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If thou wou'dst know it, I must tell thee all.
The far-famed town of Eurytus destroy'd,
The trophies of his conquest, and the spoils
He to Cenæum brought, a rocky point
High-rising on the Eubean shore, and wash'd
On each side by the sea; his altars there,
And the green foliage of a grove, he raised
To Jove his father; there my longing eyes
With joy first saw him: but as he prepared
The various victims, hence his servant came,
The herald Lichas, and thy present brought,
The fatal vest: with this, for such thy charge,
He robed himself, and slew twelve beauteous bulls
Selected from the play; but to the god
An hundred various victims he had brought.
At first th' unhappy hero, with a mind
Cheerful and joying in his gorgeous robe,
Offer'd his vows; but when the bloody flame
Blazed from the hallow'd sacrifice, and heat
Glow'd from the unctuous firs, close to his sides
And to each limb, as by some artist fix'd,
The robe abhered; and through his bones shot fierce
Convulsive pains; then as the poisonous gore
Of the detested Hydra rankled deep,
He ask'd th' unhappy Lichas, for thy crime
In nothing blamable, by whose base arts
He brought this robe: unconscious what he brought
Th' ill-fated herald said, from thee alone
It was a present to his charge assign'd,
And brought as he received it. At these words,
Rack'd as he was with agonizing pains,
He seized him by the foot above the part
Where the joint bends, and dash'd him 'gainst the rock
Projecting o'er the waves that wash its sides;
A mingled mass of hair, and brains, and blood
Flow'd from his shatter'd head; th' assembled crouds
Lament the hero's sufferings, and the fate
Of Lichas; but of all the train not one
Had courage to approach him: to the ground
One while he bent convulsed; anon erect
He cried aloud; the promontories round,
The rocks of Locris, and Eubœa's heights
Resounded with his cries: but now grown faint,
And oft with anguish writhing on the earth,
With many a groan he cursed thy nuptial bed,
Inhuman as thou art, to his repose
So fatal; cursed thy father's bridal rites,
Whence to his life this pest. Then through the mist,
That darken'd o'er him, his distorted eyes
He rais'd, and saw me 'midst the numerous croud,
Weeping his fate; he look'd on me, and cried
My son, come to me; do not fly my ills,
Though with thy dying father thou shou'dst die;
But bear me hence, and see thou lay me where
No mortal may behold me: if thy soul
Is sensible of pity, from this land
Remove me; haste, that here I may not die.
Thus as he urged, we placed him in a bark,
And brought him to this shore, no easy task,
Roaring aloud through anguish; him thou soon
Or living wilt behold, or lately dead.
This 'gainst my father have thy arts devised,
This hast thou done, my mother; and this deed
May rigorous justice on thy head repay,
And the avenging Fury, if my pray'rs
Be righteous: they are righteous: thou hast cast
All that is righteous from thee, and hast slain
The best, the noblest man the earth could boast:
His equal never more shalt thou behold.
If thou wou'dst know it, I must tell thee all.
The far-famed town of Eurytus destroy'd,
The trophies of his conquest, and the spoils
He to Cenæum brought, a rocky point
High-rising on the Eubean shore, and wash'd
On each side by the sea; his altars there,
And the green foliage of a grove, he raised
To Jove his father; there my longing eyes
With joy first saw him: but as he prepared
The various victims, hence his servant came,
The herald Lichas, and thy present brought,
The fatal vest: with this, for such thy charge,
He robed himself, and slew twelve beauteous bulls
Selected from the play; but to the god
An hundred various victims he had brought.
At first th' unhappy hero, with a mind
Cheerful and joying in his gorgeous robe,
Offer'd his vows; but when the bloody flame
Blazed from the hallow'd sacrifice, and heat
Glow'd from the unctuous firs, close to his sides
And to each limb, as by some artist fix'd,
The robe abhered; and through his bones shot fierce
Convulsive pains; then as the poisonous gore
Of the detested Hydra rankled deep,
He ask'd th' unhappy Lichas, for thy crime
In nothing blamable, by whose base arts
He brought this robe: unconscious what he brought
Th' ill-fated herald said, from thee alone
It was a present to his charge assign'd,
And brought as he received it. At these words,
Rack'd as he was with agonizing pains,
He seized him by the foot above the part
Where the joint bends, and dash'd him 'gainst the rock
Projecting o'er the waves that wash its sides;
A mingled mass of hair, and brains, and blood
Flow'd from his shatter'd head; th' assembled crouds
Lament the hero's sufferings, and the fate
Of Lichas; but of all the train not one
Had courage to approach him: to the ground
One while he bent convulsed; anon erect
He cried aloud; the promontories round,
The rocks of Locris, and Eubœa's heights
Resounded with his cries: but now grown faint,
And oft with anguish writhing on the earth,
With many a groan he cursed thy nuptial bed,
Inhuman as thou art, to his repose
So fatal; cursed thy father's bridal rites,
Whence to his life this pest. Then through the mist,
That darken'd o'er him, his distorted eyes
He rais'd, and saw me 'midst the numerous croud,
Weeping his fate; he look'd on me, and cried
My son, come to me; do not fly my ills,
Though with thy dying father thou shou'dst die;
But bear me hence, and see thou lay me where
No mortal may behold me: if thy soul
Is sensible of pity, from this land
Remove me; haste, that here I may not die.
Thus as he urged, we placed him in a bark,
And brought him to this shore, no easy task,
Roaring aloud through anguish; him thou soon
Or living wilt behold, or lately dead.
This 'gainst my father have thy arts devised,
This hast thou done, my mother; and this deed
May rigorous justice on thy head repay,
And the avenging Fury, if my pray'rs
Be righteous: they are righteous: thou hast cast
All that is righteous from thee, and hast slain
The best, the noblest man the earth could boast:
His equal never more shalt thou behold.
Trachiniae. Sophocles. Robert Potter (Translator). London. 1820.