Sophocles Philoctetes 254

Thomas Francklin (Translator)

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Alas ! how hateful to the gods,
How very poor a wretch must 1 be then,
That Greece should never hear of woes like mine !
But they who sent me hither, they concealed them,
And smile triumphant, whilst my cruel wounds
Grow deeper still. O, sprung from great Achilles !
Behold before thee Psean's wretched son,
255
With whom, a chance but thou hast heard, remain
255
The dreadful arrows of renowned Alcides,
255
Whom the Atridse and the vile Ulysses
255
Inhuman left, distempered as I was
255
By the envenomed serpent's deep-felt wound.
255
Soon as they saw that, with long toil oppressed.
Sleep had o'ertaken me on the hollow rock.
There did they leave me when from Chrysa's shore
They bent their fatal course ; a little food
And these few rags were all they would bestow.
Such one day be their fate ! Alas ! my son.

Philoctetes. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.

Current edition Experimental

English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759) (OCR draft) (English) (English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759))

Provisional text from uncorrected OCR; expect errors.

Editions (2)
Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879)) — 254 focus
ὦ .. ὦ ὦ .. ὦ ὦ .. ὦ ὦ .. ὡς πόλλ᾽ ἐγὼ μοχθηρός, ὦ πικρὸς θεοῖς,
οὐ μηδὲ κληδὼν ὧδ᾽ ἔχοντος οἴκαδε
255
μηδ᾽ ῾Ελλάδος γῆς μηδαμοῦ διῆλθέ που.
Greek (F. Storr, 1912) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (F. Storr, 1912)) — 219-390 focus
Translations (4)
English (Lewis Campbell, 1906) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Lewis Campbell, 1906)) — 254 focus
How full of griefs am I, how Heaven-abhorred,
When of my piteous state no faintest sound
Hath reached my home, or any Grecian land!
But they, who pitilessly cast me forth,
Keep silence and are glad, while this my plague
Blooms ever, and is strengthened more and more.
Boy, great Achilles’ offspring, in this form
Thou seest the man, of whom, methinks, erewhile
Thou hast been told, to whom the Hercúlean bow
Descended, Philoctetes, Poeas’ son;
Whom the two generals and the Ithacan king
Cast out thus shamefully forlorn, afflicted
With the fierce malady and desperate wound
Made by the cruel basilisk’s murderous tooth.
With this for company they left me, child!
Exposed upon this shore, deserted, lone.
From seaward Chrysa came they with their fleet
And touched at Lemnos. I had fallen to rest
From the long tossing, in a shadowy cave
On yonder cliff by the shore. Gladly they saw,
And left me, having set forth for my need,
Poor man, some scanty rags, and a thin store
255
Of provender. Such food be theirs, I pray!
255
Imagine, O my son, when they were gone,
255
What wakening, what arising, then was mine;
255
What weeping, what lamenting of my woe!
255
When I beheld the ships, wherewith I sailed,
255
Gone, one and all! and no man in the place,
255
None to bestead me, none to comfort me
255
In my sore sickness. And where’er I looked,
255
Nought but distress was present with me still.
255
No lack of that, for one thing!—Ah! my son,
255
Time passed, and there I found myself alone
255
Within my narrow lodging, forced to serve
255
Each pressing need. For body’s sustenance
255
This bow supplied me with sufficient store,
255
Wounding the feathered doves, and when the shaft,
255
From the tight string, had struck, myself, ay me!
255
Dragging this foot, would crawl to my swift prey.
255
Then water must be fetched, and in sharp frost
255
Wood must be found and broken,—all by me.
255
Nor would fire come unbidden, but with flint
255
From flints striking dim sparks, I hammered forth
The struggling flame that keeps the life in me.
For houseroom with the single help of fire
Gives all I need, save healing for my sore.
Now learn, my son, the nature of this isle.
No mariner puts in here willingly.
For it hath neither moorage, nor sea-port,
For traffic or kind shelter or good cheer.
Not hitherward do prudent men make voyage.
Perchance one may have touched against his will.
Many strange things may happen in long time.
These, when they come, in words have pitied me,
And given me food, or raiment, in compassion.
But none is willing, when I speak thereof,
To take me safely home. Wherefore I pine
Now this tenth year, in famine and distress,
Feeding the hunger of my ravenous plague.
Such deeds, my son, the Atridae, and the might
Of sage Odysseus, have performed on me.
Wherefore may all the Olympian gods, one day,
Plague them with stern requital for my wrong!
German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review) (OCR draft) Experimental (German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review)) — 254 focus
Weh mir, dem vielgequälten, gottverhaßten Mann,
Von dessen Leide nicht ein Ruf nach Hause, noch
Sonst irgend hin gedrungen im Hellenenland!
250
Und jene, die mich frevelnd ausgeworfen hier,
Hohulachen mein im Stillen: doch in voller Kraft
Blüht meine Krankheit, und gewinnt an Stärke ſtets.
Kind, Achillens, eines edlen Vaters, Sohn!
Ich, wisse, bin derselbe, den dir wohl der Ruf
255
Als den genannt hat, der Herakles' Wehr empfing,
Bin Philoktetes, Pöas' Sohn, den jene zwei
Heerfürsten und der Kephallenenkönig einst 1
Schmachvoll in diese Wüste warfen, weil an ihm
Die grimme Krankheit zehrte, seit der wilde Biß
260
Der mordbewehrten Natter ihn verwundete.
Mit ihr, o Jüngling, haben sie mich ausgesezt,
Mich einsam hier gelassen, als der Schiffe Zug
Von Chryse's Meereilande sich hieher gewandt.
Da froh gewahrend, wie ich matt vom Meergetos
265
Am Strande schlief im wohlgewölbten Felsenhaus,
Entfloh'n sie treulos, ließen wenig Lumpen mir,
Wie einem Bettler, und der Kost armseligen
Bedarf zurück: o werde Gleiches ihnen auch!
Doch welch Erwachen dünkt es dir, zu welchem ich
270
Nach ihrem Abzug aus dem Schlaf erstand, o Kind?
Wie bitter weint' ich? Wie beklagt' ich meine Noth?
Ich sah die Schiffe, welche mich hieher geführt,
All' abgezogen, keinen Mann am Orte mehr,
Nicht Einen, der mir hülse, der mich Leidenden
275
In meiner Qual erquickte: ringsum späht' ich nach;
Doch nichts entdeckt' ich überall, als Sammer nur;
Und dessen fand ich eine große Fülle, Kind.
English (Robert Potter, 1788) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Robert Potter, 1788)) — 254 focus
Oh what a wretch am. I, and to the gods
How hateful, that no tidings of my woes ..
Have reach'd my house, nor any realm of Greece!
While they whose impious arts exposed me here,
Deride me, and conceal the barbarous deed,
My wound still rankling, and my pains more fierce.
Know then, thou son of an illustrious sire,
Son of Achilles, I am he, whose name
Widely divulged perchance hath reach'd thine ears,
Lord of the arms of Hercules, the son
Of Poœas, Philoctetes; whom the Chiefs,
And Cephallene's king, here basely left
An outcast, and alone, with dire disease...
Consumed, and tortured with this gnawing wound
By the fell serpent's venom'd tooth impress'd.
In this ill plight they left me here alone, "
From Chryse when on this wild coast we touch'd...
As wearied with the tossing of the waves.........
They saw me sleeping on the shore, beneath
This rock's rude covering, with malignant joy
They left me, and sail'd hence, a few mean rågs,
Meet for a wretch like me, beside me laid,
And food, a scanty pittance; such be theirs!
255
Think from that sleep, my son, how I awoke
255
When they were gone; think on my tears, my groans,
255
Such ills lamenting, when I saw my ships,
255
With which I hither sail'd, all out at sea,
255
And steering hence; no mortal in the place,
255
Not one to succour me, not one to lend
255
His lenient hand to mitigate my wound..
255
On every side I roll'd my eyes, and saw
255
Nothing but wretchedness; of that enough....
255
Time after time roll’d on; this narrow cave
255
I made my mansion, and these hands alone!
255
Supplied my wants; my bow procured me food,
255
Piercing the doves on wing; beneath my shafts!
255
Whene'er they fell, I trail'd my foot along
255
In anguish; so when thirst compell'd me forth,
255
Or the inclement winter's piercing frost
255
To break a few dry sticks, out crawl'd this wretch
255
Devising shifts: fire was not here; I struck
255
Flint against flint, and raised the latent sparks
255
With pain: thus cherish'd life hath been preserved.
255
This sheltering mansion, with such cheering fire,
255
Hath furnish'd me with all things, but a cure 1.
To my disease. Now learn from me the state
Of this rude isle: no mariner through choice
Adventures on this coast; for no safe port,
Receives his bark, no mart is open here
For traffic, and no hospitable door
To give him welcome; to these shores his course..
No wise man steers; some in a length of time,
Which rolls along events surpassing thought,
Have been driv'n hither; these, my son, when here,
In words have pitied me: nay, they have giv'n,
Touch'd with compassion, some small share of food,
Some raiment; but entreaties all were vain,
Not one, though oft I urged the fond request,
Would bear me to my household gods, and save
This life; the tenth sad year now rolls its course,
Since here with wretchedness and famine pierced
I waste away, and feed my rankling wound.
These wrongs from the Atridæ I sustain,
And from Ulysses, whose unfeeling heart
Ne'er knew the touch of pity: on their heads
May the just gods pour miseries great as mine!
English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904)) — 219-390 focus

Commentary

Commentary (R. C. Jebb) (OCR draft) (Commentary (R. C. Jebb))

mvp-comment-151-1 πόλλ’ 1

mvp-comment-151-2 πικρὸς 2 στυγνὸς 3

mvp-comment-152-1 οὗ μηδὲ 4

mvp-comment-152-2 οἴκαδε 5 μηδ’ Ἑλλάδος γῆς μηδαμοῦ 6 ὧδ’ ἔχοντος 7

mvp-comment-152-3 μηδαμοῦ 8

mvp-comment-152-4 πω 9 που 10 πω 11 που 12

Commentary (Lewis Campbell, 1879) (OCR draft) (Commentary (Lewis Campbell, 1879)) focus

254. mvp-comment-177-1 ὦ.. ἐγώ] Cp. Trach. 1046, 7, ὦ πολλὰ δὴ . . μοχθήσας ἐγώ. πολλά μοχθηρός] Afflicted in many ways, i. e. In more ways than I knew, since to suffer unknown is worse than to suffer. πικρὸς θεοῖς] Abhorred by the gods.' Else they would not permit such misery. πικρός, Utterly offensive.' Cp. Hdt. 7. 35. where Xerxes thus addresses the Hellespont, ὦ πικρὸν ὕδωρ.

255. mvp-comment-178-1 ὧδ᾽ ἔχοντος] This adds a touch of pathos to Philoctetes' complaint. He is not only forgotten, but forgotten in his extreme misery.

255-256. mvp-comment-179-1 οἴκαδε.. Ἑλλάδος γῆς] The thoughts of Philoctetes naturally fly home to Trachis, and he has no desire of his state being known beyond the world of Hellas. For the more particular preceding the more general expression, see E. on L. § 41. p. 78, β, b.

256. mvp-comment-180-1 μηδαμοῦ has been changed to μηδαμοῖ, which may seem to be required by the verb of motion. But the latter form is doubtful, and ἐνταῦθα is similarly used for ἐνταυθοῖ. Cp. Εl. 380, Trach. 1193. που] 'Methinks.' He conjectures, from his case being unknown to Neoptolemus, that it has been heard of nowhere in Hellas, nor, bitterest of all, at his own home.