Four Plays of Aeschylus Part 21

Ay, and with eyes upturned and mien of scorn He chides thy brother Polynices too At his desert, and once and yet again Dwells hard and meaningly upon his name Where it saith glory yet importeth feud.

Yea, such thou art in act, and such thy grace In sight of Heaven, and such in aftertime Thy fame, for lips and ears of mortal men!

"He strove to sack the city of his sires And temples of her G.o.ds, and brought on her An alien armament of foreign foes.

The fountain of maternal blood outpoured What power can staunch? even so, thy fatherland Once by thine ardent malice stormed and ta'en, Shall ne'er join force with thee." For me, I know It doth remain to let my blood enrich The border of this land that loves me not- Blood of a prophet, in a foreign grave!

Now, for the battle! I foreknow my doom, Yet it shall be with honour. So he spake, The prophet, holding up his targe of bronze Wrought without blazon, to the ears of men Who stood around and heeded not his word.

For on no bruit and rumour of great deeds, But on their doing, is his spirit set, And in his heart he reaps a furrow rich, Wherefrom the foison of good counsel springs.

Against him, send brave heart and hand of might, For the G.o.d-lover is man's fiercest foe.

ETEOCLES

Out on the chance that couples mortal men, Linking the just and impious in one!

In every issue, the one curse is this- Companions.h.i.+p with men of evil heart!

A baneful harvest, let none gather it!

The field of sin is rank, and brings forth death At whiles a righteous man who goes aboard With reckless mates, a horde of villainy, Dies by one death with that detested crew; At whiles the just man, joined with citizens Ruthless to strangers, recking nought of Heaven, Trapped, against nature, in one net with them, Dies by G.o.d's thrust and all-including blow.

So will this prophet die, even Oecleus' child, Sage, just, and brave, and loyal towards Heaven, Potent in prophecy, but mated here With men of sin, too boastful to be wise!

Long is their road, and they return no more, And, at their taking-off, by hand of Zeus, The prophet too shall take the downward way.

He will not-so I deem-a.s.sail the gate- Not as through cowardice or feeble will, But as one knowing to what end shall be Their struggle in the battle, if indeed Fruit of fulfilment lie in Loxias' word.

He speaketh not, unless to speak avails!

Yet, for more surety, we will post a man, Strong Lasthenes, as warder of the gate, Stern to the foeman; he hath age's skill, Mated with youthful vigour, and an eye Forward, alert; swift too his hand, to catch The fenceless interval 'twixt s.h.i.+eld and spear!

Yet man's good fortune lies in hand of Heaven.

CHORUS

Unto our loyal cry, ye G.o.ds, give ear!

Save, save the city! turn away the spear, Send on the foemen fear!

Outside the rampart fall they, rent and riven Beneath the bolt of heaven!

THE SPY

Last, let me name yon seventh antagonist, Thy brother's self, at the seventh portal set- Hear with what wrath he imprecates our doom, Vowing to mount the wall, though banished hence, And peal aloud the wild exulting cry- The town is ta'en-then clash his sword with thine, Giving and taking death in close embrace, Or, if thou 'scapest, flinging upon thee, As robber of his honour and his home, The doom of exile such as he has borne.

So clamours he and so invokes the G.o.ds Who guard his race and home, to hear and heed The curse that sounds in Polynices' name!

He bears a round s.h.i.+eld, fresh from forge and fire, And wrought upon it is a twofold sign- For lo, a woman leads decorously The figure of a warrior wrought in gold; And thus the legend runs-I Justice am, And I will bring the hero home again, To hold once more his place within this town, Once more to pace his sire's ancestral hall.

Such are the symbols, by our foemen shown- Now make thine own decision, whom to send Against this last opponent! I have said- Nor canst thou in my tidings find a flaw- Thine is it, now, to steer the course aright.

ETEOCLES

Ah me, the madman, and the curse of Heaven!

And woe for us, the lamentable line Of Oedipus, and woe that in this house Our father's curse must find accomplishment!

But now, a truce to tears and loud lament, Lest they should breed a still more rueful wail!

As for this Polynices, named too well, Soon shall we know how his device shall end- Whether the gold-wrought symbols on his s.h.i.+eld, In their mad vaunting and bewildered pride, Shall guide him as a victor to his home!

For had but Justice, maiden-child of Zeus, Stood by his act and thought, it might have been!

Yet never, from the day he reached the light Out of the darkness of his mother's womb, Never in childhood, nor in youthful prime, Nor when his chin was gathering its beard, Hath Justice hailed or claimed him as her own.

Therefore I deem not that she standeth now To aid him in this outrage on his home!

Misnamed, in truth, were Justice, utterly, If to impiety she lent her hand.

Sure in this faith, I will myself go forth And match me with him; who hath fairer claim?

Ruler, against one fain to s.n.a.t.c.h the rule, Brother with brother matched, and foe with foe, Will I confront the issue. To the wall!

CHORUS

O thou true heart, O child of Oedipus, Be not, in wrath, too like the man whose name Murmurs an evil omen! 'Tis enough That Cadmus' clan should strive with Argos' host, For blood there is that can atone that stain!

But-brother upon brother dealing death- Not time itself can expiate the sin!

ETEOCLES

If man find hurt, yet clasp his honour still, 'Tis well; the dead have honour, nought beside.

Hurt, with dishonour, wins no word of praise!

CHORUS

Ah, what is thy desire?

Let not the l.u.s.t and ravin of the sword Bear thee adown the tide accursed, abhorred!

Fling off thy pa.s.sion's rage, thy spirit's prompting dire!

ETEOCLES

Nay-since the G.o.d is urgent for our doom, Let Laius' house, by Phoebus loathed and scorned, Follow the gale of destiny, and win Its great inheritance, the gulf of h.e.l.l!

CHORUS

Ruthless thy craving is- Craving for kindred and forbidden blood To be outpoured-a sacrifice imbrued With sin, a bitter fruit of murderous enmities!

ETEOCLES

Yea, my own father's fateful Curse proclaims- A ghastly presence, and her eyes are dry- Strike! honour is the prize, not life prolonged!

CHORUS

Ah, be not urged of her! for none shall dare To call thee coward, in thy throned estate!

Will not the Fury in her sable pall Pa.s.s outward from these halls, what time the G.o.ds Welcome a votive offering from our hands?

ETEOCLES

The G.o.ds! long since they hold us in contempt, Scornful of gifts thus offered by the lost!

Why should we fawn and flinch away from doom?

CHORUS

Now, when it stands beside thee! for its power May, with a changing gust of milder mood, Temper the blast that bloweth wild and rude And frenzied, in this hour!

ETEOCLES

Ay, kindled by the curse of Oedipus- All too prophetic, out of dreamland came The vision, meting out our sire's estate!

CHORUS

Heed women's voices, though thou love them not!

ETEOCLES

Say aught that may avail, but stint thy words.

CHORUS

Go not thou forth to guard the seventh gate!

ETEOCLES

Words shall not blunt the edge of my resolve.

CHORUS

Yet the G.o.d loves to let the weak prevail.

ETEOCLES