The Seven Plays in English Verse Part 36

See thou to thine own case! (_To_ Old Man) Now, stranger, tell me In true discourse the manner of his death.

OLD M. For that I am here, and I will tell the whole.

He, entering on the great arena famed As h.e.l.las' pride, to win a Delphian prize, On hearing the loud summons of the man Calling the foot-race, which hath trial first, Came forward, a bright form, admired by all.

And when his prowess in the course fulfilled The promise of his form, he issued forth Dowered with the splendid meed of victory.-- To tell a few out of the many feats Of such a hero were beyond my power.

Know then, in brief, that of the prizes set For every customary course proclaimed By order of the judges, the whole sum Victoriously he gathered, happy deemed By all; declared an Argive, and his name Orestes, son of him who levied once The mighty armament of Greeks for Troy.

So fared he then: but when a G.o.d inclines To hinder happiness, not even the strong Are scatheless. So, another day, when came At sunrise the swift race of charioteers, He entered there with many a rival car:-- One from Achaia, one from Sparta, two Libyan commanders of the chariot-yoke; And he among them fifth, with steeds of price From Thessaly;--the sixth Aetolia sent With chestnut mares; the seventh a Magnete man; The eighth with milk-white colts from Oeta's vale; The ninth from G.o.d-built Athens; and the tenth Boeotia gave to make the number full.

Then stood they where the judges of the course Had posted them by lot, each with his team; And sprang forth at the brazen trumpet's blare.

Shouting together to their steeds, they shook The reins, and all the course was filled with noise Of rattling chariots, and the dust arose To heaven. Now all in a confused throng Spared not the goad, each eager to outgo The crowded axles and the snorting steeds; For close about his nimbly circling wheels And stooping sides fell flakes of panted foam.

Orestes, ever nearest at the turn, With whirling axle seemed to graze the stone, And loosing with free rein the right-hand steed That pulled the side-rope[5], held the near one in.

So for a time all chariots upright moved, But soon the Oetaean's hard-mouthed horses broke From all control, and wheeling as they pa.s.sed From the sixth circuit to begin the seventh, Smote front to front against the Barcan car.

And when that one disaster had befallen, Each dashed against his neighbour and was thrown, Till the whole plain was strewn with chariot-wreck.

Then the Athenian, skilled to ply the rein, Drew on one side, and heaving to, let pa.s.s The rider-crested surge that rolled i' the midst.

Meanwhile Orestes, trusting to the end, Was driving hindmost with tight rein; but now, Seeing him left the sole compet.i.tor, Hurling fierce clamour through his steeds, pursued: So drave they yoke by yoke--now this, now that Pulling ahead with car and team. Orestes, Ill-fated one, each previous course had driven Safely without a check, but after this, In letting loose again the left-hand rein[6], He struck the edge of the stone before he knew, Shattering the axle's end, and tumbled p.r.o.ne, Caught in the reins[7], that dragged him with sharp thongs.

Then as he fell to the earth the horses swerved, And roamed the field. The people when they saw Him fallen from out the car, lamented loud For the fair youth, who had achieved before them Such glorious feats, and now had found such woe,-- Dashed on the ground, then tossed with legs aloft Against the sky,--until the charioteers, Hardly restraining the impetuous team, Released him, covered so with blood that none,-- No friend who saw--had known his hapless form.

Which then we duly burned upon the pyre.

And straightway men appointed to the task From all the Phocians bear his mighty frame-- Poor ashes! narrowed in a brazen urn,-- That he may find in his own fatherland His share of sepulture.--Such our report, Painful to hear, but unto us, who saw, The mightiest horror that e'er met mine eye.

CH. Alas! the stock of our old masters, then, Is utterly uprooted and destroyed.

CLY. O heavens! what shall I say? That this is well?

Or terrible, but gainful? Hard my lot, To save my life through my calamity!

OLD M. Lady, why hath my speech disheartened thee?

CLY. To be a mother hath a marvellous power: No injury can make one hate one's child.

OLD M. Then it should seem our coming was in vain.

CLY. In vain? Nay, verily; thou, that hast brought Clear evidences of his fate, who, sprung Prom my life's essence, severed from my breast And nurture, was estranged in banishment, And never saw me from the day he went Out from this land, but for his father's blood Threatened me still with accusation dire; That sleep nor soothed at night nor sweetly stole My senses from the day, but, all my time, Each instant led me on the way to death!-- But this day's chance hath freed me from all fear Of him, and of this maid: who being at home Troubled me more, and with unmeasured thirst Kept draining my life-blood; but now her threats Will leave us quiet days, methinks, and peace Unbroken.--How then shouldst thou come in vain?

EL. O misery! 'Tis time to wail thy fate, Orestes, when, in thy calamity, Thy mother thus insults thee. Is it well?

CLY. 'Tis well that he is gone, not that you live.

EL. Hear, 'venging spirits of the lately dead!

CLY. The avenging spirits have heard and answered well.

EL. Insult us now, for thou art fortunate!

CLY. You and Orestes are to quench my pride.

EL. Our pride is quenched. No hope of quenching thee!

CLY. A world of good is in thy coming, stranger, Since thou hast silenced this all-clamorous tongue.

OLD M. Then I may go my way, seeing all is well.

CLY. Nay, go not yet! That would disgrace alike Me and the friend who sent you to our land.

But come thou in, and leave her out of door To wail her own and loved ones' overthrow.

[_Exeunt_ CLYTEMNESTRA _and_ Old Man

EL. Think you the wretch in heartfelt agony Weeps inconsolably her perished son?

She left us with a laugh! O misery!

How thou hast ruined me, dear brother mine, By dying! Thou hast torn from out my heart The only hope I cherished yet, that thou Living wouldst come hereafter to avenge Thy father's woes and mine. Where must I go?

Since I am left of thee and of my sire Bereaved and lonely, and once more must be The drudge and menial of my bitterest foes, My father's murderers. Say, is it well?

Nay, nevermore will I consort with these, But sinking here before the palace gate, Thus, friendless, I will wither out my life.

Hereat if any in the house be vexed, Let them destroy me; for to take my life Were kindness, and to live is only pain: Life hath not kindled my desires with joy.

CH. 1. O ever-blazing sun! I 1 O lightning of the eternal Sire!

Can ye behold this done And tamely hide your all-avenging fire?

EL. Ah me!

CH. 2. My daughter, why these tears?

EL. Woe!

CH. 3. Weep not, calm thy fears.

EL. You kill me.

CH. 4. How?

EL. To breathe A hope for one beneath So clearly sunk in death, 'Tis to afflict me more Already pining sore.

CH. 5. One in a woman's toils I 2 Was tangled[8], buried by her glittering coils, Who now beneath--

EL. Ah woe!

CH. 6. Rules with a spirit unimpaired and strong.

EL. O dreadful!

CH. 7. Dreadful was the wrong.

EL. But she was quelled.

CH. 8. Ay.

EL. True!

That faithful mourner knew A brother's aid. But I Have no man now. The one I had, is gone, is gone.

Rapt into nothingness.

CH. 9. Thou art wrung with sore distress. II 1

EL. I know it. Too well I know, Taught by a life of woe, Where horror dwells without relief.

CH. 10. Our eyes have seen thy grief.