Sir Richard C. Jebb Commentary on Sophocles: Trachiniae 7

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

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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)) — 663 focus
γυναῖκες, ὡς δέδοικα μὴ περαιτέρω
πεπραγμέν' ᾖ μοι πάνθ᾽ ὅσ᾽ ἀρτίως ἔδρων.
τοιοῦτον ἐκβέβηκεν, οἷον, ἢν ἂν φράσω,
γυναῖκες, ὑμῖν θαῦμ᾽ ἀνέλπιστον μαθεῖν λαβεῖν μαθεῖν.
ᾧ γὰρ τὸν ἐνδυτῆρα πέπλον ἀρτίως
ἔχριον, ἀργῆτ᾽ οἰὸς οιὸς εὐείρῳ πόκῳ πόην,
675
τοῦτ᾽ ἠφάνισται, διάβορον διάβορον πρὸς οὐδενὸς
τῶν ἔνδον, ἀλλ᾽ ἐδεστὸν ἐξ αὑτοῦ αὐτοῦ ἁυτοῦ φθίνει
καὶ ψῇ κατ᾿ ἄκρας σπιλάδος. ὡς δ᾽ εἰδῇς ἅπαν,
ἢ τοῦτ᾽ ἐπράχθη, μείζον' ἐκτενῶ λόγον.
ὥστ᾽ οὐκ ἔχω τάλαινα ποῖ γνώμης πέσω·
705
ταρβεῖν μὲν ἔργα δείν δεῖν δείν' ἀναγκαίως ἔχει,
τὴν δ᾽ ἐλπίδ᾽ οὐ χρὴ τῆς τύχης κρίνειν πάρος.
εἰ χρὴ μαθεῖν σε, πάντα δὴ φωνεῖν χρεών.
ἅπας δ᾽ ἀνευφήμησεν ἄνευ φωνῆσ ἐν ἀνευφώνησεν ἀνεφώνησεν οἰμωγῇ λεώς,
τοῦ μὲν νοσοῦντος, τοῦ δὲ διαπεπραγμένου·
κοὐδεὶς ἐτόλμα τἀνδρὸς ἀντίον μολεῖν.
785
ἐσπᾶτο γὰρ πέδονδε καὶ μετάρσιος,
βοῶν, ἰύζων· ἀμφὶ δ᾽ ἐκτύπουν πέτραι,
Λοκρῶν ὄρειοι πρῶνες Εὐβοίας τ᾽ ἄκραι.
ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ἀπεῖπε, πολλὰ μὲν τάλας χθονὶ
ῥίπτων ἑαυτόν, πολλὰ δ᾽ οἰμωγῇ βοῶν,
790
τί σῖγ᾽ ἀφέρπεις ἐφέρπεις? οὐ κάτοισθ᾽ ὁθούνεκα
ξυνηγορεῖς σιγῶσα τῷ κατηγόρῳ;
Greek (F. Storr, 1912) (OCR draft) Experimental (Greek (F. Storr, 1912)) — 663-820 focus
Translations (5)
English (Lewis Campbell, 1906) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Lewis Campbell, 1906)) — 663 focus
O how I fear, my friends, lest all too far
I have ventured in my action of to-day!
A thing is come to pass, which should I tell,
Will strike you with strange wonder when you learn.
For, O my friends, the stuff wherewith I dressed
That robe, a flock of soft and milkwhite wool,
Is shrivelled out of sight, not gnawn by tooth
Of any creature here, but, self-consumed,
Frittered and wasting on the courtyard-stones.
To let you know the circumstance at full,
I will speak on. Of all the Centaur-Thing,
When labouring in his side with the fell point
O’ the shaft, enjoined me, I had nothing lost,
But his vaticination in my heart
Remained indelible, as though engraved
With pen of iron upon brass. ’Twas thus:—
I was to keep this unguent closely hid
In dark recesses, where no heat of fire
Or warming ray might reach it, till with fresh
Anointing I addressed it to an end.
So I had done. And now this was to do,
Within my chamber covertly I spread
The ointment with piece of wool, a tuft
Pulled from a home-bred sheep; and, as ye saw,
I folded up my gift and packed it close
675
In hollow casket from the glaring sun.
675
But, entering in, a fact encounters me
675
Past human wit to fathom with surmise.
675
For, as it happened, I had tossed aside
675
The bit of wool I worked with, carelessly,
675
Into the open daylight, ’mid the blaze
675
Of Helios’ beam. And, as it kindled warm,
It fell away to nothing, crumbled small,
Like dust in severing wood by sawyers strewn.
So, on the point of vanishing, it lay.
But, from the place where it had lain, brake forth
A frothy scum in clots of seething foam,
Like the rich draught in purple vintage poured
From Bacchus’ vine upon the thirsty ground.
And I, unhappy, know not toward what thought
To turn me, but I see mine act is dire.
For wherefore should the Centaur, for what end,
Show kindness to the cause for whom he died?
That cannot be. But seeking to destroy
His slayer, he cajoled me. This I learn
Too late, by sad experience, for no good.
And, if I err not now, my hapless fate
Is all alone to be his murderess.
For, well I know, the shaft that made the wound
Gave pain to Cheiron, who was more than man;
And wheresoe’er it falls, it ravageth
All the wild creatures of the world. And now
This gory venom blackly spreading bane
From Nessus’ angry wound, must it not cause
The death of Heracles? I think it must.
Yet my resolve is firm, if aught harm him,
My death shall follow in the self-same hour.
She cannot bear to live in evil fame,
Who cares to have a nature pure from ill.
Horrid mischance must needs occasion fear.
But Hope is not condemned before the event.
Art thou to hear it? On, then, with my tale!
When after sacking Eurytus’ great city
He marched in triumph with first-fruits of war,—
There is a headland, last of long Euboea,
Surf-beat Cenaeum,—where to his father Zeus
He dedicates high altars and a grove.
There first I saw him, gladdened from desire.
And when he now addressed him to the work
Of various sacrifice, the herald Lichas
Arrived from home, bearing thy fatal gift,
The deadly robe: wherewith invested straight,
As thou hadst given charge, he sacrificed
The firstlings of the spoil, twelve bulls entire,
Each after each. But the full count he brought
Was a clear hundred of all kinds of head.
Then the all-hapless one commenced his prayer
In solemn gladness for the bright array.
But presently, when from the holy things,
And from the richness of the oak-tree core,
There issued flame mingled with blood, a sweat
Rose on his flesh, and close to every limb
Clung, like stone-drapery from the craftsman’s hand,
The garment, glued unto his side. Then came
The tearing pangs within his bones, and then
The poison feasted like the venomed tooth
Of murderous basilisk.—When this began,
He shouted on poor Lichas, none to blame
For thy sole crime, ‘What guile is here, thou knave?
What was thy fraud in fetching me this robe?’
He, all-unknowing, in an evil hour
Declared his message, that the gift was thine.
Whereat the hero, while the shooting spasm
Had fastened on the lungs, seized him by the foot
Where the ankle turns i’ the socket, and, with a thought,
Hurl’d on a surf-vex’d reef that showed i’ the sea:
And rained the grey pulp from the hair, the brain
Being scattered with the blood. Then the great throng
Saddened their festival with piteous wail
For one in death and one in agony.
And none had courage to approach my sire,—
Convulsed upon the ground, then tossed i’ the air
With horrid yells and crying, till the cliffs
Echoed round, the mountain-promontories
Of Locris, and Euboea’s rugged shore.
Wearied at length with flinging on the earth,
And shrieking oft with lamentable cry,
Cursing the fatal marriage with thyself
The all-wretched, and the bond to Oeneus’ house,
That prize that was the poisoner of his peace,
He lifted a wild glance above the smoke
That hung around, and ’midst the crowd of men
Saw me in tears, and looked on me and said,
‘O son, come near; fly not from my distress,
Though thou shouldst be consumèd in my death,
But lift and bear me forth; and, if thou mayest,
Set me where no one of mankind shall see me.
But if thy heart withhold thee, yet convey me
Out of this land as quickly as ye may.
Let me not die where I am now.’ We then,
Thus urgently commanded, laid him down
Within our bark, and hardly to this shore
Rowed him convulsed and roaring.—Presently,
He will appear, alive or lately dead.
Such, mother, is the crime thou hast devised
And done against our sire, wherefore let Right
And Vengeance punish thee!—May I pray so?
I may: for thou absolv’st me by thy deed,
Thou that hast slain the noblest of the Earth,
Thy spouse, whose like thou ne’er wilt see again.
Why steal’st thou forth in silence? Know’st thou not
Let her go off. Would that a sudden flood
815
Might sweep her far and swiftly from mine eye!
Why fondle vainly the fair-sounding name
Of mother, when her acts are all unmotherly?
Let her begone for me: and may she find
Such joy as she hath rendered to my sire!
820
German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review) (OCR draft) Experimental (German (J. J. C. Donner, 1875; OCR review)) — 663 focus
Ihr Frauen, ach, wie bangt mir, daß ich über Maß
Hinausgeschweist in Allem, was ich eben that!
Ein Wunder ist geschehen, das, erzähl' ich es,
Wohl eurem Ohr unglaublich klingen wird, o Frau'n.
Des wolligen Lammes Silbervließ, mit dem ich erst
Das Kleid bestrichen, welches ihn umhüllen soll,
Das ist verschwunden, nicht verzehrt von irgendwas
665
Im Hause; durch sich selber aufgezehrt, entschwand's,
Und stob hinweg vom Steine. Daß du ganz erkennst, 1
Wie dieses zugegangen, hol' ich weiter aus.
Was jenes Ungeheuer, als der bittre Pfeil
Ihm schmerzlich wühlt' im Busen, mir bedeutete,
670
Der Worte keins vergaß ich, nein, bewahrte sie,
Wie Schrift auf eh'rner Tafel, die niemals erlischt.
Mir war geboten, (und ich that nach diesem Wort,)
Den Liebeszauber tief im Haus zu bergen, stets
Vom Feuer fern, vom heißen Lichtstrahl unberührt,
675
Bis daß ich eben salbend ihn verwendete.
Und also that ich. Aber als die Stunde kam,
Bestrich ich heimlich im Gemach daheim mit Flaum,
Den ich vom Lamm der eignen Wollenheerde nahm,
Und legte wohlgefaltet, fern vom Sonnenstrahl,
680
In's hohle Kästchen das Gewand, wie ihr's geseh'n.
Doch wiederkommend seh' ich, was die Sprache nicht
Zu schildern weiß, was keines Menschen Geist erklärt.
Ich warf des Lammes Flocke so von ungefähr,
Als ich das Kleid bestrichen, auf den Boden hin 2
685
In Sonnenstrahlen. Als sie warm geworden hier,
Zerfloß sie ganz unkennbar und zerstob im Strahl,
Gestaltet so wie Spähne, die du wohl erblickst,
Nachdem der Säge scharfer Zahn das Holz durchfeilt.
So lag sie da zerfallen. Doch vom Boden, wo
690
Sie lag, da zischte Blasenschaum dicksprudelnd auf,
Wie wenn von Bacchos' Rebenstock der fette Trank 3
Des blauen Herbstes auf den Grund geschüttet wird.
Nun weiß ich nicht, ich Arme, was ich denken soll;
Denn Grauenvolles, seh' ich, ist durch mich gescheh'n.
695
Warum, wofür denn sollte sterbend auch das Thier
Wohlwollen mir erweisen, die ihm Tod gebracht?
Nein, nein! Vertilgen wollt' es seinen Mörder nur,
Und mich betrog es: allzuspät gewinn' ich jezt
Davon die Kunde, wo sie nicht mehr frommen kann.
700
Denn ich allein ja, wenn ein Wahn mich nicht berückt,
Ich werd' allein ihn tödten, ich Unselige.
Ich weiß, dem Gotte Cheiron auch schlug dies Geschoß 4
Die Todeswunde, jedes Wild, das dieser Pfeil
Berührte, findet seinen Tod: wie sollte nun
705
Das schwarze Blutgift, das in Nessos' Wunde trof,
Nicht auch Herakles tödten? Sicher, dünkt es mir.
Doch fest bin ich entschlossen: trifft den Gatten Tod,
Sterb' ich zugleich getroffen durch denselben Schlag.
Denn niedern Rufs zu leben, trägt die Freie nicht,
710
Die groß es achtet, nicht von niedrer Art zu sein.
Wohl unvermeidlich wohnt die Furcht bei schwerer That;
Doch richt' Erwartung vor der That Erfolge nicht.
Ziemt dir's zu wissen, Alles denn sei dir gesagt. 5
Als er, zerstörend Eurytos' ruhmvolle Stadt,
Mit Siegstrophä'n und stolzer Beute weiter 30g;
740
Jezt auf Euböa's meerumspültem Vorgebirg
(Kenäon heißt es) heiligt er dem Vater Zeus
Altäre samt des Haines dichtbelaubtem Raum,
Wo ich zuerst ihn wiedersah, sehnsüchtig froh.
Und als er eben rüsten will der Opfer viel,
745
Trifft unser Herold Lichas ein von unserm Haus,
Und bringt dem Vater dein Geschenk, das Todeskleid.
Mit diesem, so wie du's befahlst, umhüllt er sich,
Und schlachtet zwölf erles'ne Farren ohne Fehl,
Den schönsten Schmuck der Beute; doch im Ganzen führt
750
Er hundert Opferthiere dar aus allem Vieh.
Anfänglich heitern Sinnes, war der Arme wohl
Des Schmucks, des Festgewandes froh und betete:
Doch als die Flamme blutigroth vom hehren Mahl
Und aus der Fichte fettem Stamm aufloderte,
755
Trof heller Schweiß ihm durch die Haut, und fest umschlang
Das Kleid ihm alle Glieder, wie von Künstlerhand
Den Seiten angelöthet; sein Gebein durchdrang
Die wilde Zuckung folternd; dann, wie mörderisch
Feindsel'ger Schlangen grimmes Gift, verzehrt' es ihn.
760
Da rief er tobend nach dem Unglückseligen,
Dem Lichas, der nicht schuldig war an deiner That,
Mit welchen argen Künsten er dies Kleid gebracht.
Der weiß um Nichts, der Arme, sagt, von dir allein
Sei diese Gabe, wie er sie von dir empfing.
765
Und jener, als er solches hört und wilder Schmerz
Ihm durch das Eingeweide wühlt in reger Qual,
Faßt ihn am Beine, wo das Fußgelenke schließt,
Und schleudert ihn zum meerumspülten Felsen hin.
Und aus dem Haupthaar sprüzte weißes Hirn, ihm barst
770
Der Schädel mitten, und zugleich raun dichtes Blut.
Doch lauten Ruf des Jammers hob das ganze Volk,
Als hier der Eine raste, todt der Andre lag,
Und Keiner wagte wider ihn heranzugehn.
Denn nun zur Erde stürzt er, raffte dann sich auf,
775
Laut schreiend, heulend; Fels an Fels erdröhnte rings,
Der Lokrer Waldgebirge samt Euböa's Höh'n.
Doch als der Arme sich erschöpft, indem er oft
Umher sich warf am Boden, oft aufjammernd schrie,
Und Schmach gerufen über dein unseliges
780
Ehlager, arme Mutter, wie sein Leben ihm
Der Bund mit Deneus' edlem Haus verwüstete;
Da hob aus Qualm und Dampfe, der ihn rings umwogt,
Der Held des Auges wirren Blick, sah weinend mich
Dasteh'n im Volksgewühle, blickt mich an und ruft:
785
O komm heran, Sohn, fliehe nicht vor meinem Leid,
Auch wenn du sterben müßtest mit mir Sterbenden!
Nein, hebe mich von hinnen, birg am liebsten mich
In Deden, wo kein Menschenauge mich erspäht!
Ja, fühlst du Mitleid, führe mich aus diesem Land
790
Im schnellsten Schiffe, daß ich hier nicht sterben muß!
Nachdem er das geboten, hob ich ihn sofort
In einen Nachen; doch er stöhnt' in Zuckungen,
Wir konnten kaum hier landen, und ihr werdet gleich
Ihn schauen lebend oder kaum verblichen erst.
795
Dies, Mutter, dies ersannest, also thatest du
An meinem Vater: strafe dich Erinnys denn,
Die Nache Dike's! Ist es recht, ersleh' ich das;
Recht aber ist es, weil du kühn verhöhnt das Recht,
Und ihn, der Männer besten, der auf Erden war,
800
Gemordet, wie wohl keinen mehr dein Aug' erblickt!
(Deianeira geht ab.)
Was gehst du schweigend? Weißt du nicht, indem du schweigst,
Bekennst du dem dich schuldig, der dich schuldig fand?
English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Thomas Francklin, 1758–1759)) — 663 focus
Chorus.
Deianika. Alas ! my friends, I fear I've gone too far.
Oh ! 'twas wonderful !
For you shall hear it. Know then, the white wool
Wherein 1 wrapped th' anointed vest, untouched
By any hand, dropped self -consumed away,
And down the stone, e'en like a liquid, flowed
Dissolving — but 'tis fit I tell you all —
Whate'er the wounded centaur did enjoin me
Mindful to practise, sacred as the laws
On brazen tablets graved, I have performed :
Far from the fire, and from the sun's warm beams
He bade me keep the charm ; from every eye
In secret hid, till time should call on me
To anoint and use it. This was done : and now,
The fleece m secret plucked, the charm prepared,
Long from the sun within a chest concealed ;
At length I brought it forth, and sent the gift
675
To my Alcides, when behold a wonder,
675
Most strange for tongue to tell, or heart of man
675
E'en to conceive ! Perchance the wool I cast
675
Into the sunshine ; soon as it grew warm
675
It fell to dust, consuming all away
In most strange manner, then from th' earth uprose
In frothy bubbles, e'en as from the grape
In yellow autumn jBlows the purple wine.
I know not what to thinly ; but much I fear
I've done a horrid deed. For, why, my friends,
Why should the dying savage wish to serve
His murderer ? That could never be. Oh no !
He only meant by flattery to destroy
Me, his destroyer. Truth is come too late,
And I alone have slain my dear Alcides ;
I know that by his arrows Chiron fell,
I know whate'er they touched they still were fatal,
That very poison mingled with the blood
Of dying Nessus, will not that too kill
My Hercules? It must : but if he dies,
My resolution is to perish with him ;
Those, who their honour and their virtue prize,
Can never live with infamy and shame.
'Tis fit we tremble at a deed of horror ;
But 'tis not fitting, ere we know th' event,
To give up hope, and yield us to despair.
' If I must,
Observe me well : when Hercules, returned
From conquest, had laid waste the noble city
i Ee to Euboea came, where o'er the sea,
Which beats on every side, Oenseum's top
Hangs dreadful, thither to paternal Jove
His new raised altars in the leafy wood
He came to visit : there did my glad eyes
Behold Alcides first. As he prepared
The frequent victim, from the palace came
Lichas thy messenger, and wath him brought
The fatal gift : wrapped in the deadly garment
Without a blemish, firstlings of the spoil,
He slew ; together next a hundred fell.
The mingled fiock. Pleased with his gaudy vest,
And happy in it, he awhile remained,
Offering with joy his grateful sacrifice ;
But, lo ! when from the holy victim rose
The bloody flame, and from the pitchy wood
Exhaled its moisture, sudden a cold sweat
Bedewed his limbs, and to his body stuck
As by the hand of some artificer
Close joined to every part, the fatal vest ;
Convulsion racked his bones, and through his veins,
Like the fell serpent's deadly venom, raged ;
Then questioned he the wretched guiltless Lichas
By what detested arts he had procured
The poisoned garb ; he, ignorant of all,
Could only say it was the gift he brought
From Deianira. When Alcides heard it.
Tortured with pain, he took him by the foot,
And hurled him headlong on a pointed rock
That o'er the ocean hung; his brains dashed forth
With mingled blood flowed through his clotted hair
In horrid streams ; the multitude with shrieks
Lamented loud the fury of Alcides,
And Lichas' hapless fate ; none durst oppose
His raging frenzy ; prostrate on the earth
Kow would he lay and groan ; and now uprising
"Would bellow forth his griefs ; the mountain-tops
Of Locris, and Euboea's rocks returned
His dreadful cries ; then on the ground outstretched,
In bitterest wrath he cursed the nuptial bed
Of QEneus, and his execrations poured
On thee his worst of foes : at length his eyes,
Distorted forth from the surrounding smoke,
He cast on me, who midst attending crowds
Wept his sad fate ; " Approach," he cried, " my son,
Do not forsake thy father ; rather come
And share his fate than leave me here, oh ! haste.
And take me hence ; bear me where never eye
Of mortal shall behold me. O my child,
Let me not perish here." Thus spake my father,
And I obeyed : distracted with his pains
A vessel brings him to this place, and soon
Living or dead you will behold him here.
This have thy horrid machinations done
For thy Alcides : Oh ! may justice doom thee
To righteous punishment, if it be lawful
For me to call down vengeance on a mother.
As sure it is on one who hath disclaimed
All piety like thee ; the earth sustains not
A better man than him whom thou has murdered,
Nor shalt thou e'er behold his like again.
Whence this abrupt departure? Knowst thou
Let her be gone ; and may some prosperous
815
gale
815
Waft her far off, that these abhorring eyes
815
May never see her more ! What boots the name
815
Of raothei', when no longer she i:)erforms
815
A moihor's duty ? Let lier go in peace,
815
And for her kindness to my father soon
815
May she enjoy the blessing she bestowed !
815
True was the oracle divine,
Long since delivered from Dodona's shrine,
Which said, Alcides' woes should last
Till twelve revolving years were past;
Then should his labours end in sw^eet repose
Behold, my friends, 'tis come to pass,
'Tis all fultilled ; for who, alas !
In peaceful death, or toil or slavery knows ?
If deep within his tortured veins
The centaur's cruel poison reigns.
That from the Hydra's baleful breath
Destructive flowed, replete with death,
On him another sun shall never rise ;
The venom runs through every part.
And, lo ! to Nessus' direful art
Alcides falls a helpless sacrifice.
Poor Deianira long deplored
Her waning charms, and ever faithless lord ;
At length by evil counsel swayed
Her passion's dictates she obeyed,
Resolved Alcides' doubtful truth to prove ;
But now, alas ! laments his fate
In ceaseless woe, and finds too late
A dying husband, and a foreign love.
. Another death must soon succeed,
Another victim soon shall bleed,
Fatal, Alcides, was the dart
That pierced the rival monarch's heart,
And brought lole from her native land ;
From Yenus did our sorrows flow.
The secret spring of all our woe,
For nought was done but by her dread command.
Or I'm deceived, or I did hear loud shrieks
820
Within the palace ; 'twas the voice of one
820
In anguish ; doubtless some calamity
820
Hath fallen upon us now. What can it be 1
820
But see, yon matnon, with contracted brow
820
And unaccustomed sadness, comes to tell
820
The dreadful news.
820
English (Robert Potter, 1788) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Robert Potter, 1788)) — 663 focus
I fear, my female friends, that I have done
More than became me in my late attempt.
A thing, my friends, hath happen'd far beyond
All thought, and big with wonder. You shall hear.
The soft wool sever'd from the snow-white fleece,
With which I lately ting'd the robe, at once
Wasted and, touch'd by none within the house,
Shrunk self-corroded into dust, and lay
A loose heap on the surface of the stone.
That thou may'st know each circumstance, distinct
Shall my relation be, and giv'n at large.
Whate'er the dying Centaur, 'midst the pangs
Of the keen arrow in his side infix'd,
Gave me in charge, I treasured in my heart,
As characters indelibly engraved
On brazen tablets: his instructions these,
And I obey'd them; from the blazing hearth,
And by the warm beams of the sun untouch'd,
Close-cover'd still to keep this potent charm
Fresh, till occasion should require its use.
I did so: and when now my thought resolved
To put its virtue to the proof, retired
In secret, wool from my domestic stores
I for the purpose took, and tinged the vest;
675
Then folded it, and laid it, as you saw,
675
In a close chest by the sun's beams untouch'd.
675
Again returning I beheld a sight
675
No language can express, nor could the thought
675
Of man conceive; the wool, wherewith I tinged
675
The vest, I chanced to throw where the sun's rays
Beam'd in full force; as it grew warm, it shrunk
And wasted on the ground, like the light dust
Which falls beneath the saw, like this it lay:
But soon the swelling mass in froth arose,
Fermenting like the grape's rich juice, that drops
Pour'd in grey autumn on the earth. My mind Ho
Is troubled, and perplex'd with fears: I see
That I have done some dreadful deed; for whence
This kindness by the dying Centaur shown,
Or why to me, through whom the savage died?
It is not so; but, wishing to destroy
The author of his wound, he filed his tongue
To sooth my ear with glozing courtesy.
This I too late perceive, for now to know
Avails not: I alone, ah wretched me!
(If with false fears my soul is not deceived)
Have wrought his ruin: well I know the shaft
That gave the wound; e'en Chiron the divine
Fell by its fatal point; to every beast
Its touch is death; and the black poison, mix'd
With the vile Centaur's blood, shall now destroy
My lord too. Such my fears. But should he die,
Fix'd is the purpose of my soul, with him
I too will die: for who could bear to live
With infamy, that has a sense of shame,
And a base nature holds in high disdain?
Horror at dreadful deeds must seize the soul;
But ere th' event hope should not be renounced.
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.
Without reply why dost thou haste away?
Nay, let her go; and may a favouring gale
815
Swell as she goes, and waft her from my sight.
815
Why should I cherish with a son's fond pride
The name of mother? Nothing hath she done
That shows a mother's part: let her then go,
And take this farewell with her, May she find
Such joys as to my father she hath given.
820
English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904) (OCR draft) Experimental (English (Sir Richard Jebb, 1904)) — 663-820 focus