Part 22

Soon as the mother’s toils were o’er, When she had finished her career, And sought the ravished maid no more, To caves where drifted snows appear, By Ida’s nymphs frequented, did she pass, And threw herself in sorrow lost, On rocks and herbage crusted o’er with frost, Despoiled the wasted champaign of its grass, Rendered the peasant’s tillage vain, Consuming a dispeopled land With meagre famine; Spring at her command Denied the flocks that sickened on the plain The leafy tendrils of the vine; Whole cities died, no victims bled, No frankincense perfumed Heaven’s vacant shrine; Nor burst the current from the Spring’s obstructed head.

II. 1.

Then ceased the banquet, wont to charm Both gods above and men below: The mother’s anger to disarm, And mitigate the stings of woe, Till in these words Jove uttered his behests: “Let each benignant grace attend Sweet music’s sympathizing aid to lend, And drive corrosive grief from Ceres’ breast Indignant for her ravished child: Now, O ye Muses, with the lyre Join the shrill hymns of your assembled choir, The brazen trumpet fill with accents wild, And beat the rattling drums amain.” Then first of the immortal band, Venus with lovely smile approved the strain, And raised the deep-toned flute in her enchanting hand.

II. 2.

The laws reproved such foul desire, Yet ’gainst religion didst thou wed; Thy uncle caught love’s baleful fire, And rushed to thy incestuous bed. Thee shall the mighty mother’s wrath confound, Because, through thee, before her shrine No victims slain appease the powers divine. Great virtue have hinds’ hides, and ivy wound Upon a consecrated rod; And youths, with virgins in a ring, When high from earth with matchless force they spring, Loose streams their hair, they celebrate that god The Bacchanalian votaries own, And waste in dance the sleepless night. But thou, confiding in thy charms alone, Forgett’st the moon that shines with more transcendent light.

HELEN, CHORUS.

HEL. Within the palace, O my friends, we prosper For Proteus’ royal daughter, in our schemes Conspiring when her brother questioned her About my lord, no information gave Of his arrival: to my interests true She said, that cold in death he views no longer The radiant sun. But now my lord hath seized A vengeful falchion, in that mail designed To have been plunged beneath the deep arrayed, With nervous arm he lifts an orbed shield, In his right hand protended gleams the spear, As if with me he was prepared to pay To the deceased due homage. Furnished thus With brazen arms, he’s ready for the battle, And numberless barbarians will subdue Unaided, soon as we the ship ascend. Exchanging those unseemly weeds which clothe The shipwrecked mariner, in splendid robes Have I arrayed him, from transparent springs The laver filled, and bathed his wearied limbs But I must now be silent, for the man Who fancies I am ready to become His consort, leaves the palace. O my friends, In your attachment too I place my trust, Restrain your tongues, for we, when saved ourselves, If possible will save you from this thraldom.

THEOCLYMENUS, HELEN, MENELAUS, CHORUS.

THEOC. Go forth, in such procession as the stranger Directs you, O my servants, and convey These gifts funereal to the briny deep. But if thou disapprove not what I say, Do thou, O Helen, yield to my persuasions, And here remain. For whether thou attend, Or art not present at the obsequies Of thy departed husband, thou to him Wilt show an equal reverence. Much I dread Lest hurried on by wild desire thou plunge Into the foaming billows, for the sake Of him on whom thou doat’st, thy former lord, Since thou his doom immoderately bewail’st Though he be lost, and never can return.

HEL. O my illustrious husband, I am bound To pay due honours to the man whom first I wedded, of our ancient nuptial joys A memory still retaining, for so well I loved my lord that I could even die With him. But what advantage would result To the deceased, should I lay down my life? Yet let me go myself, and to his shade Perform each solemn rite. But may the gods, On you, and on the stranger who assists me In this my pious task, with liberal hand Confer the gifts I wish. But you in me Shall such a consort to your palace bear As you deserve, to recompense your kindness To me and Menelaus. Such events In some degree are measured by the will Of Fortune: but give orders for a ship To be prepared, these trappings to convey, So shall your purposed bounty be complete.

THEOC. [_to one of his Attendants._] Go thou, and furnish them a Tyrian bark Of fifty oars, with skilful sailors manned.

HEL. But may not he who decorates the tomb Govern the ship?

THEOC. My sailors must to him Yield an implicit deference.

HEL. This injunction Repeat, that they may clearly understand it.

THEOC. A second time, will I, and yet a third, Issue this self-same mandate, if to thee This can give pleasure.

HEL. May the gods confer Blessings on you, and prosper my designs!

THEO. Waste not thy bloom with unavailing tears.

HEL. To you this day my gratitude will prove.

THEOC. All these attentions to the dead are nought But unavailing toil.

HEL. My pious care Not to those only whom the silent grave Contains, but to the living too extends.

THEOC. In me thou mayst expect to find a husband Who yields not to the Spartan Menelaus.

HEL. I censure not your conduct, but bewail My own harsh destiny.

THEOC. Bestow thy love On me, and prosperous fortunes shall return.

HEL. It is a lesson I have practised long, To love my friends.

THEOC. Shall I my navy launch, To join in these funereal rites?

HEL. Dread lord, Pay not unseemly homage to your vassals.

THEOC. Well! I each sacred usage will allow Practised by Pelops’ race, for my abodes Are undefiled with blood: thy Menelaus In Ægypt died not. But let some one haste And bid the nobles bear into my house The bridal gifts: for the whole earth is bound To celebrate in one consenting hymn My blest espousals with the lovely Helen. But go, embark upon the briny main, O stranger, and as soon as ye have paid All decent homage to her former lord Bring back my consort hither: that with me When you have feasted at our nuptial rite You to your native mansion may return, Or here continue in a happy state.

[_Exit_ THEOCLYMENUS.

MEN. O Jove, thou mighty father, who art called A god supreme in wisdom, from thy heaven Look down, and save us from our woes: delay not To aid us: for we drag the galling yoke Of sorrow and mischance: if with thy finger Thou do but touch us, we shall soon attain The fortune which we wish for, since the toils We have endured already are sufficient. Ye gods, I now invoke you, from my mouth So shall ye hear full many joyful accents Mixed with these bitter plaints: for I deserve not To be for ever wretched; but to tread At length secure. O grant me this one favour, And make my future life completely blest.

[_Exeunt_ MENELAUS _and_ HELEN.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

Swift bark of Sidon, by whose dashing oars Divided oft, the frothy billows rise, Propitious be thy voyage from these shores: In thy train the dolphins play, O’er the deep thou lead’st the way, While motionless its placid surface lies. Soon as Serenity the fair, That azure daughter of the main, Shall in this animating strain Have spoken: “To the gentle breeze of air Expand each undulating sail, Row briskly on before the gale, Ye mariners, in Perseus’ ancient seat Till Helen rest her wearied feet.”

I. 2.

Those sacred nymphs shall welcome thy return Who guard the portals of Minerva’s fane Or speed the current from its murmuring urn: Choral dances of delight That prolong the jocund night, At Hyacinthus’ banquet shalt thou join, Fair stripling, whom with luckless hand Unwitting did Apollo slay At games that crowned the festive day, Hurling his quoit on the Laconian strand; To him Jove’s son due honours paid: At Sparta too, that lovely maid Shalt thou behold, whom there thou left’st behind, Still to celibacy consigned.

II. 1.

O might we cleave the air, like Libyan cranes, Who fly in ranks th’ impending wintry storm; When their shrill leader bids them quit the plains, They the veteran’s voice obey, O’er rich harvests wing their way, Or where parched wastes th’ unfruitful scene deform. With lengthened neck, ye feathered race Who skim the clouds in social band, Where the seven Pleiades expand Their radiance, and Orion heaves his mace, This joyous embassy convey As near Eurotas’ banks ye stray; That Menelaus to his subject land Victorious comes from Phrygia’s strand.

II. 2.

Borne in your chariot down th’ ethereal height, At length, ye sons of Tyndarus, appear, While vibrates o’er your heads the starry light: Habitants of heaven above, Now exert fraternal love, If ever Helen to your souls was dear, A calm o’er th’ azure ocean spread, Bridle the tempests of the main, Propitious gales from Jove obtain, Your sister snatch from the barbarian’s bed: Commenced on Ida’s hill, that strife, Embittered with reproach her life, Although she never viewed proud Ilion’s tower Reared by Apollo’s matchless power.

THEOCLYMENUS, MESSENGER, CHORUS.

MES. O king, I have discovered in the palace, Events most inauspicious: what fresh woes Is it my doleful office to relate!

THEOC. Say what hath happened?

MES. Seek another wife, For Helen hath departed from this realm.

THEOC. Borne through the air on wings, or with swift foot Treading the ground?

MES. Her o’er the briny main From Ægypt’s shores, hath Menelaus wafted, Who came in person with a feigned account Of his own death.

THEOC. O dreadful tale! what ship From these domains conveys her? thou relat’st Tidings the most incredible.

MES. The same You to that stranger gave, and in one word To tell you all, he carries off your sailors.

THEOC. How is that possible? I wish to know: For such an apprehension never entered My soul, as that one man could have subdued The numerous band of mariners, with whom Thou wert sent forth.

MES. When from the royal mansion Jove’s daughter to the shore was borne, she trod With delicate and artful step, pretending To wail her husband’s loss, though he was present, And yet alive. But when we reached the haven, Sidonia’s largest vessel we hauled forth, Furnished with benches, and with fifty oars; But a fresh series of incessant toil Followed this toil; for while one fixed the mast, Another ranged the oars, and with his hand The signal gave, the sails were bound together, Then was the rudder fastened to the stern With thongs, cast forth: while they observed us busied In such laborious task, the Grecian comrades Of Menelaus to the shore advanced, Clad in their shipwrecked vestments. Though their form Was graceful, yet their visages were squalid: But Atreus’ son, beholding their approach, Under the semblance of a grief that masked His treacherous purpose, in these words addressed them: “How, O ye wretched sailors, from what bark Of Greece that hath been wrecked upon this coast Are ye come hither? will ye join with us In the funereal rites of Menelaus, Whom Tyndarus’s daughter, to an empty tomb Consigns, though absent?” Simulated tears They shed, and went aboard the ship, conveying The presents to be cast into the sea For Menelaus. But to us these things Appeared suspicious, and we made remarks Among ourselves upon the numerous band Of our intruding passengers; but checked Our tongues from speaking openly, through deference To your commands. For when you to that stranger Trusted the guidance of the ship, you caused This dire confusion. All beside, with ease Had we now lodged aboard, but could not force The sturdy bull t’ advance; he bellowing rolled His eyes around, bending his back and low’ring Betwixt his horns, nor dared we to approach And handle him. But Helen’s husband cried: “O ye who laid Troy waste, will ye forget To act like Greeks? why scruple ye to seize And on your youthful shoulders heave the beast Up to the rising prow, a welcome victim To the deceased?” His falchion, as he spoke, The warrior drew. His summons they obeyed, Seized the stout bull, and carried him aboard: But Menelaus stroked the horse’s neck And face, and with this gentle usage led him Into the bark. At length when all its freight The vessel had received, with graceful foot Helen, the steps ascending, took her seat On the mid deck; and Menelaus near her, E’en he who they pretended was no more. But some on the right side, and on the left Others in equal numbers, man to man Opposed, their station took, their swords concealing Beneath their garments. We distinctly heard The clamorous sailors animate each other To undertake the voyage. But from land When a convenient distance we had steered, The pilot asked this question: “Shall we sail, O stranger, any farther from the coast, Or is this right? for ’tis my task to guide The vessel.” He replied: “Enough for me.” Then seized with his right hand the falchion, leaped Upon the prow, and standing o’er the bull The victim (without mentioning the name Of any chief deceased; but as he drove The weapon through his neck) thus prayed: “O Neptune, Who in the ocean dwell’st, and ye chaste daughters Of Nereus, to the Nauplian shore convey Me and my consort, from this hostile land, In safety.” But a crimson tide of blood, Auspicious to the stranger, stained the waves; And some exclaimed: “There’s treachery in this voyage, Let us sail homewards, issue thy commands, And turn the rudder.” But the son of Atreus, Who had just slain the bull, to his companions Called loudly: “Why delay, O ye the flower Of Greece, to smite, to slaughter those barbarians, And cast them from the ship into the waves?” But to your sailors our commander spoke A different language: “Will not some of you Tear up a plank, or with a shattered bench, Or ponderous oar, upon the bleeding heads Of those audacious foreigners our foes, Impress the ghastly wound?” But on their feet All now stood up; our hands with nautic poles Were armed, and theirs with swords: a tide of slaughter Ran down the ship. But Helen from the poop The Greeks encouraged; “Where is the renown Ye gained at Troy? display ’gainst these barbarians The same undaunted prowess.” In their haste Full many fell, some rose again, the rest Might you have seen stretched motionless in death. But Menelaus, sheathed in glittering mail, Wherever his confederates he descried Hard pressed, rushed thither with his lifted sword, Driving us headlong from the lofty deck Into the waves, and forced your mariners To quit their oars. But the victorious king Now seized the rudder, and to Greece declared He would convey the ship: they hoisted up The stately mast: propitious breezes came; They left the land: but I from death escaping, Let myself gently down into the waves Borne on the cordage which sustains the anchor; My strength began to fail, when some kind hand Threw forth a rope, and brought me safe ashore, That I to you these tidings might convey. There’s nought more beneficial to mankind Than wise distrust.

CHOR. I never could have thought That Menelaus who was here, O king, Could have imposed so grossly or on you Or upon us.

THEOC. Wretch that I am, ensnared By woman’s treacherous arts! the lovely bride I hoped for, hath escaped me. If the ship Could be o’ertaken by our swift pursuit, My wrongs would urge me with vindictive hand To seize the strangers. But I now will punish That sister who betrayed me; in my house Who when she saw the Spartan Menelaus, Informed me not: she never shall deceive Another man by her prophetic voice.

CHOR. Ho! whither, O my sovereign, would you go, And for what bloody purpose?

THEOC. Where the voice Of rigid justice summons me. Retire, And stand aloof.

CHOR. Yet will not I let loose Your garment; for you hasten to commit A deed most mischievous.

THEOC. Wouldst thou, a slave, Govern thy lord?

CHOR. Here reason’s on my side.

THEOC. That shall not I allow, if thou refuse To quit thy hold.

CHOR. I will not then release you.

THEOC. To slay that worst of sisters.

CHOR. That most pious.

THEOC. Her who betrayed me.

CHOR. Glorious was the fraud That caused so just a deed.

THEOC. When she bestowed My consort on another.

CHOR. On the man Who had a better claim——

THEOC. But who is lord Of what belongs to me?

CHOR. Who from her sire Received her.

THEOC. She by Fortune was bestowed On me.

CHOR. But ta’en away again by Fate.

THEOC. Thou hast no right to judge of my affairs.

CHOR. If I but speak to give you better counsels.

THEOC. I am thy subject then, and not thy king.

CHOR. For having acted piously, your sister I vindicate.

THEOC. Thou seem’st to wish for death.

CHOR. Kill me. Your sister you with my consent Shall never slay; I rather would yield up My life on her behalf. It is most glorious To generous servants for their lords to die.

CASTOR _and_ POLLUX, THEOCLYMENUS, CHORUS.

CAS. _and_ POL. Restrain that ire that hurries thee away Beyond the bounds of reason, O thou king Of Ægypt’s realm; and listen to the voice Of us twin sons of Jove, whom Leda bore Together with that Helen who is fled From thy abodes. Thou rashly hast indulged Thine anger, for the loss of her whom Fate Ne’er destined to thy bed. Nor hath thy sister Theonoe, from th’ immortal Nereid sprung, To thee done any injury; she reveres The gods, and her great father’s just behests. For till the present hour, was it ordained That Helen in thy palace should reside: But when Troy’s walls were from their bases torn, And she had to the rival goddesses Furnished her name, no longer was it fit That she should for thy nuptials be detained, But to her ancient home return, and dwell With her first husband. In thy sister’s breast Forbear to plunge the sword, and be convinced That she in this affair hath acted wisely. We long ere this our sister had preserved, Since Jove hath made us gods, but were too weak At once to combat the behests of Fate, And the immortal powers, who had ordained That these events should happen. This to thee, O Theoclymenus, I speak. These words Next to my lovely sister, I address; Sail with your husband, for a prosperous breeze Your voyage shall attend. We your protectors And your twin brothers, on our coursers borne Over the waves, will guide you to your country, But after you have finished life’s career, You shall be called a goddess, shall partake With us the rich oblations, and receive The gifts of men: for thus hath Jove decreed. But where the son of Maia placed you first, When he had borne you from the Spartan realm, And formed by stealth from the aërial mansions An image of your person, to prevent Paris from wedding you, there is an isle Near the Athenian realm, which men shall call Helen in future times, because that spot Received you, when in secrecy conveyed From Sparta. The Heavens also have ordained The wanderer Menelaus shall reside Among the happy islands. For the gods To those of nobler minds no hatred bear; At their command though grievous toil await The countless multitude.

THEOC. Ye sons of Jove And Leda, I the contest will decline Which I at first so violently urged, Hoping your lovely sister to obtain, And my own sister’s life resolve to spare: Let Helen to her native shores return, If ’tis the will of Heaven: but be assured, The same high blood ye spring from with the best And chastest sister: hail then, for the sake Of Helen with a lofty soul endued, Such as in female bosoms seldom dwells.

CHOR. A thousand shapes our varying fates assume The gods perform what least we could 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 doth this important business end.

ANDROMACHE.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

ANDROMACHE. ATTENDANT. CHORUS OF PHTHIAN WOMEN. HERMIONE. MENELAUS. MOLOSSUS. PELEUS. NURSE OF HERMIONE. ORESTES. MESSENGER. THETIS.

SCENE.—THE VESTIBULE OF THETIS’ TEMPLE BETWEEN PHTHIA AND PHARSALIA IN THESSALY.

ANDROMACHE.