had set my soul to suffer; or this hunt, Had this dispatched them, under tusk or tooth Torn, sanguine, trodden, broken; for all deaths Or honourable or with facile feet avenged And hands of swift gods following, all save this, Are bearable; but not for their sweet land Fighting, but not a sacrifice, lo these Dead, for I had not then shed all mine heart Out at mine eyes: then either with good speed, Being just, I had slain their slayer atoningly, Or strewn with flowers their fire and on their tombs Hung crowns, and over them a song, and seen Their praise outflame their ashes: for all men, All maidens, had come thither, and from pure lips Shed songs upon them, from heroic eyes Tears; and their death had been a deathless life; But now, by no man hired nor alien sword, By their own kindred are they fallen, in peace, After much peril, friendless among friends, By hateful hands they loved; and how shall mine Touch these returning red and not from war, These fatal from the vintage of men's veins, Dead men my brethren? how shall these wash off No festal stains of undelightful wine, How mix the blood, my blood on them, with me, Holding mine hand? or how shall I say, son, That am no sister? but by night and day Shall we not sit and hate each other, and think Things hate-worthy? not live with shamefast eyes, Brow-beaten, treading soft with fearful feet, Each unupbraided, each without rebuke Convicted, and without a word reviled Each of another? and I shall let thee live And see thee strong and hear men for thy sake Praise me, but these thou wouldest not let live No man shall praise for ever? these shall lie Dead, unbeloved, unholpen, all through thee? Sweet were they toward me living, and mine heart Desired them, but was then well satisfied, That now is as men hungered; and these dead I shall want always to the day I die. For all things else and all men may renew; Yea, son for son the gods may give and take, But never a brother or sister any more.
CHORUS.
Nay, for the son lies close about thine heart, Full of thy milk, warm from thy womb, and drains Life and the blood of life and all thy fruit, Eats thee and drinks thee as who breaks bread and eats, Treads wine and drinks, thyself, a sect of thee; And if he feed not, shall not thy flesh faint? Or drink not, are not thy lips dead for thirst? This thing moves more than all things, even thy son, That thou cleave to him; and he shall honour thee, Thy womb that bare him and the breasts he knew, Reverencing most for thy sake all his gods.
ALTHAEA.
But these the gods too gave me, and these my son, Not reverencing his gods nor mine own heart Nor the old sweet years nor all venerable things, But cruel, and in his ravin like a beast, Hath taken away to slay them: yea, and she, She the strange woman, she the flower, the sword, Red from spilt blood, a mortal flower to men, Adorable, detestable--even she Saw with strange eyes and with strange lips rejoiced, Seeing these mine own slain of mine own, and me Made miserable above all miseries made, A grief among all women in the world, A name to be washed out with all men's tears.
CHORUS.
Strengthen thy spirit; is this not also a god, Chance, and the wheel of all necessities? Hard things have fallen upon us from harsh gods, Whom lest worse hap rebuke we not for these.
ALTHAEA.
My spirit is strong against itself, and I For these things' sake cry out on mine own soul That it endures outrage, and dolorous days, And life, and this inexpiable impotence. Weak am I, weak and shameful; my breath drawn Shames me, and monstrous things and violent gods. What shall atone? what heal me? what bring back Strength to the foot, light to the face? what herb Assuage me? what restore me? what release? What strange thing eaten or drunken, O great gods. Make me as you or as the beasts that feed, Slay and divide and cherish their own hearts? For these ye show us; and we less than these Have not wherewith to live as all these things Which all their lives fare after their own kind As who doth well rejoicing; but we ill, Weeping or laughing, we whom eyesight fails, Knowledge and light efface and perfect heart, And hands we lack, and wit; and all our days Sin, and have hunger, and die infatuated. For madness have ye given us and not health, And sins whereof we know not; and for these Death, and sudden destruction unaware. What shall we say now? what thing comes of us?
CHORUS.
Alas, for all this all men undergo.
ALTHAEA.