View:
By Card
Ajax
ACT IV.
Scene I.
There stands my sword, and fixed as it may
best
Perform its office ; 'twas the gift of Hector,
My worst of foes, whom I detested ever :
The steel-devouring stone hath sharpened well
Its keenest edge. Buried in Trojan earth
855
It lies, and now in kindness seems prepared
855
To end my wretched life. Thus far is well.
855
And now, O Jove ! — for first to thee 'tis fit
855
We pay due honours — I address my prayer.
I ask not much : I ask thee but to send
Some passing stranger here to bear the news
Of my unhappy fate to Teuoer's ear,
That he may first behold, and take me hence,
Lest, by my foes discovered, I be cast
A prey to dogs and birds. Forbid it, Jove !
Thee too, great leader of departed souls,
Terrestrial Hermes, thee I call! oh, hear me!
With easy steps, and swift, conduct me safe
To my abode, soon as this fatal sword
Shall reach my breast. And you, ye virgin powers
From whom whate'er befalls of human ill
Cannot be hid, ye goddesses revered,
Swift to pursue the guilty, oh, behold,
"D seize the murd'rers ! By my own sad hand
As I shall perish, let my foes be slain
860
By those wliom most they love ! Quick, fly, begone,
860
Ye vengeful furies ! Gorge yourselves in blood,
860
Nor spiire a man of all the Grecian host.
860
And thou, O Sun ! who diiv'st the flaming car
Along the vaulted sky, when thou shalt see
My native soil, oh ! stop thy golden reins ;
Tell the sad story to my hapless sire
And my afllicted mother. AVhen she hears
The mournful tale, her grief will fill the land
With dreadful lamentations. But 'tis vain
To weep my fate : the business must be done.
O Death ! look on me. Death ; I come to thee —
Soon shall we meet ; but thee, O glorious day !
And yon bright charioteer the sun, no more
Shall I behold : e'en now thou hearst my last,
My dying words. O light ! O sacred soil
Of Salamis, my country, and her gods !
O noble Atliens ! O my loved companions !
Ye rivers, fountains, and fair fields of Troy !
^ And yon, my honoured parents, oh, farewell !
865
/ 'Tis the last word Ajax shall speak on earth :
865
Semiciior. I . Labour on labour, toil go toil ! Oh, whither
865
Have we not wandered 1 Yet no place informs us
865
There stands my sword, and fixed as it may
best
Perform its office ; 'twas the gift of Hector,
My worst of foes, whom I detested ever :
The steel-devouring stone hath sharpened well
Its keenest edge. Buried in Trojan earth
855
It lies, and now in kindness seems prepared
855
To end my wretched life. Thus far is well.
855
And now, O Jove ! — for first to thee 'tis fit
855
We pay due honours — I address my prayer.
I ask not much : I ask thee but to send
Some passing stranger here to bear the news
Of my unhappy fate to Teuoer's ear,
That he may first behold, and take me hence,
Lest, by my foes discovered, I be cast
A prey to dogs and birds. Forbid it, Jove !
Thee too, great leader of departed souls,
Terrestrial Hermes, thee I call! oh, hear me!
With easy steps, and swift, conduct me safe
To my abode, soon as this fatal sword
Shall reach my breast. And you, ye virgin powers
From whom whate'er befalls of human ill
Cannot be hid, ye goddesses revered,
Swift to pursue the guilty, oh, behold,
"D seize the murd'rers ! By my own sad hand
As I shall perish, let my foes be slain
860
By those wliom most they love ! Quick, fly, begone,
860
Ye vengeful furies ! Gorge yourselves in blood,
860
Nor spiire a man of all the Grecian host.
860
And thou, O Sun ! who diiv'st the flaming car
Along the vaulted sky, when thou shalt see
My native soil, oh ! stop thy golden reins ;
Tell the sad story to my hapless sire
And my afllicted mother. AVhen she hears
The mournful tale, her grief will fill the land
With dreadful lamentations. But 'tis vain
To weep my fate : the business must be done.
O Death ! look on me. Death ; I come to thee —
Soon shall we meet ; but thee, O glorious day !
And yon bright charioteer the sun, no more
Shall I behold : e'en now thou hearst my last,
My dying words. O light ! O sacred soil
Of Salamis, my country, and her gods !
O noble Atliens ! O my loved companions !
Ye rivers, fountains, and fair fields of Troy !
^ And yon, my honoured parents, oh, farewell !
865
/ 'Tis the last word Ajax shall speak on earth :
865
Semiciior. I . Labour on labour, toil go toil ! Oh, whither
865
Have we not wandered 1 Yet no place informs us
865
Ajax. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.