Part 4

POLYM. Rouse, O ye Thracians, armed with ponderous spears, Arrayed in mail, for generous steeds renowned, A hardy race, whom Mars himself inspires. To you, O Grecian troops, and both the sons Of Atreus, I with clamorous voice appeal: Come hither, I implore you by the gods. Do any of you hear me? Is there none Who will assist? Why loiter ye? Those women, Those captives have destroyed me. Horrid wrongs Have I endured; ah me, the foul reproach! But whither shall I turn, or whither go? Through the aërial regions shall I wing My swift career to that sublime abode Where Sirius or Orion from his eyes Darts radiant flames? or, to perdition doomed, Shall I descend to Pluto’s sable flood?

CHOR. He merits pardon, whosoe’er assailed By ills too grievous to be borne, shakes off The loathed encumbrance of a wretched life.

AGAMEMNON, POLYMESTOR, HECUBA, CHORUS.

AGA. Hearing thy shrieks I came. For Echo, child Of craggy mountains, in no gentle note Wafted those sounds tumultuous through the host. Had we not known that by the Grecian spear The towers of vanquished Phrygia are o’erthrown, Such uproar would have caused no small alarm.

POLYM. My dearest friend, soon as I heard your voice, I instantly perceived ’twas Agamemnon. See you my sufferings?

AGA. Wretched Polymestor! Who hath destroyed thee? who bereaved of sight Thy bleeding orbs, and those thy children slew? Whoe’er the author of such deeds, his rage Was dreadful sure ’gainst thee and ’gainst thy sons.

POLYM. With the assistance of those captive dames, Me Hecuba hath murdered, more than murdered.

AGA. What mean’st thou? Are you guilty of the crime With which he charges you? and have you dared To perpetrate an action thus audacious?

POLYM. Ah me! what said you? Is she near at hand? Inform me where to find, that I may seize her, And scatter wide to all the fowls of heaven Her mangled corse.

AGA. Ha! what is thy design?

POLYM. Allow me, I conjure you by the gods, To grasp her with this frantic arm.

AGA. Desist, And casting forth all rancour from thy heart, Now plead thy cause; that, hearing both apart, I with unbiassed justice may decide, If thou these sufferings merit’st.

POLYM. I will speak. There was one Polydore, the youngest son Of those whom Hecuba to Priam bore; Him erst removing from the Phrygian realm, His sire to me consigned, that in my palace He might be nurtured, when that hoary king The fall of Troy suspected: him I slew: But hear my motives for the deed, to prove How justly and how prudently I acted. Your enemy, that boy, if he survived The ruin of his country, might, I feared, Collect the scattered citizens of Troy, And there again reside. I also feared, That when the Greeks knew one of Priam’s line Was living, with a second fleet invading The shores of Phrygia, they again might drain Of their inhabitants our Thracian fields, Involving us, their neighbours, in the vengeance They on their foes at Ilion wreak. To us Already hath such neighbourhood, O king, Proved baneful. But, apprized of her son’s fate, Hecuba drew me hither, on pretence She would inform me where in massive gold The hidden treasures of old Priam’s race Beneath Troy’s ruins were secured. Alone, She with my children brought me to this tent, That none beside might know. With bended knee, While on a couch I sat, some on my left, And others on my right, as with a friend, Full many of the Trojan damsels took Their places, holding up against the sun My robe, the woof of an Edonian loom: Some feigned t’ admire it, others viewed my spear, And stripped me of them both. From hand to hand The matrons, seeming to caress my children, Removed them far from their unhappy sire: And after their fond speeches, in an instant, (Could you believe it?) snatching up the swords, Which they beneath their garments had concealed, They stabbed my sons, whom while I strove to aid, In hostile guise their comrades held my arms And feet: if I looked up, they by the hair Confined me; if I moved my hands, my struggles Proved ineffectual, through the numerous band Of women who assailed me, and to close The scene of my calamity, accomplished A deed with more than common horror fraught, For they tore out my bleeding eyes, and fled. But, like a tiger starting up, I chased These ruthless fiends, and with a hunter’s speed Each wall examined, dashing to the ground, And breaking what I seized. These cruel wrongs, While I your interests study to maintain, O Agamemnon, and despatch your foe, Have I endured. To spare a long harangue, The whole of what ’gainst woman hath been said By those of ancient times, is saying now, Or shall be said hereafter, in few words Will I comprise; nor ocean’s waves, nor earth, Nurture so vile a race, as he who most Hath with the sex conversed, but knows too well.

CHOR. Curb that audacious virulence of speech, Nor, by thy woes embittered, thus revile All womankind; the number of our sex Is great, and some there are, whom as a mark To envy, their distinguished worth holds forth, Though some are justly numbered with the wicked.

HEC. O Agamemnon, never ought the tongue To have a greater influence o’er mankind Than actions; but whoever hath done well, Ought to speak well; and he, whose deeds are base, To use unseemly language, nor find means By specious words to colour o’er injustice. Full wise indeed are they to whom such art Is most familiar: but to stand the test Of time not wise enough; for they all perish, Not one of them e’er ’scapes. These previous thoughts To you, O mighty king, have I addressed. But now to him I turn, and will refute The fallacies he uttered. What pretence Hast thou for saying, that to free the Greeks From such a second war, and for the sake Of Agamemnon, thou didst slay my son? For first, O villain, the barbarian race With Greece, nor will, nor ever can be friends. What interest roused thy zeal? Didst thou expect To form a nuptial union? Wert thou moved By kindred ties, or any secret cause? Greece with a fleet forsooth would have returned To lay thy country waste. Who, canst thou think, Will credit such assertions? If the truth Thou wilt confess, gold and thy thirst of gain Were my son’s murderers. Why, when Troy yet flourished, Why, when the city was on every side Fenced by strong bulwarks, why, when Priam lived, And Hector wielded a victorious spear, Didst thou not, if thou hadst designed to act In Agamemnon’s favour, at the time When thou didst nurture my unhappy son, And in thy palace shelter, either slay, Or to the Greeks surrender up the youth A living prisoner? But when Ilion’s light Was utterly extinguished, when the smoke Declared the city subject to our foes, The stranger thou didst murder, at thy hearth Who sought protection. To confirm thy guilt, Now hear this farther charge: if thou to Greece Hadst been a friend indeed, thou should’st have given The gold thou say’st thou keep’st, not for thine own, But Agamemnon’s sake, among the troops Who suffer want, and from their native land Have for a tedious season been detained. But thou from those rapacious hands e’en now Canst not endure to part with it, but hoard’st it Still buried in thy coffers: as became thee, Hadst thou trained up my son, hadst thou to him Been a protector, great is the renown Thou would’st have gained; for in distress the good Are steadfast; but our prosperous fortunes swarm With friends unbidden. Hadst thou been in want, And Polydore abounded, a sure treasure To thee would he have proved: but now no longer In him hast thou a friend; thou of thy gold Hast lost th’ enjoyment, thou thy sons hast lost, And art thyself thus wretched. But to you, O Agamemnon, now again I speak: If you assist him, you will seem corrupt; For you will benefit a man devoid Of honour, justice, piety, or truth; It might be said that you delight in evil; But, I presume not to reproach my lords.

CHOR. How doth a virtuous cause inspire the tongue With virtuous language!

AGA. On a stranger’s woes Reluctant I pronounce, but am constrained; For shame attends the man who takes in hand Some great affair, and leaves it undecided. Know then, to me thou seem’st not to have slain Thy guest through an attachment to my cause, Nor yet to that of Greece, but that his gold Thou might’st retain: though in this wretched state Thou speak to serve thy interests. Among you Perhaps the murder of your guests seems light; We Greeks esteem it base. If I acquit thee How shall I ’scape reproach? Indeed I cannot: Since thou hast dared to perpetrate the crime, Endure the consequence.

POLYM. Too plain it seems, Ah me! that, vanquished by a female slave, Here shall I perish by ignoble hands.

HEC. Is not this just for the atrocious deed Which thou hast wrought?

POLYM. My children, wretched me! And these quenched orbs.

HEC. Griev’st thou, yet think’st thou not That I lament my son?

POLYM. Malignant woman, Do you rejoice in taunting my distress?

HEC. In such revenge have not I cause for joy?

POLYM. Yet not so hastily, when ocean’s wave——

HEC. Shall in a bark convey me to the shores Of Greece?

POLYM. Shall whelm you in its vast abyss Fall’n from the shrouds.

HEC. Raised thither by what impulse?

POLYM. Up the tall mast you with swift foot shall climb.

HEC. On feathered pinions borne, or how?

POLYM. With form Canine endued, and eyeballs glaring fire.

HEC. Whence didst thou learn that I such wondrous change Shall undergo?

POLYM. Bacchus, the Thracian seer, Gave this response.

HEC. To thee did he unfold Nought of the grievous sufferings thou endur’st?

POLYM. Then could you ne’er have caught me by your wiles.

HEC. But on this change of being, after death, Or while I yet am living, shall I enter?

POLYM. After your death, and men shall call your tomb——

HEC. By my new form, or what is it thou mean’st?

POLYM. The sepulchre of that vile brute, an object Conspicuous to the mariner.

HEC. I care not; My vengeance is complete.

POLYM. Cassandra too, Your daughter, must inevitably bleed.

HEC. Abomination! On thy guilty head These curses I retort.

POLYM. Her shall the wife Of Agamemnon slay, who sternly guards His royal mansion.

HEC. Such a frantic deed As this may Tyndarus’ daughter ne’er commit!

POLYM. She next uplifting the remorseless axe Shall smite her lord.

AGA. Ha! madman, dost thou court Thy ruin?

POLYM. Slay me; for the murderous bath Awaits you, when to Argos you return.

AGA. Will ye not drag him from my sight by force?

POLYM. Hear you with grief what I announce?

AGA. My followers, Why stop ye not the miscreant’s boding mouth?

POLYM. This mouth be closed for ever: I have spoken.

AGA. Will ye not cast him with the utmost speed Upon some desert island, since he dares To speak with such licentiousness? Depart, O wretched Hecuba, and both those corses Deposit in the grave. But, as for you, Ye to your lord’s pavilions must repair, O Phrygian dames: for I perceive the gales Rising to waft us homeward; may success Attend the voyage to our native land! And in our mansions may we find all well, Freed from these dangers!

CHOR. To the haven go, And to the tents, my friends, t’ endure the toils Our lords impose: for thus harsh fate enjoins.

HERCULES DISTRACTED.

PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.

AMPHITRYON. MEGARA. CHORUS OF THEBAN OLD MEN. HERCULES. LYCUS. IRIS. A FIEND. MESSENGER. THESEUS.

SCENE.—BEFORE THE ALTAR OF JUPITER, AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE HOUSE OF HERCULES IN THEBES.

AMPHITRYON, MEGARA.

AMP. Is there on earth, a stranger to the man Who shared the same auspicious nuptial bed With Jove, Amphitryon born at Argos, sprung From Perseus’ son Alcæus, me the sire Of Hercules? He in these regions dwelt, Where from the soil a helmed crop arose; Mars, a small number of that race, preserved, Whose children’s children people Cadmus’ city. Hence Creon king of Thebes, Menæceus’ son, Derives his birth, and Creon is the sire Of this unhappy Megara, to grace Whose hymeneal pomp, each Theban erst Attuned the jocund lute, into my house When Hercules conducted her. But leaving This realm where I resided, and his consort And kindred, my son chose to fix his seat Within the walls of Argos, of that city Erected by the Cyclops, whence I fled Stained with Electryon’s gore: but to alleviate My woes, and in his native land obtain A quiet residence, this great reward He on Eurystheus promised to bestow, That he would rid the world of every pest: Harassed by Juno’s stings, or envious fate, With her conspiring: but, his other labours Accomplished, he through Tænarus’ jaws at length Went to the house of Pluto, to drag forth Into the realms of day hell’s triple hound: He thence returns not. But an old tradition Among the race of Cadmus hath prevailed, That Lycus, Dirce’s husband, erst bore rule Over this city, till Jove’s sons, Amphion And Zethus, who on milk-white coursers rode, Became its sovereigns. Lycus’ son who bears His father’s name, no Theban, but arriving From the Eubœan state, slew royal Creon, And having slain him, seized the throne, invading The city with tumultuous broils convulsed. But the affinity which we have formed With Creon, seems to be my greatest curse: For while my son stays in the realms beneath, Lycus th’ egregious monarch of this land Would with the children of Alcides kill His consort, by fresh murders to extinguish The past, and kill me too (if one through age So useless may be numbered among men), Lest when the boys attain maturer age, They should avenge their grandsire Creon’s death. But I (for my son left me here to tend His children, and direct the house, since he Entered the subterraneous realms of night), With their afflicted mother, lest the race Of Hercules should bleed, for an asylum Have chosen this altar of protecting Jove, Which my illustrious son for a memorial Of his victorious arms did here erect, When he in battle had subdued the Minyans. But we, though destitute of every comfort, Of food, drink, clothing, though constrained to lie On the bare pavement, here maintain our seat, For every hospitable door is barred Against us, and we have no other hope Of being saved. Some of our friends I see Are faithless, and the few who prove sincere, Too weak to aid us. Such is the effect Of adverse fortune o’er the race of men; May he to whom I bear the least attachment, Never experience that unerring test Of friendship.

MEG. Thou old man, who erst didst storm The Taphian ramparts, when thou with renown Didst lead the host of Thebes; the secret will Of Heaven, how little can frail mortals know! For to me too of no avail have proved The fortunes of my father, who elate With wealth and regal power (whence at the breasts Of its possessors spears are hurled by those Whose souls the lust of mad ambition fires), And having children, gave me to thy son, Joining a noble consort in the bonds Of wedlock with Alcides, through whose death These blessings are all fled. Now I, and thou, Old man, are doomed to perish with the sons Of Hercules, whom, as the bird extends Her sheltering wings over her callow brood, I guard. By turns they come and question me: “O mother, whither is my father gone? What is he doing? when will he return?” Though now too young sufficiently to feel How great their loss, thus ask they for their sire. I change the theme, and forge a soothing tale, But am with wonder smitten when the doors Creak on their massive hinges, and at once They all start up, that at their father’s knees They may fall prostrate. But what hope hast thou Of saving us, or what support, old man? For I to thee look up. We from the bounds Of these domains unnoticed cannot ’scape; Mightier than us, a watchful guard is placed At every avenue, and in our friends No longer for protection can we trust. Explain thyself, if thou hast any scheme, By which thou from impending death canst save us; But let us strive to lengthen out the time, Since we are feeble.

AMP. ’Tis no easy task In such a situation, O my daughter, To form a sure and instantaneous judgment.

MEG. What is there wanting to complete thy woes, Or why art thou so fond of life?

AMP. That blessing I still enjoy, still cherish pleasing hopes.

MEG. I also hope, old man: but it is folly To look for what we never can attain.

AMP. We by delaying might avert our fate.

MEG. But I in this sad interval of time Feel piercing anguish.

AMP. The auspicious gales Of fortune, O my daughter, yet may waft Both you and me out of our present troubles, If e’er my son your valiant lord return. But O be pacified yourself, and cause Your children to dry up their streaming tears; With gentle language and delusive tales Beguile them, though all fraudful arts are wretched. For the disasters which afflict mankind Are wearied out; the stormy winds retain not Their undiminished force; nor are the blest Perpetually blest: for all things change, And widely differ from their former state. The valiant man is he who still holds fast His hopes; but to despair bespeaks the coward.

CHORUS, AMPHITRYON, MEGARA.

CHOR. Propped on my faithful staff, from home, And from the couch of palsied age, In melancholy guise I roam, Constrained to chaunt funereal strains, As the expiring swan complains, A war of words alone I wage, In semblance, but a flitting sprite, An airy vision of the night. I totter; yet doth active zeal This faithful bosom still inspire. Ye children who have lost your sire, Thou veteran, and thou aged dame, Doomed for thy lord these griefs to feel, Whose Pluto’s dreary mansions claim; O weary not your tender feet. Like steeds by galling harness bound, To turn the ponderous mill around, I would advance my friends to meet, Yet are my utmost efforts vain, This shattered frame I scarce sustain: Draw near, O take this trembling hand, And holding fast my robe, support My steps, thy needful aid I court, Because I am too weak to stand. Lead on the chief, though now by years Bowed down, who marshalled on the strand, His comrades erst a hardy band; With him in youth we launched our spears, Nor then belied our native land. See how their eyes dart liquid fire, Those children emulate their sire; But still hereditary fate, Pursues with unrelenting hate Their tender years, nor can their charms Redeem them from impending harms. What valiant champions of thy cause, O Greece, thy violated laws, When these thy great supports shall fail, Torn from thy fostering land wilt thou bewail. But I behold the monarch of the realm, Tyrannic Lycus, who these doors approaches.

LYCUS, AMPHITRYON, MEGARA, CHORUS.

LYC. This question (if I may) I to the sire And consort of Alcides would propose (But, as your king, I have a right to make Any inquiries I think fit): How long Seek ye to spin out life? What farther hope Have ye in view, what succour to ward off The stroke of death? Expect ye that the father Of these deserted children, who lies stretched Amid the realms beneath will thence return, That ye bely your rank, and meanly utter These clamorous plaints on being doomed to die? Through Greece hast _thou_ diffused an idle boast, That Jove enjoyed thy consort, and begot An offspring like himself; while _you_ exulted In being called wife to the first of heroes. But what great action hath your lord performed, In having slain that hydra at the lake, Or the Nemæan lion whom with snares He caught, and then did arrogantly boast That he had strangled in his nervous arms? Will these exploits enable you to vie With me? and for such merit am I bound To spare the sons of Hercules, who gained A name which he deserved not? He was brave In waging war with beasts, in nought beside, With his left hand he never did sustain The shield, nor faced he the protended spear, But with his bow, that weapon of a dastard, Was still prepared for flight: such arms afford No proof of courage; but the truly brave Is he who in the ranks where he is stationed Maintains his ground, and sees with steadfast eye Those ghastly wounds the missile javelin gives. Old man, I act not thus through cruelty, But caution; for I know that I have slain Creon _her_ father, and possess his throne. These children therefore will not I allow To live till they attain maturer years, Lest they should punish me for such a deed.