The Seven Plays in English Verse Part 13

AI. Strong helpers of sea-speed, whose nimble hand I 2 Plied hither the salt oar with circling stroke, No shepherd there was found To give the avenging wound.

Come, lay me with the flock!

CH. Speak no rash word! nor curing ill with ill Augment the plague of this calamity.

AI. Mark ye the brave and bold, II 1 Whom none could turn of old, When once he set his face to the fierce fight?

Now beasts that thought no harm Have felt this puissant arm.

O laughter of my foes! O mockery of my might!

TEC. Aias, my lord! I entreat thee, speak not so!

AI. Thou here! Away! begone, and trouble me not!

O! O!

CH. Be softened! bear a steadier mind!

AI. O heaven-accursed hand That let the ruffians go, But falling 'midst the horn'd and bleating band, Made darkling blood-streams flow!

CH. Why vex thy heart with what is over and done?

Do what we may, this ne'er will alter now.

AI. Child of Laertes old, II 2 Thou that dost still behold And still contrive all shapes of monstrous ill, Winding in foulest ways Through the army's sinful maze,-- Now even for pleasure thou may'st laugh thy fill.

CH. Laughter and tears are in the gift of G.o.d.

AI. Ay, might I see him, though thus broken,--ay me!

Even yet--

CH. Nay, vaunt not. Look where thou art fallen.

AI. Source where my life-blood springs, O Zeus, might I but slay That crafty plague, with those twin-sceptred kings, Then breathe my life away!

TEC. Pray thus, and pray that I too be no more!

If thou wert gone, what were my life to me?

AI. Darkness! my only light! III 1 O nether gloom, to me Brighter than morning to the wakeful eye!

Take me to dwell with thee.

Take me! What help? Zeus' daughter with fell might Torments me sore. I may not look on high, Nor to the tribe of momentary men.-- Oh, whither, then, Should it avail to fly?

Ah! whither should I go and stay?

All here is ruin. This mad prey Shames me for evermore: Vengeance is at the door; Yea, all the Achaean host, with armed hand, Is ready at command To slay me o'er and o'er.

TEC. Woe 's me! to hear from one so good and true Words he had scorned to utter in past days.

AI. Grey firths of foaming brine, III 2 And ye, deep groves, that crown The sea-caves and long cliffs upon the sh.o.r.e, Too long did ye confine My life about the walls of Troia's town: But no more now! a breathing man, no more!

The wise in heart may duly learn that lore.

Let Xanthus know, Whose waters neighbouring flow, And minister to Argive men: One man he ne'er shall see again; One, I will vaunt it forth!

Highest in warlike worth Of all Greek forms that Troia's towers have eyed: Now, shorn of all that pride, I lie thus low.

CH. I know not how to let thee speak, nor how To silence thee. Such evils close thee round.

AI. Ay me!

Could human thought have prophesied My name would thus give echo to mine ill?

'Ai' now for Aias, doubly, trebly said, Sorts all too well to mark my misery; Whose father from this land of Troy, as n.o.blest Of all the host, carrying the fairest prize, Came girt about with glory to his home.

But I his son, not less of might than he, Nor poorer in the achievements of my hand, To this same region following in my prime, Am scouted by the Achaeans and destroyed.

Yet know I one thing well. Had Peleus' child, Living, adjudged his armour as a meed Of well-tried bravery, no grasp save mine Had clutched it. But the Atridae with mean craft Conveyed his heirloom to a wit-proud knave, Whilst Aias' peerless prowess was despised.

And had not this mine eye and mind distraught Glanced from my purpose, ne'er again had they Perverted judgement. But the invincible Stern daughter of the Highest, with baneful eye, Even as mine arm descended, baffled me, And hurled upon my soul a frenzied plague, To stain my hand with these dumb victims' blood.

And those mine enemies exult in safety,-- Not with my will; but where a G.o.d misguides, Strong arms are thwarted and the weakling lives.

Now, what remains? Heaven hates me, 'tis too clear: The Grecian host abhor me: Troy, with all This country round our camp, is my sworn foe.

Shall I, across the Aegean sailing home, Leave these Atridae and their fleet forlorn?

How shall I dare to front my father's eye?

How will he once endure to look on me, Denuded of the prize of high renown, Whose coronal stood sparkling on his brow?

No! 'twere too dreadful. Then shall I advance Before the Trojan battlements, and there In single conflict doing valiantly Last die upon their spears? Nay, for by this I might perchance make Atreus' offspring glad.

That may not be imagined. I must find Some act to let my grey-haired father feel No heartless recreant once called him sire.

Shame on the wight who when beset with ill Cares to live on in misery unrelieved.

Can hour outlasting hour make less or more Of death? Whereby then can it furnish joy?

That mortal weighs for nothing-worth with me, Whom Hope can comfort with her fruitless fire.

Honour in life or honour in the grave Befits the n.o.ble heart. You hear my will.

CH. From thine own spirit, Aias, all may tell, That utterance came, and none have prompted thee.

Yet stay thy hurrying thought, and by thy friends Be ruled to loose this burden from thy mind.

TEC. O my great master! heaviest of all woe Is theirs whose life is crushed beyond recall.

I, born of one the mightiest of the free And wealthiest in the Phrygian land, am now A captive. So Heaven willed, and thy strong arm Determined. Therefore, since the hour that made My being one with thine, I breathe for thee; And I beseech thee by the sacred fire Of home, and by the sweetness of the night When from thy captive I became thy bride, Leave me not guardless to the unworthy touch And cruel taunting of thine enemies'

For, shouldst thou die and leave us, then shall I Borne off by Argive violence with thy boy Eat from that day the bread of slavery.

And some one of our lords shall smite me there With galling speech: Behold the concubine Of Aias, first of all the Greeks for might, How envied once, worn with what service now!

So will they speak; and while my quailing heart Shall sink beneath its burden, clouds of shame Will dim thy glory and degrade thy race.

Oh! think but of thy father, left to pine In doleful age, and let thy mother's grief-- Who, long bowed down with many a careful year, Prays oftentimes thou may'st return alive-- O'er awe thee. Yea, and pity thine own son, Unsheltered in his boyhood, lorn of thee, With bitter foes to tend his orphanhood, Think, O my lord, what sorrow in thy death Thou send'st on him and me. For I have nought To lean to but thy life. My fatherland Thy spear hath ruined. Fate--not thou--hath sent My sire and mother to the home of death What wealth have I to comfort me for thee?

What land of refuge? Thou art all my stay Oh, of me too take thought! Shall men have joy, And not remember? Or shall kindness fade?

Say, can the mind be n.o.ble, where the stream Of grat.i.tude is withered from the spring?

CH. Aias, I would thy heart were touched like mine With pity; then her words would win thy praise.

AI. My praise she shall not miss, if she perform My bidding with firm heart, and fail not here.

TEC. Dear Aias, I will fail in nought thou bidst me.

AI. Bring me my boy, that I may see his face.

TEC. Oh, in my terror I conveyed him hence!

AI. Clear of this mischief, mean'st thou? or for what?

TEC. Lest he might run to thee, poor child, and die.

AI. That issue had been worthy of my fate!

TEC. But I kept watch to fence his life from harm.

AI. 'Twas wisely done. I praise thy foresight there.