Chapter VIII: Part 8

HER. Many hot toils and hard beyond report, With sturdy thews and sinews I have borne, But no such labour hath the Thunderer's wife Or sour Eurystheus ever given, as this, 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 Thy mother's claim beyond thy sire's, but bring Thyself from out the chambers to my hand Her body that hath borne thee, that my heart 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 Nemean 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 tusked pest Of Erymanthine glades; then underground Pluto's three-headed cur--a perilous fear, 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.

CH. O Hellas, how I grieve for thy distress! How thou wilt mourn in losing him we see!

HYL. 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

HER. Speak what thou wilt and cease, for I in pain Catch not the sense of thy mysterious talk

HYL. I come to tell thee of my mother's case, And her involuntary unconscious fault.

HER. Base villain! hast thou breathed thy mother's name, Thy father's murderess, in my hearing too!

HYL. Her state requires not silence, but full speech.

HER. Her faults in former time might well be told.

HYL. So might her fault to day, couldst thou but know.

HER. Speak, but beware base words disgrace thee not.

HYL. List! She is dead even now with new-given wound.

HER. By whom? Thy words flash wonder through my woe.

HYL. Her own hand slaughtered her, no foreign stroke.

HER. Wretch! to have reft this office from my hands.

HYL. Even your rash spirit were softened, if you knew.

HER. This bodes some knavery. But declare thy thought!

HYL. She erred with good intent. The whole is said.

HER. Good, O thou villain, to destroy thy sire!

HYL. When she perceived that marriage in her home, She erred, supposing to enchain thy love.

HER. Hath Trachis a magician of such might?

HYL. Long since the Centaur Nessus moved her mind To work this charm for heightening thy desire.

HER. 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.

HYL. 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 Thebe's citadel. But we who are with thee, sire, if there be aught That may by us be done, will hear, and do.

HER. Then hearken thou unto this task, and show If worthily thou art reputed mine. Now is time to prove thee. My great father Forewarned me long ago that I should die By none who lived and breathed, but from the will Of one now dwelling in the house of death. And so this Centaur, as the voice Divine Then prophesied, in death hath slain me living. And in agreement with that ancient word I now interpret newer oracles Which I wrote down on going within the grove Of the hill-roving and earth-couching Selli,-- Dictated to me by the mystic tongue Innumerous, of my Father's sacred tree; Declaring that my ever instant toils Should in the time that new hath being and life End and release me. And I look'd for joy. But the true meaning plainly was my death.-- No labour is appointed for the dead.-- Then, since all argues one event, my son, Once more thou must befriend me, and not wait For my voice goading thee, but of thyself Submit and second my resolve, and know Filial obedience for thy noblest rule.

HYL. I will obey thee, father, though my heart Sinks heavily in approaching such a theme.

HER. Before aught else, lay thy right hand in mine.

HYL. Why so intent on this assurance, sire?

HER. Give it at once and be not froward, boy.

HYL. There is my hand: I will gainsay thee nought.

HER. Swear by the head of him who gave me life.

HYL. Tell me the oath, and I will utter it.

HER. Swear thou wilt do the thing I bid thee do.

HYL. I swear, and make Zeus witness of my troth.

HER. But if you swerve, pray that the curse may come.

HYL. It will not come for swerving:--but I pray.

HER. Now, dost thou know on Oeta's topmost height The crag of Zeus?

HYL. I know it, and full oft Have stood there sacrificing.

HER. Then even there, With thine own hand uplifting this my body, Taking what friends thou wilt, and having lopped Much wood from the deep-rooted oak and rough Wild olive, lay me on the gathered pile, And burn all with the touch of pine-wood flame. Let not a tear of mourning dim thine eye; But silent, with dry gaze, if thou art mine, Perform it. Else my curse awaits thee still To weigh thee down when I am lost in night.

HYL. How cruel, O my father, is thy tongue!

HER. 'Tis peremptory. Else, if thou refuse, Be called another's and be no more mine.

HYL. Alas that thou shouldst challenge me to this, To be thy murderer, guilty of thy blood!

HER. Not I, in sooth: but healer of my pain, And sole preserver from a life of woe.

HYL. How can it heal to burn thee on the pyre?

HER. If this act frighten thee, perform the rest.

HYL. Mine arms shall not refuse to carry thee.

HER. And wilt thou gather the appointed wood?

HYL. So my hand fire it not. In all but this, Not scanting labour, I will do my part.

HER. Enough. 'Tis well. And having thus much given Add one small kindness to a list so full.

HYL. How great soe'er it were, it should be done.

HER. The maid of Eurytus thou knowest, I ween.

HYL. Of Iole thou speak'st, or I mistake.

HER. Of her. This then is all I urge, my son. When I am dead, if thou wouldst show thy duty, Think of thine oath to me, and, on my word, Make her thy wife: nor let another man Take her, but only thou; since she hath lain So near this heart. Obey me, O my boy! And be thyself the maker of this bond. To spurn at trifles after great things given, Were to confound the meed already won.

HYL. Oh, anger is not right, when men are ill! But who could bear to see thee in this mind?

HER. You murmur, as you meant to disobey.

HYL. How can I do it, when my mother's death And thy sad state sprang solely from this girl? Who, not possessed with furies, could choose this? Far better, father, for me too to die, Than to live still with my worst enemy.

HER. This youth withdraws his reverence in my death. But, if thou yield'st not to thy father's best, The curse from Heaven shall dog thy footsteps still.

HYL. Ah! thou wilt tell me that thy pain is come.

HER. Yea, for thou wak'st the torment that had slept.

HYL. Ay me! how cross and doubtful is my way!

HER. Because you will reject your father's word.

HYL. Must I be taught impiety from thee?

HER. It is not impious to content my heart.

HYL. Then you require this with an absolute will?

HER. And bid Heaven witness to my strong command.

HYL. Then I will do it, for the act is thine. I will not cast it off. Obeying thee, My sire, the Gods will ne'er reprove my deed.

HER. Thou endest fairly. Now, then, O my son, Add the performance swiftly, that, before Some spasm or furious onset of my pain 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.

HYL. Since thy command is urgent, O my sire! We tarry not, but bear thee to the pyre.

HER. Stubborn heart, ere yet again
Wakes the fierce rebound of pain,
While the evil holds aloof,
Thou, with bit of diamond proof,
Curb thy cry, with forced will
Seeming to do gladly still!

HYL. Lift him, men, and hate not me
For the evil deeds ye see,
Since the Heavens' relentless sway
Recks not of the righteous way.
He who gave life and doth claim
From his seed a Father's name
Can behold this hour of blame.
Though the future none can tell,
Yet the present is not well:
Sore for him who bears the blow,
Sad for us who feel his woe,
Shameful to the Gods, we trow.

CH. Maidens from the palace-hall,
Come ye forth, too, at our call!
Mighty deaths beyond belief,
Many an unknown form of grief,
Ye have seen to-day; and nought
But the power of Zeus hath wrought.

* * * * *

PHILOCTETES

THE PERSONS

ODYSSEUS. NEOPTOLEMUS. CHORUS _of Mariners_. PHILOCTETES. Messenger, _disguised as a Merchantman_. HERACLES, _appearing from the sky_.

SCENE. A desert shore of the Island of Lemnos.

It was fated that Troy should be taken by Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles, assisted by the bow of Heracles in the hands of Philoctetes.

Now Philoctetes had been rejected by the army because of a trouble in his foot, which made his presence with them insufferable; and had been cast away by Odysseus on the island of Lemnos.

But when the decree of fate was revealed by prophecy, Odysseus undertook to bring Philoctetes back, and took with him Neoptolemus, whose ambition could only be gratified through the return of Philoctetes with the bow.

Philoctetes was resolutely set against returning, and at the opening of the drama Neoptolemus is persuaded by Odysseus to take him with guile.

But when Philoctetes appears, the youth's ingenuous nature is so wrought upon through pity and remorse, that his sympathy and native truthfulness at length overcome his ambition.

When the inward sacrifice is complete, Heracles appears from heaven, and by a few words changes the mind of Philoctetes, so that all ends well.

PHILOCTETES

ODYSSEUS. NEOPTOLEMUS.

ODYSSEUS. This coast of sea-girt Lemnos, where we stand, Is uninhabited, untrodden of men. And here, O noble son of noblest sire, Achilles-born Neoptolemus, I erewhile,-- Ordered by those who had command,--cast forth Trachinian Philoctetes, Poeas' son, His foot dark-dripping with a rankling wound; When with wild cries, that frighted holy rest, Filling the camp, he troubled every rite, That none might handle sacrifice, or pour Wine-offering, but his noise disturbed our peace. But why these words? No moment this for talk, Lest he discern my coming, and I lose The scheme, wherewith I think to catch him soon. Now most behoves thy service, to explore This headland for a cave with double mouth, Whose twofold aperture, on wintry days, Gives choice of sunshine, and in summer noons The breeze wafts slumber through the airy cell. Then, something lower down, upon the left, Unless 'tis dried, thine eye may note a spring. Go near now silently, and make me know If still he persevere, and hold this spot, Or have roamed elsewhere, that informed of this I may proceed with what remains to say, And we may act in concert.

NEOPTOLEMUS. Lord Odysseus, Thy foremost errand will not task me far. Methinks I see the cave whereof thou speakest.

OD. Where? let me see it. Above there, or below?

NEO. Yonder, above. And yet I hear no tread.
[NEOPTOLEMUS _climbs up to the cave_

OD. Look if he be not lodged in slumber there.

NEO. I find no inmate, but an empty room.

OD. What? no provision for a dwelling-place?

NEO. A bed of leaves for some one harbouring here.

OD. Nought else beneath the roof? Is all forlorn?

NEO. A cup of wood, some untaught craftsman's skill, And, close at hand, these embers of a fire.

OD. That store is his. I read the token clear.

NEO. Oh! and these festering rags give evidence, Steeped as with dressing some malignant sore.

OD. The man inhabits here: I know it now. And sure he's not far off. How can he range, Whose limb drags heavy with an ancient harm? But he's gone, either to bring forage home, Or where he hath found some plant of healing power. Send therefore thine attendant to look forth, Lest unawares he find me. All our host Were not so fair a prize for him as I.

NEO. My man is going, and shall watch the path. What more dost thou require of me? Speak on.

OD. Son of Achilles, know that thou art come To serve us nobly, not with strength alone, But, faithful to thy mission, if so be, To do things strange, unwonted to thine ear.

NEO. What dost thou bid me?

OD. 'Tis thy duty now To entrap the mind of Poeas' son with words. When he shall ask thee, who and whence thou art, Declare thy name and father. 'Tis not that I charge thee to conceal. But for thy voyage, 'Tis homeward, leaving the Achaean host, With perfect hatred hating them, because They who had drawn thee with strong prayers from home, Their hope for taking Troy, allowed thee not Thy just demand to have thy father's arms, But, e'er thy coming, wrongly gave them o'er Unto Odysseus: and thereon launch forth With boundless execration against me. That will not pain me, but if thou reject This counsel, thou wilt trouble all our host, Since, if his bow shall not be ta'en, thy life Will ne'er be crowned through Troy's discomfiture. Now let me show, why thine approach to him Is safe and trustful as mine cannot be Thou didst sail forth, not to redeem thine oath, Nor by constraint, nor with the foremost band. All which reproaches I must bear: and he, But seeing me, while master of his bow, Will slay me, and my ruin will be thine. This point then craves our cunning, to acquire By subtle means the irresistible bow-- Thy nature was not framed, I know it well, For speaking falsehood, or contriving harm. Yet, since the prize of victory is so dear, Endure it--We'll be just another day But now, for one brief hour, devote thyself To serve me without shame, and then for aye Hereafter be the pearl of righteousness.

NEO. The thing that, being named, revolts mine ear, Son of Laertes, I abhor to do 'Tis not my nature, no, nor, as they tell, My father's, to work aught by craft and guile. I'll undertake to bring him in by force, Not by deceit. For, sure, with his one foot, He cannot be a match for all our crew Being sent, my lord, to serve thee, I am loth To seem rebellious. But I rather choose To offend with honour, than to win by wrong.

OD. Son of a valiant sire, I, too, in youth, Had once a slow tongue and an active hand. But since I have proved the world, I clearly see Words and not deeds give mastery over men.

NEO. What then is thy command? To lie? No more?

OD. To entangle Philoctetes with deceit.

NEO. Why through deceit? May not persuasion fetch him?

OD. Never. And force as certainly will fail.

NEO. What lends him such assurance of defence?

OD. Arrows, the unerring harbingers of Death.

NEO. Then to go near him is a perilous thing.

OD. Unless with subtlety, as I have said.

NEO. And is not lying shameful to thy soul?

OD. Not if by lying I can save my soul.

NEO. How must one look in speaking such a word?

OD. Where gain invites, this shrinking is not good.

NEO. What gain I through his coming back to Troy?

OD. His arms alone have power to take Troy-town.

NEO. Then am not I the spoiler, as ye said?

OD. Thou without them, they without thee, are powerless.

NEO. If it be so, they must be sought and won.

OD. Yea, for in this two prizes will be thine.

NEO. What? When I learn them, I will not refuse.

OD. Wisdom and valour joined in one good name.

NEO. Shame, to the winds! Come, I will do this thing.

OD. Say, dost thou bear my bidding full in mind?

NEO. Doubt not, since once for all I have embraced it.

OD. Thou, then, await him here. I will retire, For fear my hated presence should be known, And take back our attendant to the ship. And then once more, should ye appear to waste The time unduly, I will send again This same man hither in disguise, transformed To the strange semblance of a merchantman; From dark suggestion of whose crafty tongue, Thou, O my son, shalt gather timely counsel. Now to my ship. This charge I leave to thee. May secret Hermes guide us to our end, And civic Pallas, named of victory, The sure protectress of my devious way.

CHORUS (_entering_).
Strange in the stranger land, I 1
What shall I speak? What hide
From a heart suspicious of ill?
Tell me, O master mine!
Wise above all is the man,
Peerless in searching thought,
Who with the Zeus-given wand
Wieldeth a Heaven-sent power.
This unto thee, dear son,
Fraught with ancestral might,
This to thy life hath come.
Wherefore I bid thee declare,
What must I do for thy need?

NEO. Even now methinks thou longest to espy Near ocean's marge the place where he doth lie. Gaze without fear. But when the traveller stern, Who from this roof is parted, shall return, Advancing still as I the signal give, To serve each moment's mission thou shalt strive.

CH. That, O my son, from of old I 2
Hath been my care, to take note
What by thy beck'ning is told;
Still thy success to promote.
But for our errand to-day
Behoves thee, master, to say
Where is the hearth of his home;
Or where even now doth he roam?
O tell me, lest all unaware
He spring like a wolf from his lair
And I by surprise should be ta'en,
Where doth he move or remain,
Here lodging, or wandering away?

NEO. Thou seest yon double doorway of his cell, Poor habitation of the rock.

CH. 2. But tell Where is the pain-worn wight himself abroad?

NEO. To me 'tis clear, that, in his quest for food, Here, not far off, he trails yon furrowed path. For, so 'tis told, this mode the sufferer hath Of sustenance, oh hardness! bringing low Wild creatures with wing'd arrows from his bow; Nor findeth healer for his troublous woe.

CH. I feel his misery. II 1
With no companion eye,
Far from all human care,
He pines with fell disease;
Each want he hourly sees
Awakening new despair.
How can he bear it still?
O cruel Heavens! O pain
Of that afflicted mortal train
Whose life sharp sorrows fill!

Born in a princely hall, II 2
Highest, perchance, of all,
Now lies he comfortless
Alone in deep distress,
'Mongst rough and dappled brutes,
With pangs and hunger worn;
While from far distance shoots,
On airy pinion borne,
The unbridled Echo, still replying
To his most bitter crying.

NEO. At nought of this I marvel--for if I Judge rightly, there assailed him from on high That former plague through Chrysa's cruel sting[1]: And if to-day he suffer anything With none to soothe, it must be from the will Of some great God, so caring to fulfil The word of prophecy, lest he should bend On Troy the shaft no mortal may forfend, Before the arrival of Troy's destined hour, When she must fall, o'er-mastered by their power.

CH. 1. Hush, my son! III 1

NEO. Why so?

CH. 1. A sound Gendered of some mortal woe, Started from the neighbouring ground. Here, or there? Ah! now I know. Hark! 'tis the voice of one in pain, Travelling hardly, the deep strain Of human anguish, all too clear, That smites my heart, that wounds mine ear.

CH. 2. From far it peals. But thou, my son! III 2

NEO. What?

CH. 2. Think again. He moveth nigh: He holds the region: not with tone Of piping shepherd's rural minstrelsy, But belloweth his far cry, Stumbling perchance with mortal pain, Or else in wild amaze, As he our ship surveys Unwonted on the inhospitable main.

_Enter_ PHILOCTETES.

PHILOCTETES. Ho! What men are ye that to this desert shore, Harbourless, uninhabited, are come On shipboard? Of what country or what race Shall I pronounce ye? For your outward garb Is Grecian, ever dearest to this heart That hungers now to hear your voices' tune. Ah! do not fear me, do not shrink away From my wild looks: but, pitying one so poor, Forlorn and desolate in nameless woe, Speak, if with friendly purpose ye are come. Oh answer! 'Tis not meet that I should lose This kindness from your lips, or ye from mine.

NEO. Then know this first, O stranger, as thou wouldest, That we are Greeks.

PHI. O dear, dear name! Ah me! In all these years, once, only once, I hear it! My son, what fairest gale hath wafted thee? What need hath brought thee to the shore? What mission? Declare all this, that I may know thee well.

NEO. The sea-girt Scyros is my native home. Thitherward I make voyage:--Achilles' son, Named Neoptolemus.--I have told thee all.

PHI. Dear is that shore to me, dear is thy father O ancient Lycomedes' foster-child, Whence cam'st thou hither? How didst thou set forth?

NEO. From Troy we made our course in sailing hither.

PHI. How? Sure thou wast not with us, when at first We launched our vessels on the Troyward way?

NEO. Hadst thou a share in that adventurous toil?

PHI. And know'st thou not whom thou behold'st in me, Young boy?

NEO. How should I know him whom I ne'er Set eye on?

PHI. Hast not even heard my name, Nor echoing rumour of my ruinous woe?

NEO. Nay, I know nought of all thy questioning.

PHI. How full of griefs am I, how Heaven-abhorred, When of my piteous state no faintest sound Hath reached my home, or any Grecian land! But they, who pitilessly cast me forth, Keep silence and are glad, while this my plague Blooms ever, and is strengthened more and more. Boy, great Achilles' offspring, in this form Thou seest the man, of whom, methinks, erewhile Thou hast been told, to whom the Herculean bow Descended, Philoctetes, Poeas' son; Whom the two generals and the Ithacan king Cast out thus shamefully forlorn, afflicted With the fierce malady and desperate wound Made by the cruel basilisk's murderous tooth. With this for company they left me, child! Exposed upon this shore, deserted, lone. From seaward Chrysa came they with their fleet And touched at Lemnos. I had fallen to rest From the long tossing, in a shadowy cave On yonder cliff by the shore. Gladly they saw, And left me, having set forth for my need, Poor man, some scanty rags, and a thin store Of provender. Such food be theirs, I pray! Imagine, O my son, when they were gone, What wakening, what arising, then was mine; What weeping, what lamenting of my woe! When I beheld the ships, wherewith I sailed, Gone, one and all! and no man in the place, None to bestead me, none to comfort me In my sore sickness. And where'er I looked, Nought but distress was present with me still. No lack of that, for one thing!--Ah! my son, Time passed, and there I found myself alone Within my narrow lodging, forced to serve Each pressing need. For body's sustenance This bow supplied me with sufficient store, Wounding the feathered doves, and when the shaft, From the tight string, had struck, myself, ay me! Dragging this foot, would crawl to my swift prey. Then water must be fetched, and in sharp frost Wood must be found and broken,--all by me. Nor would fire come unbidden, but with flint From flints striking dim sparks, I hammered forth The struggling flame that keeps the life in me. For houseroom with the single help of fire Gives all I need, save healing for my sore. Now learn, my son, the nature of this isle. No mariner puts in here willingly. For it hath neither moorage, nor sea-port, For traffic or kind shelter or good cheer. Not hitherward do prudent men make voyage. Perchance one may have touched against his will. Many strange things may happen in long time. These, when they come, in words have pitied me, And given me food, or raiment, in compassion. But none is willing, when I speak thereof, To take me safely home. Wherefore I pine Now this tenth year, in famine and distress, Feeding the hunger of my ravenous plague. Such deeds, my son, the Atridae, and the might Of sage Odysseus, have performed on me. Wherefore may all the Olympian gods, one day, Plague them with stern requital for my wrong!

CH. Methinks my feeling for thee, Poeas' child, Is like that of thy former visitants.

NEO. I, too, a witness to confirm his words, Know them for verities, since I have found The Atridae and Odysseus evil men.

PHI. Art thou, too, wroth with the all-pestilent sons Of Atreus? Have they given thee cause to grieve?

NEO. Would that my hand might ease the wrath I feel! Then Sparta and Mycenae should be ware That Scyros too breeds valiant sons for war.

PHI. Brave youth! I love thee. Tell me the great cause Why thou inveighest against them with such heat?

NEO. O son of Poeas, hardly shall I tell What outrage I endured when I had come; Yet I will speak it. When the fate of death O'ertook Achilles--

PHI. Out, alas! no more! Hold, till thou first hast made me clearly know, Is Peleus' offspring dead?

NEO. Alas! he is, Slain by no mortal, felled by Phoebus' shaft: So men reported--

PHI. Well, right princely was he! And princely is he who slew him. Shall I mourn Him first, or wait till I have heard thy tale?

NEO. Methinks thou hast thyself enough to mourn, Without the burden of another's woe.

PHI. Well spoken. Then renew thine own complaint, And tell once more wherein they insulted thee.

NEO. There came to fetch me, in a gallant ship, Odysseus and the fosterer of my sire[2], Saying, whether soothly, or in idle show, That, since my father perished, it was known None else but I should take Troy's citadel. Such words from them, my friend, thou may'st believe, Held me not long from making voyage with speed, Chiefly through longing for my father's corse, To see him yet unburied,--for I ne'er Had seen him[3]. Then, besides, 'twas a fair cause, If, by my going, I should vanquish Troy. One day I had sailed, and on the second came To sad Sigeum with wind-favoured speed, When straightway all the host, surrounding me As I set foot on shore, saluted me, And swore the dead Achilles was in life, Their eyes being witness, when they looked on me. He lay there in his shroud: but I, unhappy, Soon ending lamentation for the dead, Went near to those Atridae, as to friends, To obtain my father's armour and all else That had been his. And then,--alas the while, That men should be so hard!--they spake this word: 'Seed of Achilles, thou may'st freely take All else thy father owned, but for those arms, Another wields them now, Laertes' son.' Tears rushed into mine eyes, and in hot wrath I straightway rose, and bitterly outspake: 'O miscreant! What? And have ye dared to give Mine arms to some man else, unknown to me?' Then said Odysseus, for he chanced to be near, 'Yea, child, and justly have they given me these. I saved them and their master in the field.' Then in fierce anger all at once I launched All terms of execration at his head, Bating no word, being maddened by the thought That I should lose this heirloom,--and to him! He, at this pass, though not of wrathful mood, Stung by such utterance, made rejoinder thus: 'Thou wast not with us here, but wrongfully Didst bide afar. And, since thou mak'st so bold, I tell thee, never shalt thou, as thou sayest, Sail with these arms to Scyros.'--Thus reviled, With such an evil echo in mine ear, I voyage homeward, robbed of mine own right By that vile offset of an evil tree[4]. Yet less I blame him than the men in power. For every multitude, be it army or state, Takes tone from those who rule it, and all taint Of disobedience from bad counsel springs. I have spoken. May the Atridae's enemy Be dear to Heaven, as he is loved by me!

CH. Mother of mightiest Zeus, 1
Feeder of all that live,
Who from thy mountainous breast
Rivers of gold dost give!
To thee, O Earth, I cried that shameful day,
When insolence from Atreus' sons went forth
Full on our lord: when they bestowed away
His father's arms to crown Odysseus' worth;
Thou, whom bull-slaughtering lions yoked bear,
O mighty mother, hear!

PHI. Your coming is commended by a grief That makes you kindly welcome. For I feel A chord that vibrates to your voice, and tells, Thus have Odysseus and the Atridae wrought. Full well I know, Odysseus' poisoned tongue Shrinks from no mischief nor no guileful word That leads to bad achievement in the end. This moves not my main marvel, but if one Saw this and bore it,--Aias of the shield.

NEO. Ah, friend, he was no more. Had he but lived, This robbery had ne'er been wrought on me.

PHI. What? Is he too departed?

NEO. He is dead. The light no more beholds him.

PHI. Oh! alas! But Tydeus' offspring, and the rascal birth Laertes bought of Sisyphus, they live: I know it. For their death were to be wished.

NEO. Yea, be assured, they live and flourish high Exalted in the host of Argive men.

PHI. And Nestor, my old friend, good aged man, Is he yet living? Oft he would prevent Their evils, by the wisdom of his thought.

NEO. He too is now in trouble, having lost Antilochus, the comfort of his age.

PHI. There, there! In one brief word thou hast revealed The mournful case of twain, whom I would last Have chosen to hear of as undone. Ah me! Where must one look? when these are dead, and he, Odysseus, lives,--and in a time like this, That craves their presence, and his death for theirs.

NEO. He wrestles cleverly; but, O my friend, Even ablest wits are ofttimes snared at last.

PHI. Tell me, I pray, what was become of him, Patroclus, whom thy father loved so well?

NEO. He, too, was gone. I'll teach thee in a word One truth for all. War doth not willingly Snatch off the wicked, but still takes the good.

PHI. True! and to prove thy saying, I will inquire The fate of a poor dastard, of mean worth, But ever shrewd and nimble with his tongue.

NEO. Whom but Odysseus canst thou mean by this?

PHI. I meant not him. But there was one Thersites, Who ne'er made conscience to stint speech, where all Cried 'Silence!' Is he living, dost thou know?

NEO. I saw him not, but knew he was alive.

PHI. He must be: for no evil yet was crushed. The Heavens will ever shield it. 'Tis their sport To turn back all things rancorous and malign From going down to the grave, and send instead The good and true. Oh, how shall we commend Such dealings, how defend them? When I praise Things god-like, I find evil in the Gods.

NEO. I, O thou child of a Trachinian sire, Henceforth will take good care, from far away To look on Troy and Atreus' children twain. Yea, where the trickster lords it o'er the just, And goodness languishes and rascals rule, --Such courses I will nevermore endure. But rock-bound Scyros henceforth shall suffice To yield me full contentment in my home. Now, to my vessel! And thou, Poeas' child, Farewell, right heartily farewell! May Heaven Grant thy desire, and rid thee of thy plague! Let us be going, that when God shall give Fair voyage, that moment we may launch away.

PHI. My son, are ye now setting forth?

NEO. Our time Bids us go near and look to sail erelong.

PHI. Now, by thy father, by thy mother,--nay, By all thy love e'er cherished in thy home, Suppliant I beg thee, leave me not thus lone, Forlorn in all my misery which thou seest, In all thou hast heard of here surrounding me! Stow me with other freightage. Full of care, I know, and burdensome the charge may prove. Yet venture! Surely to the noble mind All shame is hateful and all kindness blest. And shame would be thy meed, didst thou fail here But, doing this, thou shalt have glorious fame, When I return alive to Oeta's vale. Come, 'tis the labour not of one whole day. So thou durst take me, fling me where thou wilt O' the ship, in hold, prow, stern, or wheresoe'er I least may trouble those on board with me. Ah! by great Zeus, the suppliant's friend, comply, My son, be softened! See, where I am fall'n Thus on my knees before thee, though so weak, Crippled and powerless. Ah! forsake me not Thus far from human footstep. Take me, take me! If only to thy home, or to the town Of old Chalcodon[5] in Euboea.--From thence I have not far to Oeta, and the ridge Of Trachis, and Spercheius' lordly flood. So thou shalt bless my father with my sight. And yet long since I fear he may be gone. For oft I sent him suppliant prayers by men Who touched this isle, entreating him to fetch And bear me safely home with his own crew. But either he is dead, or else, methinks, It well may be, my messengers made light Of my concerns, and hastened onward home. But now in thee I find both messenger And convoy, thou wilt pity me and save. For, well thou knowest, danger never sleeps, And fear of dark reverse is always nigh. Mortals, when free, should look where mischief lurks, And in their happiest hour consider well Their life, lest ruin unsuspected come.

CH. Pity him, O my king! 2
Many a crushing woe
He telleth, such as I pray
None of my friends may know.
And if, dear master, thou mislikest sore
Yon cruel-hearted lordly pair, I would,
Turning their plan of evil to his good,
On swift ship bear him to his native shore,
Meeting his heart's desire; and free thy path
From fear of heavenly wrath.

NEO. Thou mak'st small scruple here; but be advised: Lest, when this plague on board shall weary thee, Thy voice should alter from this liberal tone.

CH. No, truly! Fear not thou shalt ever have Just cause to utter such reproach on me.

NEO. Then sure 'twere shame, should I more backward prove Than thou, to labour for the stranger's need. Come, if thou wilt, let us make voyage, and he, Let him set forth with speed. Our ship shall take him. He shall not be refused. Only may Heaven Lead safely hence and to our destined port!

PHI. O morning full of brightness! Kindest friend, Sweet mariners, how can I make you feel, In act, how dearly from my heart I love you! Ye have won my soul. Let us be gone, my son,-- First having said farewell to this poor cave, My homeless dwelling-place, that thou may'st know, How barely I have lived, how firm my heart! Methinks another could not have endured The very sight of what I bore. But I Through strong necessity have conquered pain.

CH. Stay: let us understand. There come two men A stranger, with a shipmate of thy crew. When ye have heard them, ye may then go in.

_Enter_ Messenger, _disguised as a merchantman_.

MERCHANTMAN. Son of Achilles, my companion here, Who with two more remained to guard thy ship, Agreed to help me find thee where thou wert, Since unexpectedly, through fortune's will, I meet thee, mooring by the self-same shore. For like a merchantman, with no great sail, Making my course from Ilion to my home, Grape-clustered Peparethos, when I heard The mariners declare that one and all Were of thy crew, I would not launch again, Without a word, till we had told our news.-- Methinks thou knowest nought of thine own case, What new devices of the Argive chiefs Surround thee; nor devices only now, But active deeds, no longer unperformed.

NEO. Well, stranger, for the kindness thou hast shown,-- Else were I base,--my heart must thank thee still. But tell me what thou meanest, that I may learn What new-laid plot thou bring'st me from the camp.

MER. Old Phoenix, Acamas and Demophon Are gone in thy pursuit with ships and men.

NEO. To bring me back with reasons or perforce?

MER. I know not. What I heard, I am here to tell.

NEO. How? And is this in act? Are they set forth To please the Atridae, Phoenix and the rest?

MER. The thing is not to do, but doing now.

NEO. What kept Odysseus back, if this be so, From going himself? Had he some cause for fear?

MER. He and the son of Tydeus, when our ship Hoist sail, were gone to fetch another man.

NEO. For whom could he himself be sailing forth?

MER. For some one,--but first tell me, whispering low Whate'er thou speakest,--who is this I see?

NEO. (_speaking aloud_). This, sir, is Philoctetes the renowned.

MER. (_aside to_ NEOPTOLEMUS). Without more question, snatch thyself away And sail forth from this land.

PHI. What saith he, boy? Through what dark traffic is the mariner Betraying me with whispering in thine ear?

NEO. I have not caught it, but whate'er he speaks He must speak openly to us and thee.

MER. Seed of Achilles, let me not offend The army by my words! Full many a boon, Being poor, I reap from them for service done.

NEO. The Atridae are my foes; the man you see Is my fast friend, because he hates them sore. Then, if you come in kindness, you must hide Nothing from him or me of all thou hast heard.

MER. Look what thou doest, my son!

NEO. I mark it well.

MER. Thou shalt be answerable.

NEO. Content: but speak.

MER. Then hear me. These two men whom I have named, Diomedes and Odysseus, are set forth Engaged on oath to bring this man by force If reasons fail. The Achaeans every one Have heard this plainly from Odysseus' mouth. He was the louder and more confident.

NEO. Say, for what cause, after so long a time, Can Atreus' sons have turned their thoughts on him, Whom long they had cast forth? What passing touch Of conscience moved them, or what stroke from Heaven, Whose wrath requites all wicked deeds of men?

MER. Methinks thou hast not heard what I will now Unfold to thee. There was a princely seer, A son of Priam, Helenus by name, Whom he for whom no word is bad enough, Crafty Odysseus, sallying forth alone One night, had taken, and in bonds displayed 'Fore all the Achaeans, a right noble prey. He, 'mid his other prophecies, foretold No Grecian force should sack Troy's citadel, Till with fair reasons they had brought this man From Lemnos isle, his lonely dwelling-place. When thus the prophet spake, Laertes' son Straight undertook to fetch this man, and show him To all the camp:--he hoped, with fair consent: But else, perforce.--And, if he failed in this, Whoever would might smite him on the head. My tale is told, dear youth. I counsel speed To thee and to the friend for whom thou carest.

PHI. Ah me, unhappy! has that rascal knave Sworn to fetch me with reasons to their camp? As likely might his reasons bring me back, Like his begetter, from the house of death.

MER. You talk of what I know not. I will go Shipward. May God be with you for all good. [_Exit_

PHI. Is not this terrible, Laertes' son Should ever think to bring me with soft words And show me from his deck to all their host? No! Sooner will I listen to the tongue Of the curs'd basilisk that thus hath maim'd me. Ay, but he'll venture anything in word Or deed. And now I know he will be here. Come, O my son, let us be gone, while seas And winds divide us from Odysseus' ship. Let us depart. Sure timely haste brings rest And quiet slumber when the toil is done.

NEO. Shall we not sail when this south-western wind Hath fallen, that now is adverse to our course?

PHI. All winds are fair to him who flies from woe.

NEO. Nay, but this head-wind hinders them no less.

PHI. No head-wind hinders pirates on their way, When violence and rapine lead them on.

NEO. Well, then, let us be going, if you will; When you have taken from within the cave What most you need and value.

PHI. Though my all Be little, there is that I may not lose.

NEO. What can there be that we have not on board?

PHI. A leaf I have found, wherewith I still the rage Of my sore plague, and lull it quite to rest.

NEO. Well, bring it forth.--What? Is there something more?

PHI. If any of these arrows here are fallen, I would not leave them for a casual prey.

NEO. How? Do I see thee with the marvellous bow?

PHI. Here in my hand. The world hath only one.

NEO. And may one touch and handle it, and gaze With reverence, as on a thing from Heaven?

PHI. Thou mayest, my son. This and whate'er of mine May stead thee, 'tis thy privilege to enjoy.

NEO. In very truth I long for it, but so, That longing waits on leave. Am I permitted?

PHI. Thou art, my son,--and well thou speakest,--thou art. Thou, that hast given me light and life, the joy Of seeing Mount Oeta and my father's home, With all I love there, and his aged head,-- Thou that hast raised me far above my foes Who triumphed! Thou may'st take it in thine hand, And,--when thou hast given it back to me,--may'st vaunt Alone of mortals for thine excellence To have held this in thy touch. I, too, at first, Received it as a boon for kindness done.

NEO. Well, go within.

PHI. Nay, I must take thee too.
My sickness craves thee for its comforter.
[PHILOCTETES _and_ NEOPTOLEMUS _go into
the cave_

CHORUS.
In fable I have heard, I 1
Though sight hath ne'er confirmed the word,
How he who attempted once the couch supreme,
To a whirling wheel by Zeus the all-ruler bound,
Tied head and heel, careering ever round,
Atones his impious unsubstantial dream.
Of no man else, through eye or ear,
Have I discerned a fate more full of fear
Than yonder sufferer's of the cureless wound:
Who did no violence, defrauded none:--
A just man, had he dwelt among the just
Unworthily behold him thrust
Alone to hear the billows roar
That break around a rugged shore!
How could he live, whose life was thus consumed with moan?

Where neighbour there was none: I 2
No arm to stay him wandering lone,
Unevenly, with stumbling steps and sore;
No friend in need, no kind inhabitant,
To minister to his importunate want,
No heart whereto his pangs he might deplore.
None who, whene'er the gory flow
Was rushing hot, might healing herbs bestow,
Or cull from teeming Earth some genial plant
To allay the anguish of malignant pain
And soothe the sharpness of his poignant woe.
Like infant whom the nurse lets go,
With tottering movement here and there,
He crawled for comfort, whensoe'er
His soul-devouring plague relaxed its cruel strain.

Not fed with foison of all-teeming Earth II 1
Whence we sustain us, ever-toiling men,
But only now and then
With winged things, by his wing'd shafts brought low,
He stayed his hunger from his bow.
Poor soul, that never through ten years of dearth
Had pleasure from the fruitage of the vine,
But seeking to some standing pool,
Nor clear nor cool,
Foul water heaved to head for lack of heartening wine.

But now, consorted with the hero's child, II 2
He winneth greatness and a joyful change;
Over the water wild
Borne by a friendly bark beneath the range
Of Oeta, where Spercheius fills
Wide channels winding among lovely hills
Haunted of Melian nymphs, till he espies
The roof-tree of his father's hall,
And high o'er all
Shines the bronze shield of him, whose home is in the skies[6].
[NEOPTOLEMUS _comes out of the cave, followed
by_ PHILOCTETES _in pain_

NEO. Prithee, come on! Why dost thou stand aghast, Voiceless, and thus astonied in thine air?

PHI. Oh! oh!

NEO. What?

PHI. Nothing. Come my son, fear nought.

NEO. Is pain upon thee? Hath thy trouble come?

PHI. No pain, no pain! 'Tis past; I am easy now. Ye heavenly powers!

NEO. Why dost thou groan aloud, And cry to Heaven?

PHI. To come and save. Kind Heaven! Oh, oh!

NEO. What is 't? Why silent? Wilt not speak? I see thy misery.

PHI. Oh! I am lost, my son! I cannot hide it from you. Oh! it shoots, It pierces. Oh unhappy! Oh! my woe! I am lost, my son, I am devoured. Oh me! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Pain! pain! Oh pain! oh pain! Child, if a sword be to thine hand, smite hard, Shear off my foot! heed not my life! Quick, come!

NEO. What hath so suddenly arisen, that thus Thou mak'st ado and groanest o'er thyself?

PHI. Thou knowest.

NEO. What know I?

PHI. O! thou knowest, my son!

NEO. I know not.

PHI. How? Not know? Ah me! Pain, pain!

NEO. Thy plague is a sore burden, heavy and sore.

PHI. Sore? 'Tis unutterable. Have pity on me!

NEO. What shall I do?

PHI. Do not in fear forsake me. This wandering evil comes in force again, Hungry as ere it fed.

NEO. O hapless one! Thrice hapless in thy manifold distress! What wilt thou? Shall I raise thee on mine arm?

PHI. Nay, but receiving from my hand the bow, As late thou didst desire me, keep it safe And guard it, till the fury of my pain Pass over me and cease. For when 'tis spent, Slumber will seize me, else it ne'er would end. I must sleep undisturbed. But if meanwhile They come,--by Heaven I charge thee, in no wise, Willingly nor perforce, let them have this! Else thou wilt be the slayer of us both; Of me thy suppliant, and of thyself.

NEO. Fear not my care. No hand shall hold these arms But thine and mine. Give, and Heaven bless the deed!

PHI. I give them; there, my son! But look to Heaven And pray no envy smite thee, nor such bane In having them, as fell on me and him Who bore them formerly.

NEO. O grant it, Gods! And grant us fair and happy voyage, where'er Our course is shaped and righteous Heaven shall guide.

PHI. Ah! but I fear, my son, thy prayer is vain: For welling yet again from depths within, This gory ooze is dripping. It will come! I know it will. O, foot, torn helpless thing, What wilt thou do to me? Ah! ah! It comes, It is at hand. 'Tis here! Woe's me, undone! I have shown you all. Stay near me. Go not far: Ah! ah! O island king, I would this agony Might cleave thy bosom through and through! Woe, woe! Woe! Ah! ye two commanders of the host, Agamemnon, Menelaues, O that ye, Another ten years' durance in my room Might nurse this malady! O Death, Death, Death! I call thee daily--wilt thou never come? Will it not be?--My son, thou noble boy, If thou art noble, take and burn me there Aloft in yon all-worshipped Lemnian fire! Yea, when the bow thou keep'st was my reward, I did like service for the child of Heaven. How now, my son? What say'st? Art silent? Where--where art thou, boy?

NEO. My heart is full, and groaning o'er thy woes.

PHI. Nay, yet have comfort. This affliction oft Goes no less swiftly than it came. I pray thee, Stand fast and leave me not alone!

NEO. Fear nought. We will not stir.

PHI. Wilt thou remain?

NEO. Be sure of it.

PHI. I'll not degrade thee with an oath, my son.

NEO. Rest satisfied. I may not go without thee.

PHI. Thy hand, to pledge me that!

NEO. There, I will stay.

PHI. Now, now, aloft!

NEO. Where mean'st thou?

PHI. Yonder aloft!

NEO. Whither? Thou rav'st. Why starest thou at the sky?

PHI. Now, let me go.

NEO. Where?

PHI. Let me go, I say!

NEO. I will not.

PHI. You will kill me. Let me go!

NEO. Well, thou know'st best I hold thee not.

PHI. O Earth, I die. receive me to thy breast! This pain Subdues me utterly, I cannot stand.

NEO. Methinks he will be fast in slumber soon That head sinks backward, and a clammy sweat Bathes all his limbs, while from his foot hath burst A vein, dark bleeding. Let us leave him, friends, In quietness, till he hath fallen to sleep.

CHORUS
Lord of the happiest life, I
Sleep, thou that know'st not strife,
That know'st not grief,
Still wafting sure relief,
Come, saviour now!
Thy healing balm is spread
Over this pain worn head,
Quench not the beam that gives calm to his brow.

Look, O my lord, to thy path,
Either to go or to stay
How is my thought to proceed?
What is our cause for delay?
Look! Opportunity's power,
Fitting the task to the hour,
Giveth the race to the swift.

NEO. He hears not. But I see that to have ta'en His bow without him were a bootless gain He must sail with us. So the god hath said Heaven hath decreed this garland for his head: And to have failed with falsehood were a meed Of shameful soilure for a shameless deed.