The Seven Plays in English Verse Part 54

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 sh.o.r.e, 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 sh.o.r.e. 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 s.h.i.+ps, 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 pa.s.sed, 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 compa.s.sion.

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 G.o.ds, 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 s.h.i.+p, 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 pa.s.s, 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 mult.i.tude, 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 s.h.i.+eld.

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 a.s.sured, 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.