Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series
Page 297
Stops me from dying: but I seek to save
My son his children. Vain! I set my heart,
It seems, upon impossibility.
See, it is ready for the sword, this throat
To pierce, divide, dash down from precipice!
But one grace grant us, king, we supplicate!
Slay me and this unhappy one before
The children, lest we see them — impious sight! —
Gasping the soul forth, calling all the while
On mother and on father’s father! Else,
Do as thy heart inclines thee! No resource
Have we from death, and we resign ourselves.
MEGARA.
And I too supplicate: add grace to grace,
And, though but one man, doubly serve us both!
Let me bestow adornment of the dead
Upon these children! Throw the palace wide!
For now we are shut out. Thence these shall share
At least so much of wealth was once their sire’s!
LUKOS.
These things shall be. Withdraw the bolts, I bid
My servants! Enter and adorn yourselves!
I grudge no peploi; but when these ye wind
About your bodies, — that adornment done, —
Then I shall come and give you to the grave.
MEGARA.
O children, follow this unhappy foot,
Your mother’s, into your ancestral home,
Where others have the power, are lords in truth,
Although the empty name is left us yet!
AMPHITRUON.
O Zeus, in vain I had thee marriage-mate,
In vain I called thee father of my child!
Thou wast less friendly far than thou didst seem.
I, the mere man, o’ermatch in virtue thee
The mighty god: for I have not betrayed
The Herakleian children, — whereas thou
Hadst wit enough to come clandestinely
Into the chamber, take what no man gave,
Another’s place; and when it comes to help
Thy loved ones, there thou lackest wit indeed!
Thou art some stupid god or born unjust.
CHOROS.
Even a dirge, can Phoibos suit
In song to music jubilant
For all its sorrow: making shoot
His golden plectron o’er the lute,
Melodious ministrant.
And I, too, am of mind to raise,
Despite the imminence of doom,
A song of joy, outpour my praise
To him — what is it rumour says? —
Whether — now buried in the ghostly gloom
Below ground, — he was child of Zeus indeed,
Or mere Amphitruon’s mortal seed —
To him I weave the wreath of song, his labour’s meed.
For, is my hero perished in the feat?
The virtues of brave toils, in death complete,
These save the dead in song, — their glory-garland meet!
First, then, he made the wood
Of Zeus a solitude,
Slaying its lion-tenant; and he spread
The tawniness behind — his yellow head
Enmuffled by the brute’s, backed by that grin of dread.
The mountain-roving savage Kentaur-race
He strewed with deadly bow about their place,
Slaying with winged shafts: Peneios knew,
Beauteously-eddying, and the long tracts too
Of pasture trampled fruitless, and as well
Those desolated haunts Mount Pelion under,
And, grassy up to Homolé, each dell
Whence, having filled their hands with pine-tree plunder,
Horse-like was wont to prance from, and subdue
The land of Thessaly, that bestial crew.
The golden-headed spot-back’d stag he slew,
That robber of the rustics: glorified
Therewith the goddess who in hunter’s pride
Slaughters the game along Oinoé’s side.
And, yoked abreast, he brought the chariot-breed
To pace submissive to the bit, each steed
That in the bloody cribs of Diomede
Champed and, unbridled, hurried down that gore
For grain, exultant the dread feast before —
Of man’s flesh: hideous feeders they of yore!
All as he crossed the Hebros’ silver-flow
Accomplished he such labour, toiling so
For Mukenaian tyrant; ay, and more —
He crossed the Melian shore
And, by the sources of Amauros, shot
To death that strangers’-pest
Kuknos, who dwelt in Amphanaia: not
Of fame for good to guest!
And next, to the melodious maids he came,
Inside the Hesperian court-yard: hand must aim
At plucking gold fruit from the appled leaves,
Now he had killed the dragon, backed like flame,
Who guards the unapproachable he weaves
Himself all round, one spire about the same.
And into those sea-troughs of ocean dived
The hero, and for mortals calm contrived,
Whatever oars should follow in his wake.
And under heaven’s mid-seat his hands thrust he,
At home with Atlas: and, for valour’s sake,
Held the gods up their star-faced mansionry.
Also, the rider-host of Amazons
About Maiotis many-streamed, he went
To conquer through the billowy Euxin once,
Having collected what an armament
Of friends from Hellas, all on conquest bent
Of that gold-garnished cloak, dread girdle-chase!
So Hellas gained the girl’s barbarian grace
And at Mukenai saves the trophy still —
Go wonder there, who will!
And the ten thousand-headed hound
Of many a murder, the Lernaian snake
He burned out, head by head, and cast around
His darts a poison thence, — darts soon to slake
Their rage in that three-bodied herdsman’s gore
Of Erutheia. Many a running more
He made for triumph and felicity,
And, last of toils, to Haides, never dry
Of tears, he sailed: and there he, luckless, ends
His life completely, nor returns again.
The house and home are desolate of friends,
And where the children’s life-path leads them, plain
I see, — no step retraceable, no god
Availing, and no law to help the lost!
The oar of Charon marks their period,
Waits to end all. Thy hands, these roofs accost! —
To thee, though absent, look their uttermost!
But if in youth and strength I flourished still,
Still shook the spear in fight, did power match will
In these Kadmeian co-mates of my age,
They would, — and I, — when warfare was to wage,
Stand by these children; but I am bereft
Of youth now, lone of that good genius left!
But hist, desist! for here come these, —
Draped as the dead go, under and over, —
Children long since, — now hard to discover, —
Of the once so potent Herakles!
And the loved wife dragging, in one tether
About her feet, the boys together;
And the hero’s aged sire comes last!
Unhappy that I am! Of tears which rise, —
How am I all unable to hold fast,
Longer, the aged fountains of these eyes!
MEGARA.
Be it so! Who is priest, who butcher here
Of these ill-fated ones, or stops the breath
Of me, the miserable? Ready, see,
The sacrifice — to lead wh
ere Haides lives!
O children, we are led — no lovely team
Of corpses — age, youth, motherhood, all mixed!
O sad fate of myself and these my sons
Whom with these eyes I look at, this last time!
I, indeed, bore you: but for enemies
I brought you up to be a laughing-stock,
Matter for merriment, destruction-stuff!
Woe’s me!
Strangely indeed my hopes have struck me down
From what I used to hope about you once —
The expectation from your father’s talk!
For thee, now, thy dead sire dealt Argos to:
Thou wast to have Eurustheus’ house one day,
And rule Pelasgia where the fine fruits grow;
And, for a stole of state, he wrapped about
Thy head with that the lion-monster bore,
That which himself went wearing armour-wise.
And thou wast King of Thebes — such chariots there!
Those plains I had for portion — all for thee,
As thou hadst coaxed them out of who gave birth
To thee, his boy: and into thy right hand
He thrust the guardian-club of Daidalos, —
Poor guardian proves the gift that plays thee false!
And upon thee he promised to bestow
Oichalia — what, with those far-shooting shafts,
He ravaged once; and so, since three you were,
With threefold kingdoms did he build you up
To very towers, your father, — proud enough
Prognosticating, from your manliness
In boyhood, what the manhood’s self would be.
For my part, I was picking out for you
Brides, suiting each with his alliance — this
From Athens, this from Sparté, this from Thebes —
Whence, suited — as stern-cables steady ship —
You might have hold on life gods bless. All gone!
Fortune turns round and gives us — you, the Fates
Instead of brides — me, tears for nuptial baths,
Unhappy in my hoping! And the sire
Of your sire — he prepares the marriage-feast
Befitting Haides who plays father now —
Bitter relationship! Oh me! which first —
Which last of you shall I to bosom fold?
To whom shall I fit close, his mouth to mine?
Of whom shall I lay hold and ne’er let go?
How would I gather, like the brown-winged bee,
The groans from all, and, gathered into one,
Give them you back again, a crowded tear!
Dearest, if any voice be heard of men
Dungeoned in Haides, thee — to thee I speak!
Here is thy father dying, and thy boys!
And I too perish, famed as fortunate
By mortals once, through thee! Assist them! Come!
But come! though just a shade, appear to me!
For, coming, thy ghost-grandeur would suffice,
Such cowards are they in thy presence, these
Who kill thy children now thy back is turned!
AMPHITRUON.
Ay, daughter, bid the powers below assist!
But I will rather, raising hand to heaven,
Call thee to help, O Zeus, if thy intent
Be, to these children, helpful anyway,
Since soon thou wilt be valueless enough!
And yet thou hast been called and called; in vain
I labour: for we needs must die, it seems.
Well, aged brothers — life’s a little thing!
Such as it is, then, pass life pleasantly
From day to night, nor once grieve all the while!
Since Time concerns him not about our hopes, —
To save them, — but his own work done, flies off.
Witness myself, looked up to among men,
Doing noteworthy deeds: when here comes fate
Lifts me away, like feather skyward borne,
In one day! Riches then and glory, — whom
These are found constant to, I know not. Friends,
Farewell! the man who loved you all so much,
Now, this last time, my mates, ye look upon!
MEGARA.
Ha!
O father, do I see my dearest? Speak!
AMPHITRUON.
No more than thou canst, daughter — dumb like thee!
MEGARA.
Is this he whom we heard was under ground?
AMPHITRUON.
Unless at least some dream in day we see!
MEGARA.
What do I say? what dreams insanely view?
This is no other than thy son, old sire!
Here children! hang to these paternal robes,
Quick, haste, hold hard on him, since here’s your true
Zeus that can save — and every whit as well!
HERAKLES.
O hail, my palace, my hearth’s propula, —
How glad I see thee as I come to light!
Ha, what means this? My children I behold
Before the house in garments of the grave,
Chapleted, and, amid a crowd of men,
My very wife — my father weeping too,
Whatever the misfortune! Come, best take
My station nearer these and learn it all!
Wife, what new sorrow has approached our home?
MEGARA.
O dearest! light flashed on thy father now!
Art thou come? art thou saved and dost thou fall
On friends in their supreme extremity?
HERAKLES.
How say’st thou? Father! what’s the trouble here?
MEGARA.
Undone are we! — but thou, old man, forgive
If first I snatch what thou shouldst say to him!
For somehow womanhood wakes pity more.
Here are my children killed and I undone!
HERAKLES.
Apollon, with what preludes speech begins!
MEGARA.
Dead are my brothers and old father too.
HERAKLES.
How say’st thou? — doing what? — by spear-stroke whence?
MEGARA.
Lukos destroyed them — the land’s noble king!
HERAKLES.
Met them in arms? or through the land’s disease?
MEGARA
Sedition: and he sways seven-gated Thebes.
HERAKLES.
Why then came fear on the old man and thee?
MEGARA.
He meant to kill thy father, me, our boys.
HERAKLES.
How say’st thou? Fearing what from orphanage?
MEGARA.
Lest they should some day pay back Kreon’s death.
HERAKLES.
And why trick out the boys corpse-fashion thus?
MEGARA.
These wraps of death we have already donned.
HERAKLES.
And you had died through violence? Woe’s me!
MEGARA.
Left bare of friends: and thou wast dead, we heard.
HERAKLES.
And whence came on you this faintheartedness?
MEGARA.
The heralds of Eurustheus brought the news.
HERAKLES.
And why was it you left my house and hearth?
MEGARA.
Forced thence; thy father — from his very couch!
HERAKLES.
And no shame at insulting the old man?
MEGARA.
Shame, truly! no near neighbours he and Shame!
HERAKLES.
And so much, in my absence, lacked I friends?
MEGARA.
Friends, — are there any to a luckless man?
HERAKLES.
The Minuai-war I waged, — they spat forth these?
MEGARA.
Friendless, — again I tell thee, — is ill-luck.<
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HERAKLES.
Will not you cast these hell-wraps from your hair
And look on light again, and with your eyes
Taste the sweet change from nether dark to day?
While I — for now there needs my handiwork —
First I shall go, demolish the abodes
Of these new lordships; next hew off the head
Accurst and toss it for the dogs to trail.
Then, such of the Kadmeians as I find
Were craven though they owed me gratitude, —
Some I intend to handle with this club
Renowned for conquest; and with winged shafts
Scatter the others, fill Ismenos full
With bloody corpses, — Dirké’s flow so white
Shall be incarnadined. For, whom, I pray,
Behoves me rather help than wife and child
And aged father? Farewell, “Labours” mine!
Vainly I wrought them: my true work lay here!
My business is to die defending these, —
If for their father’s sake they meant to die.
Or how shall we call brave the battling it
With snake and lion, as Eurustheus bade,
If yet I must not labour death away
From my own children? “Conquering Herakles”
Folk will not call me as they used, I think!
The right thing is for parents to assist
Children, old age, the partner of the couch.
AMPHITRUON.
True, son! thy duty is — be friend to friends
And foe to foes: yet — no more haste than needs!
HERAKLES.
Why, father, what is over hasty here?
AMPHITRUON.
Many a pauper, — seeming to be rich,
As the word goes, — the king calls partisan.
Such made a riot, ruined Thebes to rob
Their neighbour: for, what good they had at home
Was spent and gone — flew off through idleness.
You came to trouble Thebes, they saw: since seen,
Beware lest, raising foes, a multitude,
You stumble where you apprehend no harm.
HERAKLES.
If all Thebes saw me, not a whit care I.
But seeing as I did a certain bird
Not in the lucky seats, I knew some woe
Was fallen upon the house: so, purposely,
By stealth I made my way into the land.
AMPHITRUON.
And now, advancing, hail the hearth with praise
And give the ancestral home thine eye to see!
For he himself will come, thy wife and sons
To drag-forth — slaughter — slay me too, — this king!
But here remaining, all succeeds with thee —
Gain lost by no false step. So, this thy town
Disturb not, son, ere thou right matters here!
HERAKLES.
Thus will I do, for thou say’st well; my home
Let me first enter! Since at the due time