Part 5

AMP. Jove will assert the cause of his own son. But as for me, O Hercules, my care Shall be to prove the folly of this tyrant: For thy illustrious name I will not suffer To be reproached. First from a hateful charge (And that of cowardice I deem most hateful), Calling the gods to witness, am I bound To vindicate thy honour. I appeal To Jove’s own thunder, and th’ impetuous steeds, Which drew Alcides’ chariot when he sped Those winged arrows to transpierce the flanks Of earth-born giants, and among the gods Triumphant revelled at the genial board. Go next to Pholoe’s realm, thou worst of kings, And ask the Centaurs’ monstrous brood, what man They judge to be most brave, whether that title Belongs not to my son, who only bears, As you assert, the semblance of a hero? But should you question the Eubœan mount Of Dirphys, where your infancy was nurtured, It cannot sound your praise: you have performed No glorious action for your native land To testify, yet scorn that wise invention The quiver fraught with shafts: attend to me And I will teach you wisdom. By his arms Encumbered, stands the warrior who is sheathed In ponderous mail, and through the fears of those Who fight in the same rank, if they want courage, Loses his life; nor, if his spear be broken, Furnished with nought but courage, from his breast Can he repel the wound; but he who bends With skilful hand the bow, hath this advantage, Which never fails him: with a thousand shafts He smites the foe, no danger to himself Incurring, but securely stands aloof, And wreaks his vengeance while they gaze around, Without perceiving whence the weapon comes: His person he exposes not, but takes A guarded post: for what in war displays The greatest prudence, is to vex the foe, Nor rush at random on their pointed spears. Such reasoning on the subject in debate With yours indeed agrees not: but what cause Have you for wishing to destroy these children? How have they injured you? In one respect I deem you wise, because you dread the race Of valiant men, and feel yourself a coward: Yet is it hard on us, if we must bleed Your apprehensions to remove; you ought To suffer all we would inflict, from us Whose merit is superior far to yours, Were Jove impartial. Would you therefore wield The sceptre of this land, let us depart As exiles from the realm, or you shall meet With strict retaliation, when the gales Of wavering fortune alter. O thou land Of Cadmus (for to thee I now will speak, But in reproachful accents), such protection Afford’st thou to the sons of Hercules, Who singly warring with the numerous host Of Minyæ, caused the Thebans to lift up Their free-born eyes undaunted? I on Greece No praises can bestow, nor will pass over In silence its base treatment of my son, For ’twas its duty in these children’s cause, Bearing flames, pointed spears, and glittering mail, To have marched forth, and recompensed the toils Of their great father, who hath purged the sea And land from all its monsters. Such protection Nor doth the Theban city, O my children, Nor Greece afford you; but ye now look up To me a feeble friend who can do nought, But plead for you with unavailing words. For all the vigour which I once possessed Hath now deserted me; old age assails My trembling limbs and this decrepit frame. Were I again endued with youthful strength, I would snatch up my javelin, and defile With gore the yellow ringlets on the head Of that oppressor, whom his fear should drive Beyond the most remote Atlantic bounds.

CHOR. Are there not causes such as may provoke Those who are virtuous to express their thoughts, Though destitute of eloquence?

LYC. ’Gainst me Speak what thou wilt, for thou art armed with words, But for injurious language by my deeds Will I requite thee. Go, send woodmen, some To Helicon, some to Parnassus’ vale, Bid them fell knotted oaks, and having borne them Into the city, heap their ponderous trunks Around the altar, and with kindled flames Consume the bodies of this hated race; So shall they learn that Creon the deceased No longer is the ruler of this land, But that I wield the sceptre. As for you Who thwart my counsels, O ye aged men, Not for the sons of Hercules alone Shall ye lament, but for those evil fortunes Which ye and your own house are doomed to suffer: But this shall ye remember, that to me, Your monarch, ye are slaves.

CHOR. O ye the race Of earth, whom Mars erst sowed, when he had torn From the huge dragon’s jaws th’ envenomed teeth, With those right hands why will ye not uplift The staves on which ye lean, and with his gore Defile the head of this unrighteous man, Not born at Thebes, but in a foreign realm, From inconsiderate youths who gains that homage Which he deserves not? but in evil hour O’er me shalt thou bear rule, nor shall my wealth Acquired by many toils be ever thine: Go, act the tyrant in Eubœa’s land, From whence thou hither cam’st: for while I live, The sons of Hercules thou ne’er shalt slay, Nor is their mighty father plunged so deep Beneath earth’s surface, that he cannot hear His children’s outcries. Thou to whom this land Owes its destruction dost possess the throne: But he its benefactor is deprived Of the rewards he merits. Me thou deem’st Officious, for protecting those I love E’en in the grave, where friends are needed most. O my right arm, how dost thou wish to wield The spear, but through enfeebling age hast lost Thy vigour: else would I have quelled thy pride Who dar’st to call me slave, and in this Thebes, Where thou exult’st, with glory dwelt. A city Diseased through mutiny and evil counsels Is void of wisdom, or would ne’er have chosen Thee for its lord.

MEG. Ye veterans, I applaud Your zeal; for indignation at the wrongs His friends endure becomes the virtuous friend. But let not anger ’gainst your lord expose you To suffer in our cause. My judgment hear, Amphitryon, if to thee in aught I seem To speak discreetly. I these children love (And how can I help loving those I bore?) For whom I have endured the painful throes Of childbirth. And to die is what I think of As of a thing most dreadful; but the man Who with necessity contends I hold An idiot. But let us, since die we must, Not perish in the flames to furnish scope Of laughter to our foes, which I esteem An ill beyond e’en death: for much is due To the unsullied honour of our house, For thee who erst in arms hast gained renown, To die with cowardice, were a reproach Not to be borne. My lord, though I forbear To dwell on his just praises, is so noble, He would not wish these children saved, to bear The imputation of an evil name: For through the conduct of degenerate sons Reproach oft falls on their illustrious sires; And the examples which my husband gave me, I ought not to reject. But view what grounds Thou hast for hope, that I of these may form A proper estimate. Dost thou expect Thy son to issue from the realms beneath? What chief deceased from Pluto’s loathed abode Did e’er return? Can we by gentle words Appease this tyrant? No: we ought to fly From fools who are our foes: but to the wise And generous yield; for we with greater ease May make a friend of him in whom we find A sense of virtuous shame. But to my soul This thought occurs, that we, the children’s sentence, By our entreaties, haply might obtain Converted into exile: yet this too Is wretched, at th’ expense of piteous need To compass our deliverance. For their friends Avoid the face of guests like these, and look No longer kindly on the banished man After one day is over. Rouse thy courage, And bleed with us, thee too, since death awaits. By thy great soul, O veteran, I conjure thee. Although the man who labours to repel Evils inflicted by Heaven’s wrath, is brave, Yet doth such courage border upon frenzy: For what the fates ordain, no god can frustrate.

CHOR. While yet these arms retained their youthful strength, Had any one insulted thee, with ease Could I have quelled him; but I now am nothing: On thee, Amphytrion, therefore ’tis incumbent To think how best thou may’st henceforth ward off Th’ assaults of fortune.

AMP. No unmanly fear, No wish to lengthen out this life, prevents My voluntary death: but I would save The children of my son, though I appear To grasp at things impossible. Behold I bare my bosom to the sword; pierce, slay, Or cast me from the rock. But I, O king, For this one favour sue to you; despatch Me and this hapless dame before the children, Lest them we view, most execrable sight, In death’s convulsive pangs, to her who bore them, And me their grandsire, shrieking out for aid. But as for all beside, do what you list, For we have now no bulwark which from death Can save us.

MEG. I entreat one favour more, Which to us both will equally be grateful. Permit me in funereal robes to dress My children; for that purpose be the gates Thrown open (for the palace now is closed Against us) that they from their father’s house This small advantage may obtain.

LYC. Your wishes Shall be complied with. I my servants bid Unbar the gates. Go in, bedeck yourselves; The costly robes I grudge not: but no sooner Shall ye have put them on, than I to you Will come, and plunge you in the shades beneath.

[_Exit_ LYCUS.

MEG. Follow your hapless mother, O my children, To your paternal house, where, though our wealth Be in the hands of others, our great name We still preserve.

AMP. O Jove, ’twas then in vain That thou didst deign to share my nuptial couch, In vain too, of thy son have I been styled The father, for thou hast not proved the friend Thou didst appear to be. I, though a man, Exceed in virtue thee a mighty god; Because I to their foes have not betrayed The sons of Hercules: but thou, by stealth, Entering my chamber, to another’s wife Without permission cam’st; yet know’st not how To save thy friends; thou surely art a god Either devoid of wisdom, or unjust.

[_Exeunt_ AMPHITRYON _and_ MEGARA.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

For Linus’ death, by all the tuneful Nine Bewailed, doth Phœbus’ self complain, And loudly uttering his auspicious strain, Smite with a golden quill the lyre; but mine Shall be the task, while songs of praise I chaunt and twine the laureate wreath, His matchless fortitude t’ emblaze, Who sought hell’s inmost gloom, the dreary shades beneath; Whether I call the hero son of Jove, Or of Amphitryon; for the fame To which his labours have so just a claim, Must e’en in death attract the public love: In the Nemæan forest first he slew That lion huge, whose tawny hide And grinning jaws extended wide, He o’er his shoulders threw.

I. 2.

The winged arrows whizzing from his bow, Did on their native hills confound The Centaurs’ race with many a deadly wound: Alcides’ matchless strength doth Peneus know, Distinguished by his limpid waves, The fields laid waste of wide extent, With Pelion, and the neighbouring caves Of Homoles, uprooting from whose steep ascent, Tall pines that cast a venerable shade, The monsters armed their forceful hands, And strode terrific o’er Thessalia’s lands: Then breathless on th’ ensanguined plain he laid That hind distinguished by her golden horns, And still in Dian’s temple seen His prize, to glad the huntress queen, Oenöe’s walls adorns.

II. 1.

The chariot with triumphal ensigns graced Ascending, to his stronger yoke He Diomedes’ furious coursers broke, Scorning the bit, in hateful stalls who placed By their fell lord, the flesh of man Raging devoured, accursed food; A stream from their foul mangers ran, Filled with unholy gore, and many a gobbet crude. O’er Hebrus’ silver tide at the command Of Argos’ unrelenting king Eurystheus, he these captive steeds did bring, Close to Anauros’ mouth on Pelion’s strand. Inhuman Cycnus, son of Mars, next felt The force of his resounding bow, Unsocial wretch, the stranger’s foe, Who in Amphanea dwelt.

II. 2.

Then came he to th’ harmonious nymphs, that band Who in Hesperian gardens hold Their station, where the vegetative gold Glows in the fruitage; with resistless hand To snatch the apple from its height; The dragon wreathed his folds around The tree’s huge trunk, portentous sight, In vain; that monster fell transfixed with many a wound. Into those straits of the unfathomed main He entered, with auspicious gales, Where feared the mariner t’ unfurl his sails, And fixing limits to the watery plain His columns reared: then from the heavens’ huge load The wearied Atlas he relieved, His arm the starry realms upheaved, And propped the gods’ abode.

III. 1.

Foe to the Amazons’ equestrian race He crossed the boisterous Euxine tide, And gave them battle by Mæotis’ side. What friends through Greece collected he to face Hippolita, th’ intrepid maid, That he the belt of Mars might gain, And tissued robe with golden braid. Still doth exulting Greece the virgin’s spoils retain, Lodged in Mycene’s shrine, with gore imbrued, The dog of Lerna’s marshy plain, Who unresisting multitudes had slain, The hundred-headed hydra, he subdued, Aided by fire, and winged shafts combined, These from his well-stored quiver flew, And triple-formed Geryon slew, Fierce Erythræa’s hind.

III. 2.

But having finished each adventurous strife, At length in evil hour he steers To Pluto’s mansion, to the house of tears, The goal of labour, there to end his life, Thence never, never to return; His friends dismayed forsake these gates, In hopeless solitude we mourn. Hell’s stern award is passed, the boat of Charon waits To their eternal home his sons to bear, Most impious lawless homicide! For thee, O Hercules, thee erst his pride, Thy sire now looks with impotent despair. Had I the strength which I possessed of yore, I with my Theban friends, arrayed In brazen arms, thy sons would aid: But youth’s blest days are o’er.

Clad in funereal vestments I behold The children of Alcides erst the great, With his loved wife and his decrepit sire Conducting them. O wretched me! no longer Can I restrain the fountain of these tears Which gush incessant from my aged eyes.

MEGARA, AMPHITRYON, CHORUS.

MEG. Come on. What priest, what butcher is at hand To slay these wretched children, or transpierce My bosom? Now the victims stand prepared For their descent to Pluto’s loathed abode. By force, my children, are we borne along United in th’ unseemly bands of death; Decrepit age with helpless infancy And intermingled matrons. O dire fate Of me and of my sons, whom these sad eyes Shall never more behold! Alas! I bore, I nurtured you, to be the scorn, the sport, Of our inveterate foes, and by their hands To perish. Each fond hope, which from the words Of your departed father erst I formed, Hath proved fallacious. The deceased to _thee_ Allotted Argos, in Eurystheus’ palace Wert _thou_ to dwell a mighty king, and wield The sceptre of Pelasgia’s fruitful land, Then with the lion’s hide himself had worn Thy front he covered: _you_ were to ascend The throne of Thebes for brazen chariots famed, Possessing my hereditary fields, Such were the hopes of your exulting sire, Who to _your_ hand consigned that ponderous mace Deceitful gift of Dædalus: on _thee_, Thou little one, he promised to bestow Oecalia, which his shafts had erst laid waste: To you all three, these realms in threefold portions Did he distribute; for your father’s views Were all magnanimous: but I marked out Selected consorts for you, and formed schemes Of new affinities, from the domains Of Athens, Sparta, and the Theban city; That binding up your cables, and secure From the tempestuous deep, ye might enjoy A happy life: these prospects now are vanished: For to your arms hath changeful Fortune given The Destinies to be your brides, while tears Are your unhappy mother’s lustral drops. Your grandsire celebrates the nuptial feast, O’er which he summons Pluto to preside, The father of your consorts. But, alas! Whom first of you my children, or whom last To this fond bosom shall I clasp, on whom Bestow a kiss, whom in my arms sustain? How like the bee with variegated wings Shall I collect the sorrows of you all, And blend the whole together in a flood Of tears exhaustless? O my dearest lord, If any of those spirits who reside In Pluto’s realms beneath, can hear the voice Of mortals, in these words to thee I speak: O Hercules, thy father and thy sons Are doomed to bleed; I perish too who erst On thy account was by the world called happy. Protect us, come, and to these eyes appear, Though but a ghost; thy presence will suffice: For these thy children’s murderers, when with thee Compared, are dastards.

AMP. To appease the powers Of hell beneath, O woman, be thy care. But lifting to the skies my suppliant hands, I call on thee, O Jove, that, if thou mean To be a friend to these deserted children, Thou interpose without delay and save them, For soon ’twill be no longer in thy power: Thou oft hast been invoked; but all my prayers Are ineffectual; die, it seems, we must. But, O ye aged men, the bliss which life Can yield is small, contrive then how to pass As sweetly as is possible the hours Which fate allots you, e’en from morn till night Shaking off every grief: for Time preserves not Our hopes entire, but on his own pursuits Intent, deserts us, borne on rapid wings. Look but on me, amid the sons of men Conspicuous erst performing glorious deeds; And yet hath Fortune in one single day Taken all from me, like a feather wafted Into the trackless air. I know not him To whom collected stores of wealth or fame Are durable. Farewell, for this, my comrades, Is the last time ye shall behold your friend.

HERCULES, MEGARA, AMPHITRYON, CHORUS.

MEG. Ha! O thou aged man, do I behold My dearest husband? How shall I find utterance?

AMP. I know not, O my daughter; for I too Am with amazement seized.

MEG. This sure is he Who as we heard was in the realms beneath; Else doth some vision in the noontide glare Delude our senses. But what frantic words Were those I spoke as if ’twas all a dream? This is no other than thy real son, Thou aged man. Come hither, O my children, Cling to your father’s robe, with speed advance, Quit not your hold, for ye in him shall find An equal to our great protector Jove.

HER. All hail, thou mansion, and thou vestibule Of my abode; thee with what joy once more Do I behold, revisiting the light. Ha! what hath happened? I my children see With garlands on their temples, and my wife Amidst a throng of men, my father too Weeping for some mischance. I’ll go to them, And ask the cause. What recent ill, O woman, Hath happened to this house?

MEG. My dearest lord, O thou who to thy aged father com’st A radiant light, in safety hast thou reached, At this important crisis, the abodes Of those thou lov’st.

HER. What mean you by these words? What tumults, O my sire, are we involved in?

MEG. We are undone; but, O thou aged man, Forgive, if I’ve anticipated that Thou would’st have said to him: for in some points Our sex are greater objects of compassion Than males. I deem my children dead; I too Am perishing.

HER. O Phœbus! with what preludes Do you begin your speech?

MEG. My valiant brothers, And aged sire, alas! are now no more.

HER. Who slew them, how, or with what weapon?

MEG. Lycus, The monarch of this city, was their murderer.

HER. With arms did he oppose them, or prevail, When foul sedition through the land diffused Its pestilent contagion?

MEG. By revolt He holds the sceptre of the Theban realm.

HER. But wherefore hath this sudden panic reached You and my aged sire?

MEG. He would have slain Thy father, me, and these defenceless children.

HER. What mean you? could he fear my orphan race?

MEG. Lest they hereafter might avenge the death Of Creon.

HER. But what garb is this they wear, Which suits some corse?

MEG. Already in these vestments For our funereal rites are we arrayed.

HER. And were ye on the point of perishing By violence? Ah me!

MEG. Our friends desert us; For we have heard that thou wert dead.

HER. Whence rose This comfortless depression of the soul?

MEG. Eurystheus’ heralds the sad tidings bore.

HER. But for what cause did ye forsake my house, My sacred Lares?

MEG. From his bed thy sire Was forcibly dragged forth.

HER. So void of shame Was Lycus as to treat his age with scorn?

MEG. Shame dwells not near the shrine of brutal force.

HER. Were we thus destitute of friends when absent?

MEG. What friends abide with him who is unhappy?

HER. But did they scorn the battles which I fought Against the Minyans?

MEG. I to thee repeat it, Calamity is friendless and forlorn.