Sir Richard C. Jebb Commentary on Sophocles: Philoctetes 8

Commentary on Sophocles: Philoctetes. Sir Richard C. Jebb. Cambridge. 1932.

Sponsored by Perseus Project, Tufts University.

Funding provided by National Endowment for the Humanities.

Current edition Experimental

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

Provisional text from uncorrected OCR; expect errors.

Editions (2)
Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (Lewis Campbell, 1879)) — 1081 focus
ἐγὼ μὲν ἤδη καὶ πάλαι νεὼς νεως νεῶς νεὼς ὁμοῦ ὁμοῦ ἐγγὺς
στείχων ἂν ἦ ἄνην ἂν ἦν σοι τῆς ἐμῆς, εἰ μὴ πέλας
Ὀδυσσέα στείχοντα τόν τ᾿ ᾿Αχιλλέως
γόνον πρὸς ἡμᾶς δεῦρ᾿ ἰόντ᾽ ἐλεύσσομεν ἐλεύσομεν ἐλεύσσομεν.
Greek (F. Storr, 1912) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (F. Storr, 1912)) — 1081-1216 focus
Translations (5)
English (Lewis Campbell, 1906) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Lewis Campbell, 1906)) — 1081 focus
O cavern of the hollow rock,
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.
1085
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?
1090
I fail. Ye cowering creatures of the sky,
Oh, as ye fly,
Snatch me, borne upward on the blast’s sharp breath!
O hapless life, sore bruised with pain!
No more with living mortal may I dwell,
1100
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
1105
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!
Now, seated by the shore
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,
1120
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!
1125
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.
1130
Come, legions of the wild,
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
1140
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.
1145
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,
1150
Tasting no gift of earth that breathing mortals share?
Kindest of all that e’er before
Have trod this shore,
Again thou mind’st me of mine ancient woe!
Why wilt thou ruin me? What wouldst thou do?
1160
Long since thou hadst seen me nearing yonder ship,
Had I not spied Odysseus and the son
Of great Achilles hastening to our side.
German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review) (OCR draft) Experimental (German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review)) — 1081 focus
tiefhöhliges Felsgemach,
Warmes, kühles Gewölbe du,
Also werd' ich Gequälter dich
Nie mehr lassen, du wirst dereinst
Auch im Tode mir beisteh'n!
1055
weh, weh mir!
Unglückselige Grotte du,
Meiner bittersten Klagen voll!
Was soll fürder mich nähren?
Wo vermag ich zu hoffen, daß
1060
Einer mit Speisen erquicke mich Darbenden?
daß hoch empor
Vögel mit sausendem Schwung in die Lüfte mich
Entrafften! Nicht mehr wehr' ich's.
Zweite Strophe.
Weh, weh über mich Elenden,
1070
Abgemüht von des Leidens Hohn!
Der verlassen hinfort, und nie
Einem Sterblichen mehr gesellt,
Hier dem Tode zum Raub wird,
(weh, wehe!)
1075
Der nicht Speise nach Hause mehr
Schafft, nicht durch die beschwingte Wehr
Sie mit kräftigen Armen
Hascht; denn nimmer geahnt beschlich
Mich das betrügliche Wort des Verschlagenen!
1080
Ha, wohl möcht' ich ihn,
Der es ersonnen, an gleiche Bekümmerniß
Gleich lange Zeit gebannt seh'n!
Zweite Gegenstrophe.
Die Götter thaten dir's, die Götter;
Kein täuschender Trug von meiner Hand
1085
Umfing dich: o wirf den verwünschenden Fluch
Des Mißgeschicks auf Andre!
Bangt es mir doch, daß du den wohlwollenden Sinn verscherzest.
Dritte Strophe.
Weh mir, weh! An der grauen See
Strande sizt er und spottet wohl
1090
Mein und schwingt in den Händen
Meine lebenerhaltende
Wehr, die noch kein Sterblicher trug.
Trauter Bogen, der trauten Hand
Durch schamlose Gewalt entrückt!
1095
Wurde Gefühl dir verlichen, so siehest du
Mitleidig auf mich armen
Diener des Herakles,
Welcher hinfort dich nimmer bedienen wird!
Den Herrn wechselnd, wirst du jezt
1100
Von dem listigen Frevler gehandhabt;
Du siehst den schmachvollen Betrug,
Siehst ihn, den haßwürdigen Feind,
Der zu dem Leid, das er zuvor schon mir ersann, zahllose Schmach hinzufügt.
Vierte Strophe.
Ihr hochschwebenden Vögel, ihr
Thiergeschlechter mit wildem Blick,
Weidend hier in den Bergen,
Niemals naht ihr aus Höhlen mir
Mehr, um wieder zu flieh'n; dem Arm
1115
Fehlt des alten Geschosses Kraft:
Weh mir! Iammer umringt mich nun!
Kommet (ihr dürft euch nicht vor dem Lahmen mehr,
Der hier zurückbleibt, fürchten,)
Kommet herbei, nach Lust
1120
Euch mit dem Morde der Rache zu sättigen
Am bleich abgezehrten Fleisch;
Bald werd' ich ja scheiden vom Leben:
Denn wo gelangt Speise zu mir?
Wen kann die Luft sättigen, wenn
1125
Aller Genuß stets ihm gebricht, welchen der Erd' heiliger Schooß heraufschickt?
Vierte Gegenstrophe.
Schon wieder, wieder rufst du mein altes Leid mir zurück,
Du Bester, der mir je genaht!
Was quälst du, was verderbst du mich?
1135
Als Helfer, und jezt ein Nichts ist!
(er geht in die Höhle.)
English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759)) — 1081 focus
O my poor hut ! and is it then decreed
Again I come to theo to part no more,
To end my wretched days in this sad cave,
The scene of all my woes ? For whither now
Can I betake me 1 Who will feed, support,
Remains for me. Oh ! that th' impetuous storms
1090
Would bear me with them to some distant clime !
For I must perish here.
Wretch that I am, to perish here alone !
Oh ! I shall see the face of man no more,
Nor shall my arrows pierce their winged prey,
And bring me sustenance 1 Such vile delusions
Used to betray me ! Oh I that pains like those
I feel might reach the author of my woes 1
[pointing to the sea-shore.] 1 behold him there;
E'en now I see him laughing me to scorn
On yonder shore, and in his hands the darts
Ho waves triumphant, which no arms but these
Had ever borne. O my dear glorious trea.sure !
Hadst thou a mind to feel th' indignity.
How wouldst thou grieve to change thy noble master,
The friend of great Alcides, for a wretch
So vile, so base, so impious as Ulysses !
Hear me, ye winged inhabitants of air,
And you, who on these mountains love to feed,
My savage prey, whom once I could pursue ;
1140
This hollow rock — I cannot hurt you now ;
You need not dread to enter here. Alas !
You now may come, and in your turn regale
On these poor limbs, when I shall be no more.
Where can I hope for food? or who can breathe
This vital air, when life-preserving earth
No longer will assist him ?
Oh ! you have brought back
Once more the sad remembrance of my griefs ;
Why, why, my friends, would you afflict me thus ?
1160
Ere now we should have taken thee to our
ships,
But that advancing this way I behold
English (Robert Potter, 1788) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Robert Potter, 1788)) — 1081 focus
Will you forsake me, and not pity me?
Thou rocky cave, now warm with summer suns,
Now cold with winter's frosts, I shall not leave,
1100
No, I shall never leave thee; e'en in death.
Thou shalt be still my mansion. Poor abode,
Thou witness of my woes, what day by day
Will now betide me? Whence shall I derive)
My food, or whence my soul-supporting hope ?
Oh, might the whirlwinds through the howling air
Bear me aloft; their force were welcome now !
These woes, ill-fated man, these woes by choice
1095
Hast thou drawn on thee; by no other hand,
No foreign force art thou involved in ills.
A better fortune in thy reach was placed,
Hadst thou been wise: thou hast preferred the worse.
I am a wretch, a wretch, oppress'd with woes;
And never, never from this hour with man
Shall have my dwelling, but shall perish here.
My food no more shall I procure, no more
Bend my strong bow, and pierce the flying birds;
For dark and treacherous words, that ever smooth
The tongue of fraud, have robbed me of my arms.
Oh, might I see the base betrayer rack'd
For such a length of time with pains like mine!
Now on the margin of the hoary deep
Laughing he sits, and poizes in his hands
My life's support, which none hath ever borne.
O my dear bow, from these unhappy hands
Wrested by force, if thou hast sense, how grieved
Dost thou behold the toils of Hercules
No more employ thee ! Changed thy noble lord,
1145
Thou seest a vile deceiver guide thy shafts;
Thou seest his hateful and detested arts
Hostile to me, and all the thousand wiles
Which to ensnare me he hath basely forged.
Ye winged birds, ye tribes of tawny beasts,
That o'er these rugged mountains roam, no more,
When from your coverts you come near me, fly:
These hands no more the forceful arrows bear,
(Such now is my ill fortune) but this place
Is now no more destructive, and by you
No longer to be fear'd; an happy change:
For you: come, in your turn your hunger glut,
And gorge my spotted flesh; I soon shall leave
1160
My life; for whence shall food be now supplied ?
1160
Who lives on air, deprived of strength'ning food,
1160
Whate'er the life-sustaining earth affords ?
1160
Hence to our bark we all long since had gone,
But that I saw Ulysses and our lord
This way advancing to us; they are nigh.
Philoctetes retires into the cave.
English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904)) — 1081-1215 focus