Chapter L: E. L (1)

Theseus married Phaedra, daughter of Minos, sister of the unfortunate Ariadne whom he had left to perish. Phaedra, however, unhappily, felt a guilty love for Hippolytus, son of Theseus by a previous union. Venus, having a dislike to Minos, the father of Phaedra, sent Cupid to pierce her with his shafts. {202}

For a long time she struggled with the pangs which raged within her, but they grew too fierce to be endured, and she revealed to him her love.

_Phae._ "'My lord, 'tis said you soon will part from us.

_Hip._ Madam!

_Phae._ I pray you do not leave us!

_Hip._ My duty, lady!--

_Phae._ Would that that duty, were in pleasing me;

_Hip._ To please you, lady, were my highest wish,
To gain your love, my highest privilege.

_Phae._ To gain my love?

_Hip._ Aye, madam!
_Phae._ Hippolytus! the fearful truth will out,
_My love is gained_!

_Hip._ I hope, indeed so,--as a mother.
_Phae. aside_--(How coldly doth _he_ speak, while thro' _my_ veins
The hot blood bounds in fierce convulsive starts.)
Not as a mother do I love thee,
But--as a woman--now my breast is free
Of the stern secret which so long hath burned
And given a fever to my very looks.

_Hip._ Madam! I do not understand you;

_Phae._ You must! fierce, burning love is mine,
For you, Hippolytus, the son of Theseus!

_Hip._ And you his wife?

_Phae._ Aye, boy, 'tis even so;
Nay, look not so:--I say Hippolytus,
That from the very hour I saw, I loved thee;
That from the very moment that thy voice
Rang in my ears, it entered in my heart,
That from the hour I was Theseus' wife,
Even at the altar, where my plight was vowed,
My thoughts were all of thee. Speak, speak, and say
Thou dost not hate me.

_Hip._ Some sudden frenzy hath upset thy brain--
Thou knowest not what thou speakest.

_Phae._ I am not mad! would to the gods I were--
Think not that I have yielded willingly,
Unto the passion which I now avow,
Daily, and hourly, have I striven against it:
And night by night, when visions and when dreams
Pressed on my brain in many a confused shape,
All bearing one image, and that image thine,
I have striven, wrestled, fought against this love,
But all in vain.

_Hip._ I scarcely dare believe mine ears, a dream
Seems on me, like a man in sleep,
A mass of dim confusion gathers round me;
Am I indeed Hippolytus, and art thou Phaedra?

_Phae._ I am thy Phaedra! Theseus has my hand,
But thou, Hippolytus, thou hast my heart.

_Hip._ Theseus--my father--

{203}

_Phae._ Thy father and my husband, what of that?
Love knows no ties save those he makes himself,
Speak to me--
Say that I yet may hope to lay my head
On that dear bosom, say thou wilt not spurn
The heart that rests its only hope on thee.
Say, or, but look, a clear return of love,
And I will fall upon my knees adoring thee!

_Hip._ Madam, I would not, could not wrong my father;
And thou, how canst thou meet his face?
Shame, shame, upon the wanton love that leaves
The marriage bed, even were it but in thought:
And thou above thy compeers raised afar,
In that thy name is mated with my father's,
Shouldst pray the gods to scourge this passion from thee.

_Phae._ Oh! by thine hopes of heaven I pray thee peace!

_Hip._ Peace, thou! adultress! peace, thou, shameless one,
Away, lest I should change a husband's love,
Into a husband's hate.

_Phae._ Thou canst not do it!

_Hip._ What if I did proclaim to him thy guilt?
What if I said--father! thy wife, my mother,
Hath offered me the love due but to thee,
Hath with a shameless love, and wanton's insolence,
Deemed she could win me to her bed--
Woman, I tell thee--

{204}
_Phae._ And I tell thee, that he would not believe thee.
Yet--say it not, Hippolytus! for I
Do love thee as--

_Hip._ I'll hear no more!
_Mother!_ I leave thee, and I pray the gods
To visit not on thee, this awful crime!'"

RACINE.

Fearful lest Hippolytus should betray her, when she found he would not return her sinful passion, Phaedra accused his son to Theseus of the very crime of which she had herself been guilty, and excited the father's ire against his son in a terrible degree.

_The._ "'Dost thou dare look upon me boy?

_Hip._ My father?

_The._ Dost see this sword?

_Hip._ Aye!

_The._ Dost dread it?

_Hip._ No; the innocent have nought to fear;

_The._ Now by my crown, this is most base effrontery,
But 'tis in vain, thy mother hath told all,
Hath told how, with an impious love, thy heart
Hath turned to her's; how with an impure lip,
Thy words have pierced her to the soul.

_Hip._ And dost thou doubt me father?

_The._ Perfidious wretch! can'st stand before me thus?
Monster too long escaped Jove's fearful thunder,
After a love filled with an awful horror
And transports of affection fiercely urged,
That would pollute thy father's marriage bed,
Thou darest present to me thy traitor brow,
And vow thine innocence.
Away from these scenes of thine infamy,
Away and seek beneath a sky unknown,
A land where Theseus' name hath never sounded;
Fly, traitor! brave no longer here, my hate!
Within a court that I shall hold with dread,
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For ever will the curse cling to my name,
And endless infamy my memory,
That, having given birth to one so shameless,
I dared not take the life I gave to him!
Wretch that thou art, dost thou not answer me?

_Hip._ Sire, I am not the wretch that thou would'st make me.
Horror--astonishment--have kept me silent--

_The._ Darest thou add falsehood to thine infamy?

_Hip._ Thy words are most unjust!

_The._ And there thou standest with a brow as calm
As innocence itself.

_Hip._ In this I am most innocent!--
Nay, interrupt me not, for I will speak--
Thou hast accused me of an awful crime,
Thou hast accursed me with a father's curse,
And I must vindicate myself or die?
Phaedra, my mother, and thy wife, avowed
In accents shameless as the wish she breathed,
A most incestuous passion for my person:
With fierce disdain I spurned her offered love,
Implored her to remember that I stood
Before her as thy son, and did entreat her
To come back to the straight path of her duty.

_The._ And dost thou think that thou canst thus deceive me?
Away, away, no more pollute my court;
Wert thou not called my son, thy time were short.'"

RACINE.

Banished thus from the court of his father, the only consolation for a long time that Hippolytus possessed, was the consciousness of innocence. Remorse, however, at last preyed upon the bosom of Phaedra; after taking poison she confessed to Theseus the crime of which she had been guilty, and Hippolytus was restored to the affections of his father.

The name of Theseus had been rendered by his bravery so conspicuous and so dreaded by his enemies, that a tradition became popular, to the effect that he appeared at the battle of Marathon to fight for the Greeks, who seemed likely to be overwhelmed by the numbers of their opponents.

"Know ye not when our dead
From sleep to battle sprung?
When the Persian charger's tread
On their covering greensward rung!
When the trampling march of foes
Had crushed our vines and flowers,
When jewelled crests arose
Through the holy laurel bowers,
When banners caught the breeze,
When helms in sunlight shone,
When masts were on the seas,
And spears in Marathon.

{206}
"There was one a leader crowned,
And armed for Greece that day;
But the falchions made no sound
On his gleaming war array.
In the battle's front he stood,
With his tall and shadowy crest;
But the arrows drew no blood,
Though their path was thro' his breast.
When banners caught the breeze, &c.

"His sword was seen to flash
Where the boldest deeds were done;
But it smote without a clash;
The stroke was heard by none!
His voice was not of those
That swelled the rolling blast,
And his steps fell hushed like snows,--
'Twas the shade of Theseus passed!
When banners caught the breeze, &c.

"Far sweeping thro' the foe,
With a furious charge he bore,
And the Mede left many a bow
On the sounding ocean shore,
And the foaming waves grew red,
And the sails were crowded fast,
When the sons of Asia fled
As the shade of Theseus passed!
When banners caught the breeze,
When helms in sunlight shone,
When masts were on the seas,
And spears in Marathon!"

HEMANS.

{207}

ORPHEUS.

The distinguished honour which the ancients rendered to Orpheus, appears to have been an homage paid by the refinement of the age to music and poetry, of which he was so distinguished an ornament. He was the son of Oeager by the muse Calliope, though some assert him to have been the son of Apollo, because the god, owing to the genius he showed for music, presented him with a lyre, to the improvement of which Orpheus added two cords,--and upon which he played with so masterly a hand, that the river in its rapid current ceased to flow, the wild beasts of the forest forgot their nature, and gazed on him in mute admiration, while the very rocks moved towards him to express their joy.

"The rocks re-echo shrill, the beasts of forest wild
Stand at the cavern's mouth, in listening trance beguiled.
The birds surround the den, and, as in weary rest,
They drop their fluttering wings, forgetful of the rest,
Amazed the Centaur saw; his clapping hands he beat,
And stamped in ecstacy the rock with hoofed and horny feet."

But though this beautiful art was his master passion, he did not forget the charms of theology and philosophy, in both of which he was a proficient, and in Egypt, to which place he made a voyage, he was admitted to the sacred mysteries of Isis and Osiris. On his return he was the originator of many changes in the religious ceremonials of his country, and was received as the minister and interpreter of the will of the gods.

Nature itself seemed charmed and animated by his presence, and the nymphs made his company their chief desire. It was not long before the winged deity pierced him with his arrows, and Orpheus loved the nymph Eurydice, the only one whose charms touched the melodious musician; with her his happiness was made perfect by an union, at which Hymen presided.

This happiness, however, was not destined to last very long, for Aristaeus became enamoured of the musician's bride, and with all the violence of an illicit passion, sought to win her from the bridegroom's affections. Eurydice resisted and fled; but as she fled from him, a serpent stung her with so deadly a bite, that she died on the field. {208}

Deep was the despair felt by Orpheus at his unexpected loss, and the daring determination was formed by him to recover her, or perish in the attempt.

"His own despair the very stones admire
And rolling follow his melodious lyre,
He forced the heart of hardest oak to groan,
And made fierce tigers leave their rage and moan."

With his resistless lyre in his hands, he crossed the Styx, penetrated into the infernal regions, and gained admission to the presence of Pluto! Here the power of his genius was yet more eminently exhibited; for even the tortures of Hell gave way to it.

"At his powerful song the very seats
Of Erebus were moved; the retreats
Of all the ghosts were opened, and they swarm
Like bees in clusters, when the sun grows warm!"

Not only was the god of the infernal regions delighted, but the very wheel of Ixion paused; the stone of Sisyphus rested, as they listened to its sounds: the cooling water reached Tantalus' burning mouth, and even the Furies relented.

"Already had he passed the courts of Death,
And charmed with sacred verse the powers beneath;
While Hell with silent admiration hung,
On the soft music of his harp and tongue;
No longer Tantalus essayed to sip
The springs that fled from his deluded lip;
Their urn the fifty maids no longer fill,
Ixion leant and listened on his wheel,
And Sysiphus' stone for once stood still;
The ravenous vulture had forsook his meal,
And Titius felt his growing liver heal;
Relenting fiends to torture souls forbore,
And Furies wept who never wept before.
{209}
All Hell in harmony was heard to move,
With equal sweetness as the spheres above.
The wondrous numbers softened all beneath
Hell, and the inmost flinty seats of death:
Snakes round the Furies heads did upward rear,
And seemed to listen to the pleasing air,
While fiery Styx in milder streams did roll,
And Cerberus gaped, but yet forbore to howl,
No longer was the charming prayer denied,
All Hell consented to release his bride."

OVID.

The sorrow and love of Orpheus penetrated the hearts of Pluto and Proserpine; they consented to restore him to the arms of Eurydice, if he could forbear to look behind him before he reached the borders of hell. Gladly were these conditions accepted by Orpheus, and already was he by the river Styx, eager to be conveyed across by the infernal boatman, when a touching thought of Eurydice and her love crossed his mind, and he looked back.

"Near the confines of ethereal air,
Unmindful and unable to forbear,
Mistrusting also lest her steps might stray,
And gladsome of the glimpse of dawning day,
He stopped--looked back--(what cannot love persuade?)
To take one view of the unhappy maid.
His longing eyes impatient backward cast,
To catch a lover's look--but looked his last:
{210}
Here all his pains were lost, one greedy look,
Defeats his hopes, and Hell's conditions broke,
A fatal messenger from Pluto flew,
And snatched the forfeit from a second view,
For instant dying, she again descends,
While he to empty air his arms extends!"

OVID.

The condition being thus broken, he saw her, but at the same moment she was turned into a shadow.

"And fainting cries, 'What fury thee possest?
What frenzy, Orpheus, seized upon thy breast?
Once more my eyes are seized with endless sleep,
And now farewell, I sink into the deep.'
Oblivious cells surrounded all with night.
No longer thine: in vain to stop my flight
I stretch my arms, in vain thou stretchest thine,
In vain thou grievest, I in vain repine.'"

VIRGIL.

{211}

He returned to the upper world, where the only solace which he could find, was to soothe his grief with the tones of his musical instrument, to the sound of which, the mountains and caves of his native land bore a melancholy echo. He secluded himself entirely from the company of mankind; in vain was his society sought by the Thracian women; he rejected their overtures with coldness, until enraged at his behaviour, they attacked him while celebrating the Bacchanalian orgies.

"Here while the Thracian bard's enchanting strain,
Sooths beasts and woods, and all the listening plain:
The female Bacchanals devoutly mad,
In shaggy skins, like savage creatures clad,
Warbling in air perceived his lovely lay,
And from a rising ground beheld him play:
When one, the wildest, with dishevelled hair
That loosely streamed, and ruffled in the air:
Soon as her frantic eye the lyrist spied
'See, see, the hater of our sex,' she cried,
Then at his face her missive javelin sent,
Which whizzed along, and brushed him as it went;
But the soft wreaths of Ivy twisted round,
Prevent a deep impression of the wound,
Next their fierce hands the bard himself assail,
Nor can his song against their wrath prevail;
In vain he lifts his suppliant hands, in vain
He tries, before his never failing strain;
And, from those sacred lips, whose thrilling sound
Fierce tigers and insensate rocks could wound,
Ah Gods! how moving was the mournful sight,
To see the fleeting soul now take its flight!"

DRYDEN.

After tearing his body to pieces, they threw his head into the Hebrus, which, as it rolled down the current, ejaculated with touching tenderness, 'Eurydice! Eurydice!' until it reached the Aegean sea.

The inhabitants of Dian asserted that his tomb was in their city, but the people of Mount Libethrus, in Thrace, claimed the same honour, remarking that the nightingales which formed their nests near it, excelled all others in melody and beauty. After his death, he is reported by some to have received divine honours, the muses rendering the rites of sepulture to his remains, and his lyre becoming one of the constellations.

* * * * *

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ADMETUS

was the king of Thessaly, whose flocks were tended by Apollo for nine years, when banished from heaven. During his servitude to this monarch he obtained a promise from the Fates, that Admetus should never die if another person would lay down his life for him.

Being one of the Argonauts, he was at the hunt of the Calydonian boar, when Pelias promised his daughter in marriage to him only, who could bring him a chariot drawn by a lion and wild boar. With the aid of Apollo, Admetus effected this, and obtained the hand of Alcestis.

By the fortune of war, he became a prisoner, and was condemned to death; Alcestis, with a beautiful display of conjugal affection, laid down her life to save her husband from the cruel death prepared for him.

DEATH-SONG OF ALCESTIS.

"She came forth in her bridal robes arrayed,
And midst the graceful statues round the hall
Shedding the calm of their celestial mien,
Stood pale, yet proudly beautiful as they:
Flowers in her bosom, and the star-like gleam
Of jewels trembling from her braided hair
And death upon her brow! but glorious death!
Her own heart's choice, the token of the seal
Of love, o'ermastering love; which till that hour,
Almost an anguish in the brooding weight
Of its unutterable tenderness,
Had burdened her full soul. But now, oh! now,
Its time was come--and from the spirit's depths
The passion and the melody
Of its immortal voice, in triumph broke
Like a strong rushing wind!
The soft pure air
Came floating through that hall--the Grecian air,
Laden with music--flute notes from the vales,
Echoes of song--the last sweet sounds of life
And the glad sunshine of the golden clime
Streamed, as a royal mantle, round her form--
The glorified of love! But she--she look'd
Only on him for whom 'twas joy to die,
Deep--deepest, holiest joy!--or if a thought
Of the warm sunlight, and the scented breeze,
And the sweet Dorian songs, o'erswept the tide
Of her unswerving soul--'twas but a thought
That owned the summer loveliness of life
To him a worthy offering--so she stood
Wrapt in bright silence, as entranced awhile,
Till her eye kindled, and her quivering frame
With the swift breeze of inspiration shook,
As the pale priestess trembles to the breath
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Of unborn oracles! then flushed her cheek,
And all the triumph, all the agony,
Born on the battling waves of love and death
All from her woman's heart, in sudden song
Burst like a fount of fire,
'I go, I go,
Thou sun, thou golden sun, I go
Far from thy light to dwell:
Thou shalt not find my place below,
Dim is that world--bright sun of Greece, farewell!
The laurel and the glorious rose
Thy glad beam yet may see,
But where no purple summer glows
O'er the dark wave I haste from them and thee.
Yet doth my spirit faint to part,
I mourn thee not, O sun!

Joy, solemn joy, o'erflows my heart,
Sing me triumphant songs! my crown is won.
Let not a voice of weeping rise--,
My heart is girt with power
Let the green earth and festal skies
Laugh, as to grace a conqueror's closing hour!
For thee, for thee, my bosom's lord!
Thee, my soul's loved! I die;
Thine is the torch of life restored,
Mine, mine the rapture, mine the victory.
Now may the boundless love, that lay
Unfathomed still before
In one consuming burst find way,
In one bright flood all, all its riches pour.
Thou knowest--thou knowest what love is now!
Its glory and its might--
Are they not written on my brow?
And will that image ever quit thy sight?
No! deathless in thy faithful breast,
There shall my memory keep
Its own bright altar place of rest,
While o'er my grave the cypress branches weep.
Oh, the glad light! the light is fair,
The soft breeze warm and free;
And rich notes fill the scented air,
And all are gifts, my love's last gifts to thee!
Take me to thy warm heart once more!
Night falls, my pulse beats low;
Seek not to quicken, to restore--
Joy is in every pang,--I go, I go!
I feel thy tears, I feel thy breath,
I meet thy fond look, still
Keen is the strife of love and death;
Faint and yet frantic grows my bosom's thrill.
Yet swells the tide of rapture strong,
Though mists o'ershade mine eye!
Sing Paeans! sing a Conqueror's song!
For thee, for thee, my spirit's lord, I die!'"

HEMANS.

* * * * *

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AMPHION AND NIOBE.

Amphion was king of Thebes, the favourite of Apollo and rival of the celebrated Orpheus in the science of music. It is related of him, that in order to build the walls which surrounded his capital, he played upon his lyre, and by its divine power, the stones came and ranged themselves in order.

He married Niobe, by whom he had seven sons and seven daughters; the trials of this princess have been given in the history of Apollo, leaving a touching memorial of the sorrows of maternal love and tenderness.

* * * * *

OEDIPUS,

KING OF THEBES.

Oedipus was the son of Laius and Jocasta; and being descended from Venus, was compelled to endure all the troubles which Juno might choose to inflict on him, from the hatred she bore to the goddess of beauty.

No sooner had the marriage of Laius taken place with Jocasta, than it was foretold by the oracle, that he would fall by the hands {215} of his son. Alarmed at so fearful a prediction, he resolved not to approach his wife. Having broken this wise resolution, however, he became the father of Oedipus, but to avert the oracle, he ordered Jocasta to destroy the infant immediately he was born. The mother was unable to obey this cruel command, but gave him in charge to one of her domestics, with directions to leave him on the mountains. Instead of obeying this order, the servant bored a hole in the feet of the child, and hung him on a tree on Mount Cithaeron, where he was soon found by one of the shepherds of Polybus, King of Corinth.

The shepherd took him and presented him to Peribaea, the wife of Polybus, who conceived a maternal tenderness for the deserted child, and adopted him as her own.

The accomplishments of the boy, who was named Oedipus, soon became the admiration of the age; he was informed that he was illegitimate, though Peribaea, when he appealed to her, told him, {216} out of kindness, that his suspicions were unfounded. He remained dissatisfied however, and consulted the Delphian oracle, by which he was told not to return home, or he must inevitably become the murderer of his father, and the husband of his mother.

As he travelled towards Phocis, he met, in a narrow passage, Laius, his father, in a chariot with his arm bearer. Laius insolently ordered the youth to move out of his way, which Oedipus, not knowing him, and irritated at his tone and language, refused. A conflict ensued, and Laius with his companion was slain.

----------------------"'His demeanour bold,
Imperative, and arrogant: from far
He waved his hand, that I should quit the path.
Most narrow was the place, and scarce allowed
To one, free passage. I was incensed
At his deportment, free myself by birth,
Hence I advanced with an undaunted step:
He, with a terrible accent, cried, "Make way."
I, on the other hand, exclaimed with rage,
Returned his menace, and bade him retire.
Already had we met: he from his side,
Unsheathed a dagger, and upon me leap'd.
{217}
I had no dagger, but I lacked not courage.
Me he assailed. I combated his onset,
Grasp'd him, and in less time than I relate it;
Flung him upon the earth: in vain he strove;
When to the contest he perceived himself
Inadequate, insidiously he feigned
Terms of submission: I consented to them:
Quitted my grasp, when treacherously a blow,
Such as thou sees't here, he aimed at me,
And pierced my clothes. The weapon grazed my flesh
The wound is slight, but boundless was my rage.
Blind with revenge I snatched the dagger from him,
And weltering in his blood he lay transfixed.'"

ALFIERI.

Ignorant of the rank of the man he had killed, he continued his way to Thebes, attracted thither by the noise which had been vented about of the Sphynx, a frightful monster then laying waste the country around Thebes, and devouring all who could not expound the enigma it proposed, which was--"What animal in the morning walks upon four legs, in the afternoon upon two, and in the evening upon three legs." The answer of Oedipus was "That in infancy man goes upon his hands and feet; in manhood he walks upright, and in old age with the assistance of a staff." Enraged at this solution, the monster dashed its head against a rock, and delivered Thebes from his unwelcome presence.

The prediction, partly fulfilled, was now entirely brought to pass, for Oedipus mounted the throne, and married Jocasta, his mother, by whom he had two sons, Polynice and Eteocles, and two daughters, Ismene and Antigone.

Some years after, a plague visited his territories, and the oracle was consulted, which stated that it would only cease when the murderer of King Laius was banished from the country. The slayer of this king had never been discovered, and the whole of Thebes was in violent excitement, anxious to discover the murderer, to avert the plague which raged; Oedipus himself instituted all possible inquiry, resolved to overcome every difficulty. What was his sorrow at learning as the result of his unwearied zeal, that he himself was the unhappy parricide, and still more, that he was the husband of his own mother.

_Oedipus._ "'Why speak you not according to my charge?
Bring forth the rack, since mildness cannot win you
Torment shall force.

_Phorbas._ Hold, hold, Oh! dreadful sir,
You will not rack an innocent man.

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_Oed._ Speak, then.

_Phor._ Alas! what would you have me say?

_Oed._ Did this old man take from your arms an infant?

_Phor._ He did, and oh! I wish to all the gods,
Phorbas had perished in that very moment.

_Oed._ Moment! thou shalt be hours, days, years undying,
Here, bind his hands, he dallies with my fury,
But I shall find a way--

_Phor._ By the gods,
I do conjure you to enquire no more.

_Oed._ Furies and Hell! Haemon bring forth the rack,
Fetch hither cords and knives, and sulphurous flames.
He shall be bound and gashed, his skin flead off
And burned alive.

_Phor._ O spare my age.

_Oed._ Who gave that infant to thee?

_Phor._ O wretched state! I die, unless I speak;
And if I speak most certain death attends me.

_Oed._ Thou shalt not die; speak then, who was it? Speak,
While I have sense to understand the horror,
For I grow cold.

_Phor._ The Queen, Jocasta told me
It was her son by Laius.

_Oed._ O you gods--break, break not yet my heart,
Though my eyes burst, no matter, wilt thou tell me,
Or must I ask for ever? For what end?
Why gave she thee her child?

_Phor._ To murder it.

_Oed._ O more than savage! murder her own bowels
Without a cause.

_Phor._ There was a dreadful one
Which had foretold that most unhappy son
Should kill his father, and enjoy his mother.

_Oed._ 'Tis well! I thank you gods! 'tis wondrous well!
Dagger and poison--O there is no need
For my dispatch; and you, ye merciless powers,
Hoard up your thunder stones; keep, keep your bolts
For crimes of little note.

_Adrastus._ Help--and bow him gently forward,
Chafe, chafe his temples--He breathes again,
And vigorous nature breaks through opposition.
How fares my royal friend?

_Oed._ The worse for you.
O barbarous men, and oh! the hated light,
What did you force me back to curse the day,
To curse my friends, to blast with this dark breath
The yet untainted earth and circling air?
To raise new plagues and call new vengeance down,
Why did you tempt the gods, and dare to touch me?
Methinks there's not a hand that grasps thy hell,
But should run up like flax, all blazing fire.
Stand from this spot, I wish you as my friends,
And come not near me, lest the gaping earth
Swallow you too.'"

SOPHOCLES.

{219}

In the depth of his anguish he deprived himself of sight, as unworthy ever more to behold the light, and banished himself from Thebes for the good of his country; or as many assert, he was banished from thence by his sons.

He retired towards Attica, led by his daughter Antigone, and came to a place sacred to the Furies. Here the remembrance flashed across his mind, that he was to die in a place like this, that such had been the decree of the oracle, and that he was to become the great source of prosperity to the country in which his bones should be laid. He sent therefore to Theseus, king of the place, to inform him, that on his arrival he would make known to him the resolution which he had made. Theseus came, and found Oedipus with his face covered by a black veil, a knife in one hand, and a vessel containing the blood of a sacrifice in the other. With a prophetic voice he exclaimed:--

"Lo! the immortal gods have called--the ground on which we stand, shall be my grave!"

As he spoke, he walked without a guide to the appointed spot of earth, which in token of approval, opened, and received the victim to its bosom.

The tomb of Oedipus was near the Areopagus in the age of {220} Pausanias, and some of the ancient poets have represented him in hell, as the place, which crimes like his, would seem to deserve.

* * * * *

ETEOCLES AND POLYNICE.

From the unhappy union of Oedipus with Jocasta sprung Eteocles and Polynice; when they came to manhood an arrangement was made between them, by which it was agreed, that they should exercise the kingly authority for one year alternately. Eteocles was the eldest, and took to himself the first period of government; but when his year had past, the throne had proved so agreeable, that he refused to keep his promise of abdicating.

Polynice disgusted at such conduct retired to Argos, where Adrastus, king of the place, gave him his daughter in marriage, and attempted to persuade Eteocles into some feeling of justice; but not only did the latter persist in his conduct, but sought to slay the famous Tydius, the ambassador of Adrastus, who however escaped this danger with increased renown; and on his return to his king was appointed by him to join a numerous army, selected to trench against the walls of Thebes; nor was this an ungrateful task to the warrior who had been so treacherously assaulted. {221}

--------------"Frowning he speaks, and shakes
The dark crest, streaming o'er his shaded helm
In triple wave; whilst dreadful ring around
The brazen bosses of his shield; he stands
Close to the river's margin, and with shouts
Demands the war, like an impatient steed,
That pants upon the foaming curb."

Amphiaraus, who was famous for his knowledge of futurity, and a warrior of great renown: knew from his power of divination, that he was sure to perish if he accompanied the expedition, and therefore secreted himself so successfully, that his wife only, knew the the place of his concealment; she however consented to betray him, bribed by an offer of a bracelet of great worth from Polynice, who was desirous of gaining so important an auxiliary. Previous to Amphiaraus quitting Argos for Thebes, he told his son Alcmeon to slay his mother, if news of his death should reach him; and when Alcmeon heard that his father's chariot had been swallowed by the earth, which opened to receive its victim, he sacrificed Euriphyle to the vengeance of his dead sire. But so execrable a crime could not pass unpunished, and he was tortured by the Furies until he retired to Arcadia, where he married Alphisibaus. To fill up the measure of his crimes, he repudiated her, and took for his spouse Callirhoe. The brothers of his deserted wife however, assassinated him in revenge; and Callirhoe in the extremity of her anguish, devoted her two sons in the presence of their dead father, to revenge his death.

Her wishes were fulfilled, they slew the murderers of Alcmeon, {222} but to appease the gods, the fatal bracelet was sacrificed upon the altar of Apollo.

Meanwhile the war beneath the the walls of Thebes was conducted with fierce and vigorous bravery, by the chiefs who had assembled for its attack, until Eteocles and Polynice perceiving that the combat was unlikely soon to terminate, offered to finish the battle by a single combat, on which the crown should depend.

--------------------"From the flying troops
Eteocles leaps forth in furious guise,
And with a terrible accent he exclaims,
'To Polynice.' With presumptuous rage,
His steps he traces, and at last he finds him.
'Thebans,' he cried, with a tremendous voice,
'Thebans and Argives, cease your guilty rage!
Ye have descended to the field of battle
In our contention, prodigal of life
Ours is the strife, be ours the forfeiture.
Let us ourselves, to a conclusion bring
This unjust waste of blood, within your presence,
And on this field of death--And thou, whom I
Should call no more my brother, do thou spare
The blood of Thebes: thy hate, thy rage, thy sword,
All, all, on me let fall, on me alone!'
To speak and leap with fury to the charge
Were actions of one instant.
Drunk with blood,
And fury, of his own life quite regardless,
Provided his antagonist he slew,
Eteocles upon his wretched brother
Falls with his sword, and all his strength collects.
For a long time, intent to ward his blows
Stands Polynice. But at length he cries
'I call to witness Heaven and Thebes
Thou will'st it!' While to heaven his eyes he raised,
And thus exclaimed, his sword he onward thrust:
The hovering furies guide the reckless blow
To pierce the bosom of Eteocles.
He falls--upon his brother spouts his blood!"

This unnatural combat was brief, though fierce, Eteocles the king was the first who fell, and Polynice regarding him with ill-disguised pleasure; and although the blood was flowing fast and free from his own mortal wounds, exclaimed:

----------------"'Thou diest, and I am king,
Within these hands, red with a brother's blood,
Shall dwell the sceptre thou didst wrest from me.
Thy brow on which doth rest the same bright drop,
Shall bear the crown thou did'st usurp from me.
And that thy soul may fly with more regret
Know traitor that thy last blow comes from me.'"

RACINE.

{223}

He approached the fallen monarch, and striking him once more with his sword, Eteocles expired beneath the blow, while Polynice himself exhausted with his efforts to subdue his pain, and the death struggle which tore his bosom, fell in the very act of striking him.

Their implacable hatred manifested itself even after death, for when their bodies were placed on the bier, their ashes refused to mingle, and the very flames separated as they arose in bright columns from the funeral pile.

* * * * *

TANTALUS, PELOPS, ATREUS, AND THYESTES.

Tantalus, son of Jupiter, reigned in Phrygia. Wishing to test the divinity of the gods who were visiting him, he murdered his son Pelops, and served up to them his limbs, demanding of them to name what the new meat was. The faithless cruelty of Tantalus was discovered, and the Gods refused to touch the horrible repast, with the exception of Ceres, who, thinking only on her lost Proserpine, eat one of his shoulders, with her accustomed appetite. Jupiter enraged at this atrocious conduct of Tantalus, destroyed his palace with a thunderbolt, and ordered Mercury to precipitate him to the bottom of hell. Here he is represented as punished with an insatiable thirst, and placed up to the chin in the midst of a pool of water, that passes around, yet never touches his lips; while, above his head, hangs a bough, laden with delicious fruit, which, when his hand would grasp it, is borne away by a sudden blast of wind. {224}

Pelops was restored to life by Jupiter, and supplied with an ivory shoulder, in place of that which had been devoured by Ceres, and to which was granted the power of healing, by its touch, every complaint. He succeeded to the throne of his father, and maintained the war against the King of Troy for a long time, but was at last forced to leave Phrygia and seek a retreat in Pisa, where he married Hippodamia, the daughter of the king, that monarch having declared that she should only wed the man who would run on foot as fast as he could proceed in his chariot. This difficulty was overcome by Pelops, who bribed the charioteer to give his master an old chariot which broke down in the middle of the course, and killed Oenomaus; and when the charioteer would have claimed the reward of his infamy, he threw him into the sea, under pretext of punishing his negligence.

Thus master of the kingdom of Pisa, and the hand of Hippodamia, he made bold war upon his neighbour, and conquered their land, which he named Peloponnessus, or the isle of Pelops.

In the family of the Pelopides murder and assassination seem never to have ceased their fearful course. Atreus and Thyestes, the sons of Pelops, having been counselled by Hippodamia to kill {225} Chrysippus, who was an illegitimate son of Pelops, they refused to obey, which so exasperated her, that she stabbed the child with her own hands.

Pelops, suspecting his two sons of the crime, banished them from his court. Atreus sought the kingdom of Eurystheus, King of Argos, and succeeded him on his throne, after marrying his daughter. Here he treated his brother Thyestes, who had followed him to the court, with great kindness, but he was recompensed with ingratitude, for his brother succeeded in winning the affections of his wife.

Irritated at so unlooked for a crime, Atreus took a fearful vengeance. Having been banished from the city for some time, Thyestes was again recalled, and invited to a sumptuous feast, at which was served up the children born to him by the connexion with his brother's wife, all of whom had been sacrificed to his vengeance.

When the repast was over he showed to him the heads of the {226} children, a sight which struck Thyestes with horror. The deed was so cruel and impious, that the very sun is said to have started back in amazement; and the unhappy Thyestes slew himself with his sword.

There was now one son left, named Egisthus, who, himself the fruit of a great crime, had been brought up by Agamemnon, and to him did the spectre of Thyestes appear, to exhort him to revenge upon his brother the cruel act he had performed; nor were the fates satisfied until the deed had been accomplished, which revenged upon Atreus the infamous and atrocious conduct at which the very sun itself had started.

"Asked by his wife to his inhuman feast,
Tereus, unknowingly, is made a guest:
While she, her plot the better to disguise
Styles it some unknown mystic sacrifice:
And such the nature of the hallowed rite,
The wife her husband only could invite,
The slaves must all withdraw, and be debarred the sight.
Tereus on a throne of antique state,
Loftily raised, before the banquet sate;
And, glutton-like, luxuriously pleased
With his own flesh, his hungry maw appeased.
Nay, such a blindness o'er his senses falls,
That he for Itys to the table calls.
When Procne, now impatient to disclose
The joy that from her full revenge arose,
Cries out, in transports of a cruel mind,
'Within yourself, your Itys you may find.'
{227}
Still at this puzzling answer with surprise,
Around the room he winds his curious eyes;
And, as he still enquired, and called aloud;
Fierce Philomela, all besmeared with blood,
Her hand with murder stained, her spreading hair
Hanging dishevelled, with a ghastly air,
Stepped forth, and flung full in the tyrant's face
The head of Itys, gory as it was:
Nor ever longed so much to use her tongue,
And, with a just reproach, to vindicate her wrong.
The Thracian monarch from the table flings
While with his cries the vaulted parlour rings;
His imprecations echo down to hell,
And rouse the snaky furies from their Stygian cell.
One while, he labours to disgorge his breast,
And free his stomach from the cursed feast;
Then, weeping o'er his lamentable doom,
He styles himself his son's sepulchral tomb,
Now, with drawn sabre, and impetuous speed,
In close pursuit he drives Pandion's breed;
Whose nimble feet spring with so swift a force
Across the fields, they seem to wing their course:
And now, on real wings themselves they raise,
And steer their airy flight by different ways:
One to the woodland's shady covert hies,
Around the smoky roof the other flies;
Whose feathers yet the marks of murder stain,
Where, stampt upon her breast, the crimson spots remain.
Tereus, through grief, and haste to be revenged,
Shares the like fate, and to a bird is changed:
Fixed on his head, the crested plumes appear;
Long is his beak, and sharpened like a spear;
Thus armed, his looks his inward mind display,
And, to a lapwing turned, he fans his way."

OVID.

{228}

AGAMEMNON AND MENELAUS.

Agamemnon and Menelaus were educated with Atreus, until banished the kingdom by Thyestes, they went to Calydonia, and they were treated with great kindness, and from thence to Sparta, where, like the remainder of the Greek princes, they sought the hand of Helen. By the advice and artifice of Ulysses, Menelaus became her husband, Agamemnon marrying Clytemnestra; and Tyndarus, their father, monarch of Sparta, assisted in recovering for them their father's kingdom.

Menelaus succeeded to his father in law's throne, and became King of Sparta, and Paris, son of Priam, King of Troy, was one of the numerous visitors at his court. To this prince Venus had promised the possession of the finest woman in Greece. The absence of Menelaus in Crete gave to Paris every opportunity, and he succeeded in corrupting the fidelity of Helen, who abandoned herself to her seducer, and followed him to his palace at Troy. Vainly were ambassadors sent to Priam, to make known to him the infamous conduct of his son. Not only did he refuse all reparation, but he embittered the interview by recalling all the ancient grievances of the two kingdoms.

This unjust conduct gave birth to a terrible war; Agamemnon embraced the cause of his brother with fervour, awoke all Greece {229} to the wrongs of Menelaus, and was proclaimed the chief of the kings, who united their armies beneath the walls of Argos; and showed his personal zeal by furnishing one hundred ships, and lending sixty more for her assistance.

The Greek army amounted to sixty thousand soldiers, and their fleet to twelve hundred vessels, but at the very moment that they reckoned on starting, a deep calm settled on the waters.

The oracle was consulted, which declared that nothing less than the sacrifice of Iphigenia, the daughter of Agamemnon, could suffice, as the latter had excited the wrath of Diana, by killing a favourite stag. The father heard the decree with the greatest horror and indignation, and, as chief of the forces, ordered his herald to command them all to retire to their separate homes.

Ulysses and the other generals interfered; and at last Agamemnon was persuaded to sacrifice a daughter so tenderly beloved but as she was a great favourite with Clytemnestra, her mother, the Greeks sent for Iphigenia, pretending that they sought her hand in marriage for Achills.

Clytemnestra gladly gave her consent; but when they came to Aulis, Iphigenia saw the bloody preparation for her sacrifice. In vain did she implore the protection of her father: tears and entreaties were alike unavailing, but as the fatal blow was about to be struck, a goat of great beauty was found in her place for the {230} sacrifice. The supernatural change animated the Greeks, the wind suddenly became favourable, and the combined fleet set sail.

"Fair Iphigenia, the devoted maid,
Was by the weeping priests in linen robes arrayed,
All mourn her fate; but no relief appeared:
The royal victim bound, the knife already reared
When that offended power who caused their woe,
Relenting, ceased her wrath, and stopped the coming blow.
A mist before the ministers she cast,
And in the virgin's room a hind she placed."

After the fall of Troy the beautiful Cassandra came to the share of Agamemnon, and she foretold that his wife Clytemnestra would put him to death. He, however, returned with Cassandra to Argos, where the sad prediction was fulfilled. One day as he came from the bath, Clytemnestra gave him a tunic, the sleeves of which were sewn together, and as he was embarrassed with the folds, she brought him to the ground with the stroke of a hatchet, while Egisthus, with whom she had dishonoured herself during Agamemnon's absence, gave him the finishing blow.

"_Clytemnestra._ What have I done?--
Where am I?

_Egisthus._ Hast thou slain the tyrant? Now
At length thou art worthy of me.

_Cly._ See with blood
The dagger drops:--my hands--my face--my garment,
All, all are blood. Ah! for a deed like this
What vengeance shall be wreaked? I see already,
Already to my breast that very sword
I see hurled back--and by what hand! I freeze,
I faint, I shudder, I dissolve with horror!
My strength, my utterance fail me. Where am I,
What have I done? Alas!

_Egis._ Tremendous cries
Resound on every side throughout the palace.

_Cly._ He had no power to escape, or to resist,
Entangled in the gorgeous robe that shone
Fatally rich. I struck him twice, and twice
He groaned, then died. A third time as he lay
I gored him with a wound; a grateful present
To the stern god that in the realms below
Reigns o'er the dead.
There let him take his seat,
He lay, and spouting from his wounds a stream
Of blood, bedewed me with these crimson drops."

AESCHYLUS.

The tradition of the meeting of Iphigenia with her father in the lower regions, after his death, when the latter was ignorant of the {231} infamy of her mother, and the cause of her father's death, is thus beautifully described:--

"_Iphigenia._ Father! I now may lean upon your breast,
And you with unreverted eyes will grasp
Iphigenia's hand.
We are not shades
Surely! for yours throbs yet,
And did my blood
Win Troy for Greece?
Ah! 'twas ill done to shrink;
But the sword gleamed so sharp; and the good priest
Trembled, and Pallas frowned above, severe.

_Agamemnon._ Daughter!

_Iphig._ Beloved father! is the blade
Again to pierce a bosom now unfit
For sacrifice? no blood is in its veins,
No God requires it here; here are no wrongs
To vindicate, no realms to overthrow.
You standing as at Aulis in the fane,
With face averted, holding (as before)
My hand; but yours burns not, as then it burned.
This alone shews me we are with the blest,
Nor subject to the sufferings we have borne.
I will win back past kindness.
Tell me then,
Tell how my mother fares who loved me so,
And grieved, as 'twere for you, to see me part.
Frown not, but pardon me for tarrying
Amid too idle words, nor asking how
She praised us both (which most?) for what we did.

_Aga._ Ye Gods who govern here! do human pangs
Reach the pure soul thus far below? do tears
Spring in these meadows?

_Iphig._ No, sweet father, no.
I could have answered that; why ask the Gods?

_Aga._ Iphigenia! O my child! the Earth
Has gendered crimes unheard of heretofore,
And nature may have changed in her last depths,
Together with the Gods and all their laws.

_Iphig._ Father! we must not let you here condemn;
Not, were the day less joyful: recollect
We have no wicked here; no king to judge.
Poseidon, we have heard, with bitter rage
Lashes his foaming steeds against the skies,
And, laughing with loud yell at winged fire,
Innoxious to his fields and palaces
Affrights the eagle from the sceptred hand;
While Pluto, gentlest brother of the three
And happiest in obedience, views sedate
His tranquil realm, nor envies their's above.
No change have we, not even day for night,
Nor spring for summer,
All things are serene,
Serene too be your spirit! none on earth
{232}
Ever was half so kindly in his house,
And so compliant, even to a child.
Never was snatched your robe away from me,
Though going to the council. The blind man
Knew his good king was leading him in doors,
Before he heard the voice that marshal'd Greece.
Therefore all praised you.
Proudest men themselves
In others praise humility, and most
Admire it in the sceptre and the sword.
What then can make you speak thus rapidly
And briefly? in your step thus hesitate?
Are you afraid to meet among the good
Incestuous Helen here?

_Aga._ Oh! Gods of Hell!

_Iphig._ She hath not past the river.
We may walk
With our hands linked, nor feel our house's shame.

_Aga._ Never may'st thou, Iphigenia! feel it!
Aulis had no sharp sword, thou would'st exclaim,
Greece no avenger--I, her chief so late,
Through Erebus, through Elysium, writhe beneath it.

_Iphig._ Come, I have better diadems than those
Of Argos and Mycenai--come away,
And I will weave them for you on the bank.
You will not look so pale when you have walked
A little in the grove, and have told all
Those sweet fond words the widow sent her child.

_Aga._ Oh Earth! I suffered less upon thy shores!
(_Aside_)
The bath that bubbled with my blood, the blows
That spilt it (O worse torture) must she know?
Ah! the first woman coming from Mycenai
Will pine to pour this poison in her ear,
Taunting sad Charon for his slow advance.
Iphigenia!

_Iphig._ Why thus turn away?
Calling me with such fondness! I am here,
Father! and where you are, will ever be.

_Aga._ Thou art my child--yes, yes, thou art my child.
All was not once what all now is! Come on,
Idol of love and truth! my child! my child!
(_Alone_)
Fell woman! ever false! false was thy last
Denunciation, as thy bridal vow;
And yet even that found faith with me! the dirk
Which severed flesh from flesh, where this hand rests,
Severs not, as thou boasted'st in thy scoffs,
Iphigenia's love from Agamemnon:
The wife's a spark may light, a straw consume,
The daughter's not her hearts whole fount hath quenched,
'Tis worthy of the Gods, and lives for ever.

_Iphig._ What spake my father to the Gods above?
Unworthy am I then to join in prayer?
If, on the last, or any day before,
{233}
Of my brief course on earth, I did amiss,
Say it at once, and let me be unblest;
But, O my faultless father! why should you?
And shun so my embraces?
Am I wild
And wandering in my fondness?
We are shades!!
Groan not thus deeply; blight not thus the season
Of full orbed gladness! Shades we are indeed,
But mingled, let us feel it, with the blest.
I knew it, but forgot it suddenly,
Altho' I felt it all at your approach.
Look on me; smile with me at my illusion--
You are so like what you have ever been
(Except in sorrow!) I might well forget
I could not win you as I used to do.
It was the first embrace since my descent
I ever aimed at: those who love me live,
Save one, who loves me most, and now would chide me.

_Aga._ We want not O Iphigenia, we
Want not embrace, nor kiss that cools the heart
With purity, nor words that more and more
Teach what we know, from those we know, and sink
Often most deeply where they fall most light.
Time was when for the faintest breath of thine
Kingdom and life were little.

_Iphig._ Value them
As little now.

_Aga._ Were life and kingdom all!

_Iphig._ Ah! by our death many are sad who loved us.
They will be happy too.
Cheer! king of men!
Cheer! there are voices, songs--Cheer! arms advance.