Chapter 18

But now, consorted with the hero's child, II 2 He winneth greatness and a joyful change; Over the water wild Borne by a friendly bark beneath the range Of Oeta, where Spercheius fills Wide channels winding among lovely hills Haunted of Melian nymphs, till he espies The roof-tree of his father's hall, And high o'er all Shines the bronze shield of him, whose home is in the skies[6]. [NEOPTOLEMUS _comes out of the cave, followed by_ PHILOCTETES _in pain_

NEO. Prithee, come on! Why dost thou stand aghast, Voiceless, and thus astonied in thine air?

PHI. Oh! oh!

NEO. What?

PHI. Nothing. Come my son, fear nought.

NEO. Is pain upon thee? Hath thy trouble come?

PHI. No pain, no pain! 'Tis past; I am easy now. Ye heavenly powers!

NEO. Why dost thou groan aloud, And cry to Heaven?

PHI. To come and save. Kind Heaven! Oh, oh!

NEO. What is 't? Why silent? Wilt not speak? I see thy misery.

PHI. Oh! I am lost, my son! I cannot hide it from you. Oh! it shoots, It pierces. Oh unhappy! Oh! my woe! I am lost, my son, I am devoured. Oh me! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Pain! pain! Oh pain! oh pain! Child, if a sword be to thine hand, smite hard, Shear off my foot! heed not my life! Quick, come!

NEO. What hath so suddenly arisen, that thus Thou mak'st ado and groanest o'er thyself?

PHI. Thou knowest.

NEO. What know I?

PHI. O! thou knowest, my son!

NEO. I know not.

PHI. How? Not know? Ah me! Pain, pain!

NEO. Thy plague is a sore burden, heavy and sore.

PHI. Sore? 'Tis unutterable. Have pity on me!

NEO. What shall I do?

PHI. Do not in fear forsake me. This wandering evil comes in force again, Hungry as ere it fed.

NEO. O hapless one! Thrice hapless in thy manifold distress! What wilt thou? Shall I raise thee on mine arm?

PHI. Nay, but receiving from my hand the bow, As late thou didst desire me, keep it safe And guard it, till the fury of my pain Pass over me and cease. For when 'tis spent, Slumber will seize me, else it ne'er would end. I must sleep undisturbed. But if meanwhile They come,--by Heaven I charge thee, in no wise, Willingly nor perforce, let them have this! Else thou wilt be the slayer of us both; Of me thy suppliant, and of thyself.

NEO. Fear not my care. No hand shall hold these arms But thine and mine. Give, and Heaven bless the deed!

PHI. I give them; there, my son! But look to Heaven And pray no envy smite thee, nor such bane In having them, as fell on me and him Who bore them formerly.

NEO. O grant it, Gods! And grant us fair and happy voyage, where'er Our course is shaped and righteous Heaven shall guide.

PHI. Ah! but I fear, my son, thy prayer is vain: For welling yet again from depths within, This gory ooze is dripping. It will come! I know it will. O, foot, torn helpless thing, What wilt thou do to me? Ah! ah! It comes, It is at hand. 'Tis here! Woe's me, undone! I have shown you all. Stay near me. Go not far: Ah! ah! O island king, I would this agony Might cleave thy bosom through and through! Woe, woe! Woe! Ah! ye two commanders of the host, Agamemnon, Menelaues, O that ye, Another ten years' durance in my room Might nurse this malady! O Death, Death, Death! I call thee daily--wilt thou never come? Will it not be?--My son, thou noble boy, If thou art noble, take and burn me there Aloft in yon all-worshipped Lemnian fire! Yea, when the bow thou keep'st was my reward, I did like service for the child of Heaven. How now, my son? What say'st? Art silent? Where--where art thou, boy?

NEO. My heart is full, and groaning o'er thy woes.

PHI. Nay, yet have comfort. This affliction oft Goes no less swiftly than it came. I pray thee, Stand fast and leave me not alone!

NEO. Fear nought. We will not stir.

PHI. Wilt thou remain?

NEO. Be sure of it.

PHI. I'll not degrade thee with an oath, my son.

NEO. Rest satisfied. I may not go without thee.

PHI. Thy hand, to pledge me that!

NEO. There, I will stay.

PHI. Now, now, aloft!

NEO. Where mean'st thou?

PHI. Yonder aloft!

NEO. Whither? Thou rav'st. Why starest thou at the sky?

PHI. Now, let me go.

NEO. Where?

PHI. Let me go, I say!

NEO. I will not.

PHI. You will kill me. Let me go!

NEO. Well, thou know'st best I hold thee not.

PHI. O Earth, I die. receive me to thy breast! This pain Subdues me utterly, I cannot stand.

NEO. Methinks he will be fast in slumber soon That head sinks backward, and a clammy sweat Bathes all his limbs, while from his foot hath burst A vein, dark bleeding. Let us leave him, friends, In quietness, till he hath fallen to sleep.

CHORUS Lord of the happiest life, I Sleep, thou that know'st not strife, That know'st not grief, Still wafting sure relief, Come, saviour now! Thy healing balm is spread Over this pain worn head, Quench not the beam that gives calm to his brow.

Look, O my lord, to thy path, Either to go or to stay How is my thought to proceed? What is our cause for delay? Look! Opportunity's power, Fitting the task to the hour, Giveth the race to the swift.

NEO. He hears not. But I see that to have ta'en His bow without him were a bootless gain He must sail with us. So the god hath said Heaven hath decreed this garland for his head: And to have failed with falsehood were a meed Of shameful soilure for a shameless deed.

CH. God shall determine the end-- II But for thine answer, friend, Waft soft words low! All sick men's sleep, we know, Hath open eye; Their quickly ruffling mind Quivers in lightest wind, Sleepless in slumber new danger to spy.

Think, O my lord, of thy path, Secretly look forth afar, What wilt thou do for thy need? How with the wise wilt thou care? If toward the nameless thy heart Chooseth this merciful part, Huge are the dangers that drift.

The wind is fair, my son, the wind is fair, The man is dark and helpless, stretched in night. (O kind, warm sleep that calmest human care!) Powerless of hand and foot and ear and sight, Blind, as one lying in the house of death. (Think well if here thou utterest timely breath.) This, O my son, is all my thought can find, Best are the toils that without frightening bind.

NEO. Hush! One word more were madness. He revives. His eye hath motion. He uplifts his head.

PHI. Fair daylight following sleep, and ye, dear friends, Faithful beyond all hope in tending me! I never could have dreamed that thou, dear youth, Couldst thus have borne my sufferings and stood near So full of pity to relieve my pain. Not so the worthy generals of the host;-- This princely patience was not theirs to show. Only thy noble nature, nobly sprung, Made light of all the trouble, though oppressed With fetid odours and unceasing cries. And now, since this my plague would seem to yield Some pause and brief forgetfulness of pain, With thine own hand, my son, upraise me here, And set me on my feet, that, when my strength After exhaustion shall return again, We may move shoreward and launch forth with speed.

NEO. I feel unhoped-for gladness when I see Thy painless gaze, and hear thy living breath, For thine appearance and surroundings both Were deathlike. But arise! Or, if thou wilt, These men shall raise thee. For they will not shrink From toil which thou and I at once enjoin.

PHI. Right, right, my son! But lift me thine own self, As I am sure thou meanest. Let these be, Lest they be burdened with the noisome smell Before the time. Enough for them to bear The trouble on board.

NEO. I will; stand up, endure!

PHI. Fear not. Old habit will enable me.

NEO. O me! What shall I do? Now 'tis my turn to exclaim!

PHI. What canst thou mean? What change is here, my son?

NEO. I know not how to shift the troublous word. 'Tis hopeless.

PHI. What is hopeless? Speak not so, Dear child!

NEO. But so my wretched lot hath fallen.

PHI. Ah! Can it be, the offence of my disease Hath moved thee not to take me now on board?

NEO. All is offence to one who hath forced himself From the true bent to an unbecoming deed.

PHI. Nought misbecoming to thyself or sire Doest thou or speak'st, befriending a good man.

NEO. My baseness will appear. That wrings my soul.

PHI. Not in thy deeds. But for thy words, I fear me!

NEO. O Heaven! Must double vileness then be mine Both shameful silence and most shameful speech?

PHI. Or my discernment is at fault, or thou Mean'st to betray me and make voyage without me.

NEO. Nay, not without thee, there is my distress! Lest I convey thee to thy bitter grief.

PHI. How? How, dear youth? I do not understand.

NEO. Here I unveil it. Thou art to sail to Troy, To join the chieftains and the Achaean host.

PHI. What do I hear? Ah!

NEO. Grieve not till you learn.

PHI. Learn what? What wilt thou make of me? What mean'st thou?

NEO. First to release thee from this plague, and then With thee to go and take the realm of Troy.

PHI. And is this thine intent?

NEO. 'Tis so ordained Unchangeably. Be not dismayed! 'Tis so.

PHI. Me miserable! I am betrayed, undone! What guile is here? My bow! give back my bow!

NEO. I may not. Interest, and duty too, Force me to obey commandment.

PHI. O thou fire, Thou terror of the world! Dark instrument Of ever-hateful guile!--What hast thou done? How thou hast cheated me! Art not ashamed To look on him that sued to thee for shelter? O heart of stone, thou hast stolen my life away With yonder bow!--Ah, yet I beg of thee, Give it me back, my son, I entreat thee, give! By all thy father worshipped, rob me not Of life!--Ah me! Now he will speak no more, But turns away, obdurate to retain it. O ye, my comrades in this wilderness, Rude creatures of the rocks, O promontories, Creeks, precipices of the hills, to you And your familiar presence I complain Of this foul trespass of Achilles' son. Sworn to convey me home, to Troy he bears me. And under pledge of his right hand hath ta'en And holds from me perforce my wondrous bow, The sacred gift of Zeus-born Heracles, Thinking to wave it midst the Achaean host Triumphantly for his. In conquering me He vaunts as of some valorous feat, and knows not He is spoiling a mere corse, an empty dream, The shadow of a vapour. In my strength He ne'er had vanquished me. Even as I am, He could not, but by guile. Now, all forlorn, I am abused, deceived. What must I do? Nay, give it me. Nay, yet be thy true self! Thou art silent. I am lost. O misery! Rude face of rock, back I return to thee And thy twin gateway, robbed of arms and food, To wither in thy cave companionless:-- No more with these mine arrows to destroy Or flying bird or mountain-roving beast. But, all unhappy! I myself must be The feast of those on whom I fed, the chase Of that I hunted, and shall dearly pay In bloody quittance for their death, through one Who seemed all ignorant of sinful guile. Perish,--not till I am certain if thy heart Will change once more,--if not, my curse on thee!

CH. What shall we do, my lord? We wait thy word Or to sail now, or yield to his desire.

NEO. My heart is pressed with a strange pity for him, Not now beginning, but long since begun.

PHI. Ay, pity me, my son! by all above, Make not thy name a scorn by wronging me!

NEO. O! I am troubled sore. What must I do? Would I had never left mine island home!

PHI. Thou art not base, but seemest to have learnt Some baseness from base men. Now, as 'tis meet, Be better guided--leave me mine arms, and go.

NEO. (_to Chorus_). What shall we do?

_Enter_ ODYSSEUS.

ODYSSEUS. What art thou doing, knave? Give me that bow, and haste thee back again.

PHI. Alas! What do I hear? Odysseus' voice?

OD. Be sure of that, Odysseus, whom thou seest.

PHI. Oh, I am bought and sold, undone! 'Twas he That kidnapped me, and robbed me of my bow.

OD. Yea. I deny it not. Be sure, 'twas I.

PHI. Give back, my son, the bow; release it!

OD. That, Though he desire it, he shall never do. Thou too shalt march along, or these shall force thee.

PHI. They force me! O thou boldest of bad men! They force me?

OD. If thou com'st not willingly.

PHI. O Lemnian earth and thou almighty flame, Hephaestos' workmanship, shall this be borne, That he by force must drag me from your care?

OD. 'Tis Zeus, I tell thee, monarch of this isle, Who thus hath willed. I am his minister.

PHI. Wretch, what vile words thy wit hath power to say! The gods are liars when invoked by thee.

OD. Nay, 'tis their truth compels thee to this voyage.

PHI. I will not have it so.

OD. I will. Thou shalt.

PHI. Woe for my wretchedness! My father, then, Begat no freeman, but a slave in me.

OD. Nay, but the peer of noblest men, with whom Thou art to take and ravage Troy with might.

PHI. Never,--though I must suffer direst woe,-- While this steep Lemnian ground is mine to tread!

OD. What now is thine intent?

PHI. Down from the crag This head shall plunge and stain the crag beneath.

OD. (_to the Attendants_.) Ay, seize and bind him. Baffle him in this.

PHI. Poor hands, for lack of your beloved string, Caught by this craven! O corrupted soul! How thou hast undermined me, having taken To screen thy quest this youth to me unknown, Far worthier of my friendship than of thine, Who knew no better than to obey command. Even now 'tis manifest he burns within With pain for his own error and my wrong. But, though unwilling and mapt for ill, Thy crafty, mean, and cranny spying soul Too well hath lessoned him in sinful lore. Now thou hast bound me, O thou wretch, and thinkest To take me from this coast, where thou didst cast me Outlawed and desolate, a corpse 'mongst men. Oh! I curse thee now, as ofttimes in the past: But since Heaven yields me nought but bitterness, Thou livest and art blithe, while 'tis my pain To live on in my misery, laughed to scorn By thee and Atreus' sons, those generals twain Whom thou art serving in this chase. But thou With strong compulsion and deceit was driven Troyward, whilst I, poor victim, of free will Took my seven ships and sailed there, yet was thrown Far from all honour,--as thou sayest, by them, But, as they turn the tale, by thee.--And now Why fetch me hence and take me? To what end? I am nothing, dead to you this many a year. How, O thou Heaven-abhorred! am I not now Lame and of evil smell? how shall ye vaunt Before the gods drink-offering or the fat Of victims, if I sail among your crew? For this, as ye professed, was the chief cause Why ye disowned me. Perish!--So ye shall, For the wrong done me, if the Heavens be just. And that they are, I know. Else had ye ne'er Sailed on this errand for an outcast wretch, Had they not pricked your heart with thoughts of me. Oh, if ye pity me, chastising powers, And thou, the Genius of my land, revenge, Revenge this crime on all their heads at once! My life is pitiable; but if I saw Their ruin, I would think me well and strong.

CH. How full of bitterness is his resolve, Wrathfully spoken with unbending will!

OD. I might speak long in answer, did the time Give scope, but now one thing is mine to say. I am known to vary with the varying need; And when 'tis tried, who can be just and good, My peer will not be found for piety. But though on all occasions covetous Of victory, this once I yield to thee, And willingly. Unhand him there. Let go! Leave him to stay. What further use of thee, When we have ta'en these arms? Have we not Teucer, Skilled in this mystery? Yea, I may boast Myself thine equal both in strength and aim To wield them. Fare thee well, then! Thou art free To roam thy barren isle. We need thee not. Let us be going! And perchance thy gift May bring thy destined glory to my brow.

PHI. What shall I do? Alas, shalt thou be seen Graced with mine arms amongst Achaean men?

OD. No more! I am going.

PHI. O Achilles' child! Wilt thou, too, vanish? Must I lose thy voice?

OD. Come on, and look not, noble though thou be, Lest thou undo our fortune.

PHI. Mariners, Must ye, too, leave me thus disconsolate? Will ye not pity me?

CH. Our captain's here. Whate'er he saith to thee, that we too speak.

NEO. My chief will call me weakling, soft of heart; But go not yet, since our friend bids you stay. Till we have prayed, and all be ready on board. Meanwhile, perchance, he may conceive some thought That favours our design. We two will start; And ye, be swift to speed forth at our call. [_Exit_

MONODY.

PHI. O cavern of the hollow rock, I 1 Frosty and stifling in the seasons' change! How I seem fated never more to range From thy sad covert, that hath felt the shock Of pain on pain, steeped with my wretchedness. Now thou wilt be my comforter in death! Grief haunted harbour, choked with my distress! Tell me, what hope is mine of daily food, Who will be careful for my good? I fail. Ye cowering creatures of the sky, Oh, as ye fly, Snatch me, borne upward on the blast's sharp breath!

CH. 1. Thou child of misery! No mightier power hath this decreed, But thine own will and deed Hath bound thee thus in grief, Since, when kind Heaven had sent relief And shown the path of wisdom firm and sure, Thou still hast chosen this evil to endure.

PHI. O hapless life, sore bruised with pain! I 2 No more with living mortal may I dwell, But ever pining in this desert cell With lonely grief, all famished must remain And perish; for what food is mine to share, When this strong arm no longer wields my bow, Whose fleet shafts flew to smite the birds of air I was o'erthrown by words, words dark and blind, Low-creeping from a traitorous mind! O might I see him, whose unrighteous thought This ruin wrought, Plagued for no less a period with like woe!

CH. 2. Not by our craft thou art caught, But Destiny divine hath wrought The net that holds thee bound. Aim not at us the sound Of thy dread curse with dire disaster fraught. On others let that light! 'Tis our true care Thou should'st not scorn our love in thy despair.

PHI. Now, seated by the shore II 1 Of heaving ocean hoar, He mocks me, waving high The sole support of my precarious being, The bow which none e'er held but I. O treasure of my heart, torn from this hand, That loved thy touch,--if thou canst understand, How sad must be thy look in seeing Thy master destined now no more, Like Heracles of yore, To wield thee with an archer's might! But in the grasp of an all-scheming wight, O bitter change! thou art plied; And swaying ever by his side, Shalt view his life of dark malignity, Teeming with guileful shames, like those he wrought on me.

CH. 3. Nobly to speak for the right Is manly and strong; But not with an envious blight To envenom the tongue; He to serve all his friends of the fleet, One obeying a many-voiced word, Through the minist'ring craft of our lord Hath but done what was meet.

PHI. Come, legions of the wild, II 2 Of aspect fierce or mild, Fowl from the fields of air, And beasts that roam with bright untroubled gaze, No longer bounding from my lair Fly mine approach! Now freely without fear Ye may surround my covert and come near, Treading the savage rock-strewn ways. The might I had is no more mine, Stolen with those arms divine. This fort hath no man to defend. Come satisfy your vengeful jaws, and rend These quivering tainted limbs! Already hovering death bedims My fainting sense. Who thus can live on air, Tasting no gift of earth that breathing mortals share?

CH. 4. Ah! do not shrink from thy friend, If love thou reverest, But know 'tis for thee to forfend The fate which thou fearest. The lot thou hast here to deplore, Is sad evermore to maintain, And hardship in sickness is sore, But sorest in pain.

PHI. Kindest of all that e'er before III Have trod this shore, Again thou mind'st me of mine ancient woe! Why wilt thou ruin me? What wouldst thou do?

CH. 5. How mean'st thou?

PHI. If to Troy, of me abhorred Thou e'er hast hoped to lead me with thy lord.

CH. 6. So I judge best.

PHI. Begone at once, begone!

CH. 7. Sweet is that word, and swiftly shall be done! Let us be gone, each to his place on board. [The Chorus _make as if they were going_

PHI. Nay, by dear Zeus, to whom all suppliants moan Leave me not yet!

CH. 8. Keep measure in thy word.

PHI. Stay, by Heaven, stay!

CH. 9. What wilt thou say?

PHI. O misery! O cruel power That rul'st this hour! I am destroyed. Ah me! O poor torn limb, what shall I do with thee Through all my days to be? Ah, strangers, come, return, return!

CH. 10. What new command are we to learn Crossing thy former mind?

PHI. Ah! yet be kind. Reprove not him, whose tongue, with grief distraught, Obeys not, in dark storms, the helm of thought!

CH. 11. Come, poor friend, the way we call.

PHI. Never, learn it once for all! Not though he, whom Heaven obeys, Blast me with fierce lightning's blaze! Perish Troy, and all your host, That have chosen, to their cost, To despise and cast me forth, Since my wound obscured my worth! Ah, but, strangers, if your sense Hath o'er-mastered this offence, Yield but one thing to my prayer!

CH. 12. What wouldst thou have?

PHI. Some weapon bare, Axe or sword or sharpened dart, Bring it to content my heart.

CH. 13. What is thy new intent?

PHI. To sever point by point This body, joint from joint. On bloody death my mind is bent.

CH. 14. Wherefore?

PHI. To see my father's face.

CH. 15. Where upon earth?

PHI. He hath no place Where sun doth shine, but in the halls of night. O native country, land of my delight, Would I were blest one moment with thy sight! Why did I leave thy sacred dew And loose my vessels from thy shore, To join the hateful Danaaen crew And lend them succour? Oh, I am no more!

LEADER OF CH. Long since thou hadst seen me nearing yonder ship, Had I not spied Odysseus and the son Of great Achilles hastening to our side.

OD. Wilt thou not tell me why thou art hurrying This backward journey with reverted speed?

NEO. To undo what I have wrongly done to-day.

OD. Thy words appal me. What is wrongly done?

NEO. When in obeying thee and all the host--

OD. Thou didst what deed that misbecame thy life?

NEO. I conquered with base stratagem and fraud--

OD. Whom? What new plan is rising in thy mind?

NEO. Not new. But to the child of Poeas here--

OD. What wilt thou do? I quake with strange alarm.

NEO. From whom I took these weapons, back again----

OD. O Heaven! thou wilt not give them! Mean'st thou this?

NEO. Yea, for I have them through base sinful means.

OD. I pray thee, speak'st thou thus to anger me?

NEO. If the truth anger thee, the truth is said.

OD. Achilles' son! What word is fallen from thee?

NEO. Must the same syllables be thrice thrown forth?

OD. Once was too much. Would they had ne'er been said!

NEO. Enough. Thou hast heard my purpose clearly told.