Sir Richard C. Jebb Commentary on Sophocles: Trachiniae 11

Commentary on Sophocles: Trachiniae. 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)) — 972 focus
Ωμοι ἐγὼ σοῦ,
*ὦ om. πάτερ, ὤμοι ἐγὼ σοῦ ἐγώ σου μέλεος.
τί πάθω; τί δὲ μήσομαι; οἴμοι.
ἐ ἔ,
Ὦ παῖ τοῦδ᾽ ἀνδρός, τοὔργον τόδε μεῖζον ἀνήκει ἀνείκει ἀνείκει ἀνήκει
ἢ κατ᾿ ἐμὰν ῥώμαν· σὺ δὲ σύλλαβε. σοί τε γὰρ ὄμμα
ἔμπλεον ἢ δι᾽ ἐμοῦ σώζειν.
Ὦ παῖ ὦ παὶ παῖ παῖ παι, ποῦ ποτ' εἶ;
τᾷδέ με τᾷδέ με πρόσλαβε κουφίσας.
ἐ ἔ, ἰὼ δαῖμον ἐ ἐ ἰὼ ἰὼ δαῖμον.
1025
θρώσκει δ᾽ αὖ, θρώσκει δειλαία
διολοῦσ᾽ ἡμᾶς
ἀποτίβατος ἀγρία νόσος.
κλύουσ᾽ ἔφριξα τάσδε συμφοράς τάσδε συμφορᾶς τάσδε συμφοράς, φίλαι,
ἄνακτος, οἵας οἷος ὢν ἐλαύνεται.
καὶ νῦν προσελθὼν στῆθι πλησίον πατρός,
σκέψαι δ᾽ ὁποίας ταῦτα συμφορᾶς ὕπο
1070
πέπονθα· δείξω γὰρ τάδ᾽ ἐκ καλυμμάτων.
ἰδού, θεᾶσθε πάντες ἄθλιον δέμας,
ὁρᾶτε τὸν δύστηνον δύστανον δύστηνον, ὡς οἰκτρῶς ἔχω.
αἰαῖ, ὦ τάλας, ἔ ἔ, αἱ αἱ ὦ τάλας αἰαἰ αἱ αἱ ὦ τάλας αἱ αἱ αἱ αἱ ὦ τάλας ἔ ἔ
ἔθαλψεν ἄτης σπασμὸς ἀρτίως ὅδ᾽ αὖ ὁ δ᾽ αὖ,
1075
διῇξε πλευρῶν, οὐδ᾽ ἀγύμναστόν μ᾽ ἐᾶν
ἔοικεν ἡ τάλαινα διαβόρος νόσος.
ὧναξ ᾿Αΐδη, δέξαι μ' με,
ὦ Διὸς ἀκτίς, παῖσον.
ἔνσεισον, ὦναξ ὤναξ, ἐγκατάσκηψον βέλος,
1080
πάτερ, κεραυνοῦ. δαίνυται γὰρ αὖ πάλιν,
ἤνθηκεν, ἐξώρμηκεν.
ὦ χέρες χέρες,
ὦ νῶτα καὶ στέρν, ὦ φίλοι βραχίονες,
ὦ τλῆμον ῾Ελλάς, πένθος οἷον εἰσορῶ
ἕξουσαν, ἀνδρὸς τοῦδέ γ' εἰ τοῦδ' εἴγε σφαλήσεται.
ἰοὺ ἰοὺ δύστηνος, οἴχομαι τάλας.
σὺ δ᾽ οὖν ἄκουε τοὔργον· ἐξήκεις δ' ἵνα
φανεῖς ὁποῖος ὢν ἀνὴρ ἐμὸς καλεῖ.
ἐμοὶ γὰρ ἦν πρόφαντον πρόσφατον πρόφαντον ἐκ πατρὸς πάλαι,
ἀλλ᾽, ὦ πάτερ, ταρβῶ μὲν εἰς λόγου στάσιν
τοιάνδ᾽ ἐπελθών, πείσομαι δ᾽ ἅ σοι δοκεῖ.
1180
οἰμοι, πάτερ, τί εἶπας τίν' εἶπας; οἷά μ' εἴργασαι.
ἔγνως. τοσοῦτον δή σ᾽ ἐπισκήπτω, τέκνον·
ταύτην, ἐμοῦ θανόντος, εἴπερ εὐσεβεῖν
βούλει, πατρῴων ὁρκίων μεμνημένος,
προσθοῦ πρόσθου δάμαρτα, μηδ᾽ ἀπιστήσῃς πατρί·
μηδ᾽ ἄλλος ἀνδρῶν τοῖς ἐμοῖς ἐμοῖ ἐμοῖσ πλευροῖς ὁμοῦ
1225
κλιθεῖσαν αὐτὴν ἀντὶ σοῦ λάβοι ποτέ·
ἀλλ᾽ αὐτός, ὦ παῖ, τοῦτο κήδευσον λέχος.
πείθου· τὸ γάρ τοι μεγάλα πιστεύσαντ᾿ ἐμοὶ
σμικροῖς ἀπιστεῖν τὴν πάρος συγχεῖ χάριν.
οἴμοι. τὸ μὲν νοσοῦντι θυμοῦσθαι κακόν,
1230
τὸ τῶι τὸ δ᾽ ὧδ᾽ ὁρᾶν φρονοῦντα τίς ποτ᾽ ἂν φέροι;
ἄγε νυν νῦν, πρὶν τήνδ᾽ ἀνακινῆσαι
νόσον, ὦ ψυχὴ σκληρά, χάλυβος
1260
λιθοκόλλητον στόμιον παρέχουσ',
ἀνάπαυε βοήν, ὡς ἐπίχαρτον
* τελέουσ᾽ τελέως ἀεκούσιον ἔργον.
Greek (F. Storr, 1912) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (F. Storr, 1912)) — 972-1003 focus
Translations (5)
English (Lewis Campbell, 1906) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Lewis Campbell, 1906)) — 1044 focus
Horror hath caught me as I hear this, woe,
Racking our mighty one with mightier pain.
Many hot toils and hard beyond report,
980
With sturdy thews and sinews I have borne,
980
But no such labour hath the Thunderer’s wife
980
Or sour Eurystheus ever given, as this,
980
Which Oeneus’ daughter of the treacherous eye
Hath fastened on my back, this amply-woven
Net of the Furies, that is breaking me.
For, glued unto my side, it hath devoured
My flesh to the bone, and lodging in the lungs
It drains the vital channels, and hath drunk
The fresh life-blood, and ruins all my frame,
Foiled in the tangle of a viewless bond.
Yet me nor War-host, nor Earth’s giant brood,
Nor Centaur’s monstrous violence could subdue,
Nor Hellas, nor the Stranger, nor all lands
Where I have gone, cleansing the world from harms.
But a soft woman without manhood’s strain
Alone and weaponless hath conquered me.
Son, let me know thee mine true-born, nor rate
985
Thy mother’s claim beyond thy sire’s, but bring
985
Thyself from out the chambers to my hand
985
Her body that hath borne thee, that my heart
985
May be assured, if lesser than my pain
It will distress thee to behold her limbs
With righteous torment agonized and torn.
Nay, shrink not, son, but pity me, whom all
May pity—me, who, like a tender girl,
Am heard to weep aloud! This none could say
He knew in me of old; for, murmuring not,
I went with evil fortune, silent still.
Now, such a foe hath found the woman in me!
Ay, but come near; stand by me, and behold
What cause I have for crying. Look but here!
Here is the mystery unveiled. O see!
Ye people, gaze on this poor quivering flesh,
Look with compassion on my misery!
Ah me!
Ah! ah! Again!
Even now the hot convulsion of disease
Shoots through my side, and will not let me rest
From this fierce exercise of wearing woe.
Take me, O King of Night!
O sudden thunderstroke.
Smite me! O sire, transfix me with the dart
Of thy swift lightning! Yet again that fang
Is tearing; it hath blossomed forth anew,
It soars up to the height!
O breast and back,
O shrivelling arms and hands, ye are the same
That crushed the dweller of the Némean wild,
The lion unapproachable and rude,
The oxherd’s plague, and Hydra of the lake
Of Lerna, and the twi-form prancing throng
Of Centaurs,—insolent, unsociable,
Lawless, ungovernable:—the tuskèd pest
1025
Of Erymanthine glades; then underground
1025
Pluto’s three-headed cur—a perilous fear,
1025
Born from the monster-worm; and, on the verge
Of Earth, the dragon, guarding fruits of gold.
These toils and others countless I have tried,
And none hath triumphed o’er me. But to-day,
Jointless and riven to tatters, I am wrecked
Thus utterly by imperceptible woe;
I, proudly named Alcmena’s child, and His
Who reigns in highest heaven, the King supreme!
Ay, but even yet, I tell ye, even from here,
Where I am nothingness and cannot move,
She who hath done this deed shall feel my power.
Let her come near, that, mastered by my might,
She may have this to tell the world, that, dying,
As living, I gave punishment to wrong.
O Hellas, how I grieve for thy distress!
How thou wilt mourn in losing him we see!
My father, since thy silence gives me leave,
Still hear me patiently, though in thy pain!
For my request is just. Lend me thy mind
Less wrathfully distempered than ’tis now;
Else thou canst never know, where thou art keen
With vain resentment and with vain desire
Hath Trachis a magician of such might?
O horror, thou art here! I am no more.
My day is darkened, boy! Undone, undone!
I see our plight too plainly. woe is me!
Come, O my son! —thou hast no more a father,—
Call to me all the brethren of thy blood,
And poor Alcmena, wedded all in vain
Unto the Highest, that ye may hear me tell
With my last breath what prophecies I know.
Thy mother is not here, but by the shore
Of Tiryns hath obtained a dwelling-place;
And of thy sons, some she hath with her there,
And some inhabit Thebè’s citadel.
1180
But we who are with thee, sire, if there be aught
1180
That may by us be done, will hear, and do.
1180
I know it, and full oft
Have stood there sacrificing.
The maid of Eurytus thou knowest, I ween.
Of Iolè thou speak’st, or I mistake.
Thou endest fairly. Now, then, O my son,
Add the performance swiftly, that, before
Some spasm or furious onset of my pain
1260
Have seized me, ye may place me on the pyre.
Come, loiter not, but lift me. Now my end
Is near, the last cessation of my woe.
German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review) (OCR draft) Experimental (German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review)) — 972 focus
Weh, Vater, um dich!
955
Unseliger ich! Weh, weh
Ah! Ah!
Lasset mich, lasset mich ruhen, den Leidenden!
Sa, ruh'n laßt mich zum leztenmal!
990
Wie rührst du mich an? Wo legst du mich hin?
Tod bringst du mir, Tod!
Das entschlafene Leiden erweckst du.
Wieder erfaßt es mich, ach! Schon kommt's! Von wannen in Hellas
Seid ihr Undankbarsten im Volk hellenischer Männer,
995
Die ich gerettet im Meer, und reinigend alle Gehölze,
Mich mühselig verzehrt? Und jezt will Keiner erbarmend
Nah'n mit Feuer und Lanze, die gräßliche Qual zu ver-
(Ah! Ah!)
kürzen,
Nah'n, um das Haupt mir vom Rumpfe zu trennen, und
1000
Mich befrein von des Lebens Leid?
Sohn des gewaltigen Manns, dies Werk zu bestehen, gebricht es
Mir an rüstiger Kraft: du fass' ihn! Schärfer erspäht auch
Hülfe dein Aug' als ich es vermag.
Fasse mich, fasse mich hier, und erleichtre mich!
weh, Götter, weh!
(Sie sezen ihn auf.)
Schon wieder auf mich stürmt her, stürmt her
1010
In vertilgender Wuth
Der unnahbare grauenvolle Schmerz.
Wieder, o göttliche Pallas, verzehrt mich's! Fühle mit deinem
Vater Erbarmen, o Sohn, zeuch aus den untadlichen Mordstahl,
Stoße mir ihn in die Brust, und heile den Schmerz, den die Mutter
1015
Frevelnd im Zorn mir entflammt! Ha, säh' ich sie niedergeschmettert
Also hier, wie mich sie vernichtete! Lieblicher Hades,
Wiege mich, Bruder des Zeus,
Wiege mich ein in den Schlaf, und vertilge mich
Armen in raschem Tod!
1020
Mit Schaudern hör' ich, welche Qual, o Freundinnen,
Den König (welchen Helden, ach!) grimmvoll bestürmt.
Sezt tritt heran an deines Vaters Seite, Kind,
Und sich, von welchem Schicksal ich so bittres Leid
Erdulde; denn ich zeig' es ohne Hülle dir.
1055
(er enthüllt sich.)
Schaut her, betrachtet alle mein unselig Bild,
Seht an mich Armen, wie bejammernswerth ich bin!
Ach, ach! Wehe mir!
O, o!
Des Schmerzes Zucken, eben glüht es wieder auf,
1060
Durchtobt die Seiten; ungemartert läßt sie mich
Nicht mehr, so scheint's, die zehrend grauenvolle Qual.
O Fürst Hades, nimm mich auf!
Strahl des Zeus, erschlage mich!
Schwing' her, o König, schleudre dein Geschoß herab,
1065
Den Bliz, o Vater! Wieder wühlt es ungestüm,
In vollen Gluten tobt es! Händ', ihr Hände, weh,
O Brust, o Rücken! Ihr geliebten Arme hier,
Seid ihr dieselben, die des Hirtenvolkes Grau'n
Vormals, den Löwen, der gehaust bei Nemea,
1070
Die Brut, unnahbar, ungesellig wilder Art,
Mit starker Kraft vertilgten, Lerna's Hyder auch,
Der Ungehener Zwitterheer von Mann und Roß,
Das stolze, zuchtvergess'ne, frech gewaltige,
Und Erymanthos' Eber, auch der Schattenwelt
1075
Dreiköpfigen Hund, den unbezwingbar'n Kerberos,
Echidne's Sohn, der grausen, auch den Drachen, der
Die goldnen Aepfel hütet' an der Erde Saum?
Und andrer Mühen kostet' ich noch tausende,
Und Keiner trug von meinem Arm den Sieg davon.
1080
Nun starren, wie zerrissen, Haut und Glieder mir,
Ein ungeseh'nes Wehe zehrt mich Armen aus,
Mich, der ein Sohn der besten Mutter heißt, ein Sohn
Des Zeus genannt wird, welcher bei den Sternen thront.
Doch sollt ihr dieses wissen: bin ich auch ein Nichts,
1085
Und trägt mein Fuß mich nimmer, dennoch will ich sie,
Die das gethan, bezwingen. Ja, sie komme nur,
Auf daß sie lerne, Jedermann es kundzuthun,
Die Bösen straf' ich lebend und im Tode noch!
Unselig Hellas! Welche Trauer seh' ich dein
1090
Noch warten, wenn dir dieser Held entrissen wird!
Weh, weh, ich Unglücksel'ger! Nun bin ich dahin!
Ich bin verloren, mir erlosch des Lebens Licht!
Ach, ach! Ich weiß nun, welches Loos mich heimgesucht.
Geh, trauter Sohn, (denn keinen Vater hast du mehr,)
Geh, rufe deine Brüder all' und Schwestern mir,
1125
Auch rufe mir Alkmenen, die vergeblich, ach! 3
Dem Zeus vermählt war, daß ich euch den Götterspruch
Von meinem Ende, den ich weiß, verkündige.
So höre du denn Alles. Dir erschien die Zeit,
1135
Zu zeigen, welch' ein Mann du bist, ob würdig mein.
Mir war vorlängst von meinem Vater offenbart,
Durch keinen stürb' ich, der im Licht der Sonne lebt,
Mich morde nur ein Todter, der im Hades wohnt.
Nun hat das Unthier Nessos, (wie des Gottes Spruch
1140
Kundthat,) der Todte, mich vertilgt, den Lebenden.
Doch ich verkünd' euch jüngre Göttersprüche noch,
Die gleich den ältern lauten, sie bestätigend,
Die dort im Haine, wo der Sell' auf Bergen wohnt 4
Und auf der Erde lagert, ich mir niederschrieb,
1145
Wie's aus des Vaters stimmenreicher Eiche scholl.
Der Baum verhieß mir, alle Noth, die mich bedrängt,
Ein Ziel gewinnen werde sie zu dieser Frist,
Die jezt erschienen; und ich hoffte Wonn' und Glück.
Doch war damit nichts Andres als mein Tod gemeint;
1150
Denn, die der Tod hinraffte, rührt kein Leiden mehr.
Nun, da sich alles dieses klar erfüllt, o Kind,
So werde du des Vaters treuer Kampfgenoß,
Und harre nicht, bis meine Stimme zürnend mahnt;
Nein, gib mir nach, hilf willig, und erwähle dir
1155
Die schönste Tugend: sei dem Vater unterthan!
Mir bangt, o Vater, daß du mir mit solchem Wort
Entgegentratest; doch befolg' ich dein Gebot.
Was sagtest du, mein Vater? Weh! Was thust du mir?
Sie meint' ich. Eines leg' ich nun dir auf, o Kind!
Nach meinem Tode, wenn du fromm zu sein gedenkst,
1200
Und treu dem Eide, welchen du dem Vater schwurst,
Nimm sie zum Weibe, sei gehorsam meinem Wort!
Kein andrer Mann auf Erden nehm' an deiner Statt
Jemals die Jungfrau, die an meiner Seite lag;
Nein, nimm sie selbst als deine Gattin auf, o Sohn!
1205
Gehorche! Wahrlich, wenn du Großes mir gewährst
Und Kleines weigerst, dann zerrinnt der erste Dank.
Weh mir!
Auf, eh du die Krankheit wieder erweckst, 6
Leg' an, mein fest ausharrendes Herz,
Dir den eisernen Zaum, der Steine vereint,
1240
Und verhalte den Schrei, um mit freudigem Sinn 7
Das gefürchtete Werk zu vollenden!
English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759)) — 972 focus
Alas ! my father; whither shall I go ?
Wretch that 1 am. Oh ! where shall I betake me ?
What will become of thy afflicted son ?
What power of medicine can assuage my pain^
Unless great Jove assisted? Health to me
Without him were a miracle indeed.
Let me, oh ! let me rest ; refuse me not
A little slumber ; why will ye torment me ?
Why bend me forward ? Oh ! 'tis worse than death ;
Had you not waked me, I had been at peace.
Again it rages with redoubled force ;
Where are you now, ye thankless Grecians, where.
Whom I have toiled to serve on the rough main,
And through the pathless wood? Where are you now
To help a dying wretch ? Will no kind hand
Stretch forth the friendly sword, or in the flame
Consume me? None, alas ! will cut me off
From hated life.
It is beyond my strength ; thy quicker sight
May be more useful.
My son, my son !
Where art thou? Bear me up, assist me. Oh !
Again it comes, th' unconqnerable ill,
Draw forth thy sword, my son ; strike, strike thy father,
1025
And heal the wound thy impious mother made.
1025
Oh ! could I see her like myself destroyed,
I should be happy ! Brother of great Jove,
Sweet Pluto, hear me 1 Oh ! with speedy death
Lay me to rest, and bury all my woes.
The anguish of th' unhappy man, my friends,
Is terrible ; I tremble but to hear him.
Unhappy Greece ! How wilt thou mourn the
Of such a man? [loss
Undone, Alcides !
I die, my child ; there is no life for me.
vVlas ! I see it now ; I see my woes ;
away, thy father is no more ;
Begone, and call thy brothers, call Alcmena,
The wife, alas ! in vain, the wife of Jove ;
Go, bring them here, that wdth my latest breath
I may declare my fate long since foretold
1155
By oracles divine.
Alcmena 's gone
To Tyrinth. With her many of thy sons
Remain. Some dwell at Thebes, the rest are here,
1180
And wait with me to hear and to obey thee.
1180
I know it well, and many a sacrifice
Have oftered there.
Heu. Tliat is the destined place,
Where thou, assisted by thy chosen friends,
My son, must bear the body of Alcides ;
There shalt thou cut thee many a leafy branch
From the wild olive and deep-rooted oak,
Then cast me on it, take thy torch, and light
My funeral pile ; without one tear or groan
Unmanly do it, if thou art my son ;
For if thou failst, remember, after death
A father's curses will sit heavy on thee.
Her, my son ;
Eemember, 'tis a father's last command,
And thou hast sworn obedience. That lole
I do bequeath thee ; take her to thy arms
When I am dead, and let her be thy wife :
It is not fitting she who lay by th' side
1225
Of Hercules to any but the son
1225
Of Hercules should e'er descend ; to thee
Alone I yield her. Speak not, but obey me ;
After thy kind compliance, to refuse
So slight a favour were to cancel all.
\ciside\. Alas ! distempered as he is, to chide
1230
him
1230
Were most unkind ; and yet, what madness this !
Now, ere the dreadful malady return,
Be firm, my soul, e'en as the hardened steel;
Suspend thy ciies, and meet the fatal blow
With joy and pleasure ; bear me hence, my fnends,
1260
For you have shown yourselves my friends indeed,
1260
And prove the base ingratitude of those
From whom I sprang, the cruel gods, who saw
Unmoved the woes of their unhappy son.
'Tis not in mortal to foresee his fate ;
Mine is to them disgraceful, and to me
Most terrible — to me of all mankind
The most distressed, the poor, the lost Alcides.
English (Robert Potter, 1788) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Robert Potter, 1788)) — 972 focus
What anguish, O my father, rends my heart
To see thee thus! What can I do? Ah me,
Unhappy me, what grief is mine!
Have you repaid? O Jove, with what fierce pains
Hast thou afflicted me? This dire disease,
Whose unextinguish'd rage to madness fires
My bursting veins, oh that I had not known!
What potent charm, what skill medicinal
Can mitigate, without the pow'r of Jove,
These agonizing pangs? Oh might I see
This miracle, though distant! Let me lie,
Ah, let me lie reposed. Why dost thou touch,
Why dost thou raise me up? Each touch is death.
Thou hast awaken'd pangs that were at rest.
Again my tortures are inflamed, again
They rush upon me. Ah, where are you now,
Ye most unjust of all the Grecian race?
With many toils th' infested seas I clear'd,
And all the ruffian-haunted woods; yet now
I miserably perish; not a man
Will bring or fire or sword to put an end
To my afflictions; not a man will come
Willing to rend from me this hated life.
O thou his son, this task requires a strength
Greater than mine; assist him thou, thine eye
Quicker than mine sees what may give him aid.
My son, my son, where art thou? In thy arms
Raise me, support me. O my cruel fate!
This fierce, immedicable, wasting pest
Attacks, again attacks me; wretched me!
O Pallas, it consumes me. O my son,
In pity to thy father draw thy sword,
1025
And plunge it deep into my throat; the deed
1025
Will not be impious; heal these torturing pangs
Inflicted by thy mother's wicked hands:
Oh might I see her fall'n, thus fall'n, as me
Her arts have sunk! Thou monarch of the dead,
Brother of Jove, give me a speedy death,
And lay, oh lay a tortured wretch at rest!
My friends, chill horror shakes me as I hear
The miseries, which th' illustrious hero bears.
Unhappy Greece, what sorrows will be thine, T
Of his illustrious virtues if bereaved?
Then I am lost indeed; unhappy fate!
I perish, ah, I perish! Now no more
Beams the son's golden light for me; I know
My miserable state. But go, my son,
(Thou hast no more a father) hither bring
Thy brothers, bring them all; and with thee lead
The sorrowing Alcmena, wife of Jove
In vain; that from my lips you yet may hear
The last of Oracles to me announced.
Then hear thou me; for now thou art arrived
At such an age as to the world may show
The virtues of the man, and of my son.
To me long since my awful sire declared
That by no living mortal I should die,
But by the dead, in the dark realms below
By one that hath his mansion: this is he,
The Centaur Nessus, by the voice divine
Foretold; though long since dead, me of my life
He hath bereaved. Attend, while yet I speak
Of oracles late utter'd, which accord
With those of former times: When I had reach'd
The forest of the Selli, (an hard race
That o'er the mountains roam at large, and rest
Couch'd on the ground) these from the vocal oak
Of Jove I wrote; and thus its voice announced,
That when the hours should bring this time to life,
All my impending toils should find an end.
I fondly thought of life and happy days,
Whilst it denoted nothing but my death;
For the dead rest secure from toils. These truths
Are clear, my son; behoves thee then to aid
Thy father, nor provoke my harsh rebukes;
Act of thine own accord, and this great law,
Obedience to a father's will, observe.
I tremble at the words thy mournful state
Declaring; but thy will shall be obey'd.
1180
To what a deed wou'dst thou excite thy son,
To kill my father with a murderer's hand!
Thou wilt not then with my request complyed sai
Her, of my mother's death that was alone
1230
The guilty cause, that brought thee to this state,
1230
Her, by the vengeful furies if not urged; li
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Who would receive? No; rather let me die, ......
Than dwell with those whom most my soul abhors.
Close up my lips, let not a cry break forth,
For this unpleasing work now gives me joy.
You, who attend, take up your lord: my part
In this sad business justly claims excuse.
But in this horrible event the gods,
Mortal man
Who gave him being, and are fathers call'd,
Yet unconcern'd such sufferings can behold,
Show that their minds are ruthless.
Sees not the future: we the present feel,
Mournful to us, disgraceful to the gods,
But most severe to him who bears these ills.
Virgin, go hence: thou hast beheld the deaths
Of the illustrious, and their recent woes;
Dreadful events, but all ordain'd by Jove.
English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904)) — 971-1000 focus