Of ancient fame, and long for truth received,
1
Hath been the maxim, tliat nor good nor ill
1
Can mortal life be called before we die.
1
Alas ! it is not so ; for, oh ! my friends,
1
Ere to the shades of Orcus I descend,
1
Too well I know that Deianira's life
1
Hath ever been, and ever must be, wretched.
Whilst in my native Pleuron ^neus watched
My tender years with kind paternal care,
If ever woman suffered from the dread
Of hated nuptials, I endured the worst
And bitterest woes, when Achelous came,
The river-god, to ask a father's voice,
And snatched me to his arms. With triple form
He came affrighting — now to sight appeared
A bull, and i»w with motley scales adorned
A wreathed serpent, now with human shape
And bestial head united ; from his beard.
Shadowed with hair, as from a fountain, dripped
The ever-llo\nng water. Horrid form !
This to escape my prayers incessant rose
That I might ratlier die than e'er approach
His hated bed. When lo ! the welcome hovir,
5
Though late, arrived, that brought the son of Jove
5
And fair Alcmena to my aid. He came,
5
He fought, he freed me. How the battle passed
5
Who unconcerned beheld it best can tell.
5
Alas ! I saw it not, oppressed with fear
5
Lest from my fatal beauty should arise
Some sad event. At length, deciding Jove
Gave to the doubtful fight a happy end,
If I may call it so ; for, since the hour
That gave me to Alcides' wished-for bed
Fears rise on fears ; still is my anxious heart
Solicitous for him ; oftiraes the night.
Which brings him to me, bears him from my arms
To other labours and a second toil.
Our children too, alas ! he sees them not,
But as the husbandman who ne'er beholds
Trachiniae. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.