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# LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, I 
 
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 ! UNITED STATES OP AMERICA.!; 
 
ANCIENT LEAVES 
 
PRINTED BY E. & R. CLARK, 
 
 FOE 
 
 EDMONSTON AND DOUGLAS, EDINBURGH. 
 
 LONDON . - HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE . MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 DUBLIN . W. ROBERTSON. 
 
 GLASGOW . JAMES MACLEHOSE. 
 
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ANCIENT LEAVES 
 
 OR 
 
 TRANSLATIONS AND PARAPHRASES FROM 
 POETS OF GREECE AND ROME 
 
 BY 
 
 D'ARCY W. THOMPSON 
 
 Novas frondes et non sua poma 
 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 EDMONSTON AND DOUGLAS 
 
 18 62 
 
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TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Ajax. 
 
 Iphigenia in Aulis. 
 
 The Shield op Achilles. 
 
 The Death of Hector. 
 
 The Transformation of Atlas. 
 
 The Minor Pieces. 
 
 PARAPHRASES. 
 
 Cyane, the Water-Nymph. 
 Ceres and the Rude Boy. 
 Proserpine and the Story-Teller. 
 Latona and the Rustics. 
 
ERRATUM. 
 
 Page 27, line 12, instead of, 
 I and child put on the yoke of slaves, 
 
 read, 
 I and thy child put on the yoke of slaves. 
 
A J A X. 
 
 CHAKACTERS OF THE PLAY. 
 
 Athene (Minerva). Teucer, half-brother of Aj ax. 
 
 Ajax, prince of Salamis. Agamemnon, king of Mycenae.- 
 
 Ulysses, king of Ithaca. Menelaus, king of Sparta. 
 
 Tecmessa, wife of Ajax. A Messenger. 
 
 Chorus of Salaminian Sailors. 
 
 SILENT CHARACTERS. 
 
 Eurysaces, son of Ajax. The Tutor of Eurysaces. Herald. 
 
 Scene I. 
 Exterior of the tent of Ajax. Ulysses enters, looking 
 cautiously around; Athene speaks from mid-air, 
 supposed to be invisible from the stage. 
 
 Ath. Son of Laertes, ever have I known thee 
 Upon thy foeman's track a hunter keen ; 
 So now upon the sea-beach near the tent 
 
2 AJAX. 
 
 Of Ajax, where he holds the outmost post, 
 This while past have I seen thee trace and mark 
 His new-imprinted footsteps, to discover 
 Whether the hero be within or no : 
 Thy steps are sure as scent of Spartan hound ; 
 It was but now he went within, his face 
 Keeking with sweat and his hands red with blood. 
 So, come, thou need'st not peer within the gate, 
 But freely speak thine errand out, and one, 
 Who knoweth all, will speed thee on thy way. 
 
 Ulys. Dearest Athene, though unseen the while, 
 Yet well known is that voice, as loud and clear 
 As the deep note of a Tyrrhenian bell. 
 Thou seest me on the traces of a foe, 
 Ajax, the bearer of the seven-fold shield. 
 For but this night past he hath done a deed 
 Most passing strange— if that the deed be his ; 
 For herein we are all at fault, and I 
 Have set myself to find this riddle out. 
 This morning to our wonder we beheld 
 
AJAX. 3 
 
 All slain and mangled most inhumanly 
 
 Our flocks and herds, shepherds and herdsmen, all : 
 
 The deed was of man's doing, and that deed 
 
 The general voice doth lay at this man's door. 
 
 Ay, and a scout, seeing him all alone 
 
 With dripping sword go bounding o'er the plain, 
 
 Thereof informs me, and on the moment I 
 
 Kush in pursuit, and ever and anon 
 
 Methinks I see my way, then comes a check, 
 
 And straightway am I all at fault again. 
 
 But thou art come most seasonably ; and now, 
 
 As heretofore, thy hand shall be my guide. 
 
 Ath. I know it all ; and, knowing all, I came 
 To see thee safely through thy perilous chase. 
 
 Ulys. Tell me, dear Mistress, do I toil in vain '? 
 
 Ath. Nay, nay; the deed was all of this man's 
 doing. 
 
 Ulys. What earthly purpose for so strange a deed ? 
 
 Ath. 'Twas done in anger, that Achilles' arms 
 Were given to thee ? 
 
4 A J AX. 
 
 Ulys. But, prithee, wherefore, Goddess, 
 
 Turned he his hand against the innocent herd ? 
 
 Ath. 'Twas in your blood he thought to dye his hands. 
 
 Ulys. The deed was meant for us ? 
 
 Ath. Was meant, and would 
 
 Have had successful issue, but for me. 
 
 Ulys. How set about a task so terrible ? 
 
 Ath. Against you he came stealing in the dark, 
 Alone. 
 
 Ulys. And came he near his journey's end 1 
 
 Ath. He had reached the tent-doors of the brother 
 kings. 
 
 Ulys. And how restrained he then his murderous 
 hand? 
 
 Ath. I held him back, and placed before his eyes 
 Unreal visions of delirium born, 
 And turned his steps to where the herdsmen watch' d 
 The undivided booty of the host : 
 On these he fell, and pele-mele, right and left, 
 He slew and hack'd the horned throng, and now 
 
AJAX. 
 
 The two Atridse fall beneath his hand, 
 Now this, and now another of the kings. 
 I all the while to fiercer frenzy goad 
 The madman on, and make the mischief worse. 
 And, when at length he rested from his toil, 
 The living remnants of the flocks and herds 
 He bound, and drave before him to his tent 
 Oxen and sheep, as men, his prisoners. 
 And now within the tent he scourgeth them. 
 But I will shew thee this same madman's work, 
 That thou may'st see and tell it to thy friends. 
 Stay ; never fear ; he cannot do thee harm ; 
 I will so turn his eyes, he shall not see, 
 Although thou stand before him face to face. 
 Ho ! thou that bindest fast thy prisoners' hands, 
 Ajax, come forth ! 
 
 Ulys. What ? call the man out here ? 
 
 Ath. Hush, sirrah ; shew thy manhood. 
 
 Ulys. Nay, let him be ; 
 
 By heaven, I am content he stay within. 
 
b AJAX. 
 
 Ath. For fear of what 1 was Ajax more than 
 
 man ] 
 Ulys. He was, as he is still, mine enemy. 
 Ath. What laugh so sweet as at a foe's expense ? 
 Ulys. Howbeit, I had rather he should stay 
 
 within. 
 Ath. Upon a madman art afraid to look ? 
 Ulys. Were he not mad, then were I not afraid. 
 Ath. I tell thee yet again he shall not see. 
 Ulys. What? sees he not with the same eyes as 
 
 ever? 
 Ath. Those eyes shall see, yet, while they see, be 
 
 blind. 
 Ulys. Well, well ; the rough is smooth, if Gods 
 
 so will it. 
 Ath. Stand still, and wait. 
 
 Ulys. Well — as thou bidst— 1 stay : 
 
 (Aside) But would to heaven I were a league away. 
 Ath. Ajax— a second time I call thee forth— 
 This is scant courtesy to so old a friend. 
 
AJAX. 
 
 {Enter Ajax from the tent?) 
 
 Ajax. All hail, Athene ! welcome, child of Zeus ! 
 Thou comest in season : for this booty here 
 I will repay thee with a crown of gold. 
 
 Ath.. Well said, my friend ; but, prithee, tell me 
 first, — 
 Thy sword, was it well steep' d in Argive blood ? 
 
 Ajax. Ay, Goddess, ay. 
 
 Ath. And did'st thou turn thy hands 
 
 Against the kings? 
 
 Ajax. It will be long before 
 
 Ajax meets insult at their hands again. 
 
 Ath. The kings are dead then? so thy words imply. 
 
 Ajax. Ay, dead, and free to rob me of mine arms. 
 
 Ath. Good : and how far'd it with Laertes' son ? 
 Hath he escaped ? 
 
 Ajax. The subtle, scheming knave ? 
 
 Ath. I mean Ulysses, who supplanted thee. 
 
8 AJAX. 
 
 Ajax. He sits fast-bound within, a sight to feast 
 Mine eyes withal — he dies not yet awhile. 
 
 Ath. Not yet awhile ? why, what would'st thou do 
 more? 
 
 Ajax. Ill bind him to the pillar of my tent, 
 And lash and flay his bare back till he die. 
 
 Ath. Be not so stern, I pray thee, with the wretch. 
 
 Ajax. Athene, in all else I will give way, 
 But here my will is fixed ; the man dies so. 
 
 Ath Well, if it be thy pleasure so to do, 
 Lay on with a will, and wreak thy vengeance out. 
 
 Ajax. I go ; but, ere I go, one thing I pray ; 
 Be to me evermore the friend thou art to-day. 
 
 (Exit) 
 
 Ath. See'st thou, Ulysses, what the Gods can do ? 
 Did'st ever know a man more wise than this, 
 Or stouter-hearted in the hour of need ? 
 
 Ulys. Not one : and in good sooth I pity him, 
 Poor man, altho* he is mine enemy, 
 Seeing him mated with a fate so hard ; 
 
AJAX. 9 
 
 For his chance serves as mirror to mine own, 
 And now I see that we poor men are made 
 Of dream-stuff, the mere shadows of a shade. 
 
 Ath. Seeing these things, remember that thou speak 
 No word of insolence against the Gods, 
 Nor boast thyself, if that thy neighbour's hand 
 Be weaker, or his substance less than thine : 
 Time bringeth low and raiseth up again 
 All human things, and the great Gods above 
 Abhor the wicked, as the good they love. 
 
 {Exeunt.) 
 
 Chorus, {Recitative.) 
 
 Son of Telamon from sea-girt Salamis : I rejoice me in 
 
 thy prosperity ; 
 But when the wrath of Zeus or slanderous tongues 
 
 assail thee : I quake and tremble like a fluttering 
 
 dove. 
 Even so this night past we have heard : dreadful 
 ( stories to thy shame ; 
 
10 AJAX. 
 
 How thou wentest to the pasture-grounds : and slewest 
 
 the cattle and the flocks ; 
 Hewing with thy shining sword : all the remnant of 
 
 the prey. 
 Such words of slander doth Ulysses : whisper in the 
 
 ears of all ; 
 And all are easy of belief : for the words he speaketh 
 
 have the shew of truth ; 
 And the hearer rejoiceth more in thy sorrow : than the 
 
 teller of the tales ; 
 For whoso aimeth at the great ones of the earth : he 
 
 shall not miss his mark ; 
 For envy is the heritage of the rich : but the arrow 
 
 glanceth from the side of the lowly. 
 Princes and people asunder : are even as a tottering 
 
 tower ; 
 But herein there is safety : when they lean one upon 
 
 the other ; 
 These are words for the wise : for a fool cannot learn 
 
 them betimes. 
 
A J AX. 11 
 
 So men cry against thee, king : and we alone are 
 
 weak to resist ; 
 For so soon as they are out of thy sight : they clamour 
 
 like a flock of birds ; 
 But if the eagle should come suddenly : they would 
 
 cower down in terror, and be dumb. 
 
 Strophe. (Aria.) 
 Did Tauric Artemis, the child of Zeus 
 (0 dreadful story, mother of my shame) 
 Turn thee against the booty of the host, 
 Angry, because in battle or the chase 
 She lack'd due honour at thy hands ? 
 Or, jealous of thee, his rival in the fight, 
 Did the brazen War-God in revenge 
 Put thee to shame in the watches of the night ? 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 For never of thyself could' st thou have gone astray 
 So far as to fall upon the herds : 
 
12 AJAX. 
 
 The malady is sent from heaven ; 
 
 But may Zeus and Apollo avert slanderous tongues. 
 
 And if the great chiefs and the Ithacan accurs'd 
 
 Secretly speak words of ill, 
 
 Make not the evil worse by sitting still, king, 
 
 And sullenly brooding in thy tent by the sea. 
 
 Epode. 
 
 Nay, rise from where thou sittest, 
 
 These many days resting from the troubles of the war, 
 
 And heaping fresh wrath from heaven upon thine head ; 
 
 And the triumph of thy foes rageth unchecked, 
 
 As a fire rageth in the sheltered dells ; 
 
 And the babbling words they utter are a burden to 
 
 the ear ; 
 And this is all sad, sad to me. 
 
 {Enter Tecmessa.) 
 
 Teem. Sailors of Ajax, children of the race 
 Of earthborn old Erectheus, 'tis for us 
 
AJAX. 13 
 
 To mourn and weep, for us and all that love 
 The house of Telamon beyond the seas. 
 For now my lord, the great broad-shoulder'd Ajax, 
 Lies overwhelmed beneath a sea of troubles. 
 
 Chor. "What burden fresh, to yesterday unknown, 
 Hath night brought with it ? speak, Phrygian lady, speak : 
 Thou, erst the spoil of war to our great lord, 
 Art now his well-beloved wife : so speak ; 
 Thou needs must know all we so fain would hear. 
 
 Teem. how to tell the tale unutterable ! 
 Listen : 'twill chill thy very life to hear : 
 Ajax, our own great Ajax, this night past 
 Went mad ; aye, mad ; to his peril and his shame. 
 Within his tent here you may see a heap 
 Of mangled carcases, weltering in blood ; 
 And these are all the victims of his hand. 
 
 Chorus. (Recitative.) 
 
 Thou givest sad tidings of our brave hero : of sorrows 
 hard to bear ; sorrows hard to shun ; 
 
14 A J AX. 
 
 The chieftains bruit the story abroad : and Eumour 
 
 swelleth the words as they fly. 
 The gleaming sword was in his frenzied hand : when 
 
 he slew the cattle and the herdsmen ; 
 I fear me what the morrow will bring forth : for the 
 
 penalty of such things is death. 
 
 Teem. Ah ! now I see whence came the fleecy crowd 
 Of prisoners he drove this morning home ; 
 One he chose out, and slew upon the ground • 
 Others he hacked or rent in twain ; and two 
 White-footed rams he lifted one by one, 
 And from the first he cut the head and tongue, 
 And flung them on the ground ; then took the other, 
 And laid on blows with a great, sounding thong, 
 With awful words, such as the Gods teach men 
 Then only when they push them on to ruin. 
 
 Chorus. (Recitative.) 
 
 Now were it time to veil our faces : and to steal 
 away unseen ; 
 
A J AX. 15 
 
 Or seated on the benches of a swift-sailing ship : to 
 
 trust to the winds and sea. 
 For the brothers, who are lords of the host : speak 
 
 threatening words against ns ; 
 To stone ns with stones, both us and our king : our 
 
 king frenzy-stricken of the Gods. 
 
 Teem. No longer so ; for as the wind that blows 
 With lightning unaccompanied from the South 
 Suddenly falls, and leaves the heaven serene ; 
 So fares it with him now ; but in the lull 
 Fresh sorrows crowd upon him, and the sight 
 Of all this havoc due to his hand alone 
 Doth wound him to the quick. 
 
 Ohor. Nay, lady, nay \ 
 
 If it be so, all may e'en yet go well ; 
 The cause removed, ill words will die away. 
 
 Teem. If choice were given thee, whether wouldst 
 thou choose 
 Paining thy friends to be at ease thyself, 
 Or share with them their sorrow. 
 
16 A J AX. 
 
 Chor. Surely, dear lady, 
 
 The double sorrow were the greater ill. 
 
 Teem. Just so our cure hath wrought us misery. 
 
 Chor. Thou speak'st in riddles ; prithee, make 
 them plain. 
 
 Teem. The hero yonder, while the craze was on him, 
 Himself drew comfort from his sad estate, 
 And we, whose wits were clear, had all the pain ; 
 Now that the respite from disease is come, 
 He is bow'd down with agony and shame, 
 And ours is but a poor gain by the change : 
 Is not this making troubles twain of one ? 
 
 Chor. Even so, lady ; and therefore I do fear 
 This blow is sent from heaven ; else how should he, 
 From madness freed, be still the slave of sorrow ? 
 
 Teem. It is too late for " I do fear : " the thing 
 Needs now " I know." 
 
 Chor. How came it at the first i 
 
 Tell us, who take thy sorrow for our own. 
 
 Teem. Thou shalt hear all ; thy lot is one with ours ; 
 
AJAX. 17 
 
 It was the dead of night, and all the lamps 
 
 Of evening were gone out, when he up-rose, 
 
 Girt on his great sword, and on tip-toe crept 
 
 To the tent- door upon his lonely way. 
 
 And chiding him I said, " What may this mean, 
 
 Ajax % upon what errand art thou bound 1 
 
 No herald's voice hath summon' d thee, or call 
 
 Of trumpet : nay, the whole host is asleep." 
 
 And he with the old proverb made reply ; 
 
 " A woman's chiefest grace is a still tongue •" 
 
 I answer'd not, and he went out alone ; 
 
 And what he did out there I cannot tell ? 
 
 But back he came, driving a throng before him 
 
 Of oxen, shepherd- dogs, and horned goats ; 
 
 From some he smote the heads ; some he held back, 
 
 And cut across the throat ; some down the chine ; 
 
 Some he bound fast, and rail'd and struck at them, 
 
 The silly sheep, as they were mortal men. 
 
 And at the last he issued out of doors, 
 
 And with some fancied creature of the brain 
 
 c 
 
18 AJAX. 
 
 In boastful words held converse of the kings, 
 
 Th' Atreidae and Ulysses, laughing the while 
 
 At all the vengeance that he held in store ; 
 
 Then came indoors, where by most slow degrees, 
 
 Little and little his poor wits came back : 
 
 But, when the horror all around grew clear, 
 
 He struck his forehead, and shrieFd aloud, and fell 
 
 Down in amongst the weltering carcases ; 
 
 And there he sat, with his hair clench'd in both hands. 
 
 So for a while he sat without a word, 
 
 Then burst he out into most awful threats, 
 
 Unless I told him the whole story out, 
 
 And let him know the case, wherein he stood. 
 
 And I, my friends, in terror told him all, 
 
 All, that I knew ; and straightway he burst out 
 
 Into a groan, the like of which I ne'er 
 
 Had heard before from him ; for he was wont 
 
 To reckon such the mark of a mean soul : 
 
 And so with him 'twas no shrill cry, but a groan 
 
 Stifled, like the low bellowing of a bull. 
 
A J AX. 19 
 
 And now in his most utter misery, 
 Without or food or drink, the man is sitting 
 Speechless, with the heap'd carcases around. 
 But in the words half-heard amid his groans 
 I read the import of some stern resolve. 
 Wherefore, my friends, I am come forth to beg 
 Your help, if any help can now avail ; 
 For men like him yield, if they yield, to friends. 
 
 Chor. Child of Teleutas, this is most sad to hear ; 
 His crosses must have driven the poor man mad. 
 
 Ajax [from within). Oh ! Oh ! 
 
 Teem. Sad? 'twill be sadder soon ; hear ye the cry, 
 That issues from his tent. 
 
 (Ajax cries again from within.) 
 
 Chor. He is either mad, 
 
 Or stung with memory of his former madness. 
 
 Ajax (ivithin). My son ! My son ! 
 
 Teem. Alas ! Eurysaces, he calls for thee ; 
 What can he mean?— where art thou child? ah me ! 
 
 ah me ! 
 
20 AJAX. 
 
 Aj ax (within.) Teucer ! where's Teucer? will he 
 stay for ever 
 Upon the road, and leave me here to die ? 
 
 Chor. There 's method in these words ; quick, ope 
 the door ; 
 May be, the sight of us may bring him round. 
 
 Teem. See, then ; this door I ope, for you to see 
 Ajax's handiwork and misery. 
 
 (The tent-curtain is drawn aside, and Ajax 
 is seen seated amid a heap of slain cattle ; 
 a ram is fastened to the tent-pillar^) 
 (Ajax singing). 
 
 messmates dear, of many friends 
 
 Faithful among the faithless found ; 
 See what a surging tide of blood 
 Circles me round, circles me round. 
 Chor. Alas, alas ; thy words are all too true ; 
 To have come to this, thou hast been mad indeed. 
 Ajax. comrades ! mine on land or sea, 
 Loyal to your master still ; 
 
AJAX. 21 
 
 For pity's sake your aid forbear : 
 
 Help not, but kill ; help not, but kill. 
 Chor. Hush, hush, the cure were worse than the 
 
 disease. 
 Ajax. See here ; the valiant, the stout-hearted 
 Ajax, 
 The foremost ever in the fight, hath spent 
 His might so terrible on these poor beasts — 
 Gods, to think what laughter has been theirs. 
 Teem. my lord Ajax ; prithee, speak not so. 
 Ajax. Out of my sight ; quick, woman, get thee 
 gone. 
 
 me ! me ! 
 
 Chor. Nay, never let thy sorrows master thee. 
 Ajax. Me miserable ! I let the villains go, 
 And on the horned kine and bleating sheep 
 
 1 fell, and dyed my hands red, red with blood. 
 
 Chor. But wherefore grieve o'er what is past and 
 gone ? 
 What's done cannot be undone. 
 
22 A J AX. 
 
 Ajax. Son of Laertes, thou whose eye and hand 
 Are ever busy, where mischief is at work, 
 Thou sorry knave, thou must have laugh ; d, methinks, 
 Have laugh'd a laugh — ah me ! how long and sweet. 
 
 Chor. ? T is as heaven wills, that we or laugh or weep. 
 
 Ajax. Would God I saw him, even in my low 
 estate ! 
 me ! me ! 
 
 Chor. Consider well, and curb these swelling 
 thoughts. 
 
 Ajax. Sire of my sires, great Zeus, grant me the life 
 Of this one villain and the brother kings, 
 And I will die content. 
 
 Teem. When thus thou pray est, pray that I die too ; 
 For what were life to me, when thou wert gone ? 
 
 Ajax. darkness, my light, 
 Erebus, most dazzling bright to me, 
 Take me, take me to your dwelling-place, 
 take me ! on the race of Gods or men 
 Wherefore should I gaze longer, or what good 
 
AJAX. 23 
 
 Could thence accrue to either them or me ? 
 Nay, nay ; the warrior daughter of great Zeus 
 Houndeth me on thro' contumely to ruin. 
 Where can I tarry i whither can I flee ? 
 My former services are blotted out 
 By these misdoings ; and these silly beasts 
 Hang on me like a load, and the host will rise 
 Even as one man and slay me with their hands. 
 
 Teem. wretched me, to hear a good man say 
 The words he would have scorned in times gone by. 
 
 Ajax. streams, that run into the sea, 
 Sea -caves, and pastures fringed by the shore, 
 Long, long, and far too long in Trojan land 
 Ye've held me, but ye hold me back no longer 
 A living man — (aside) this word is for the wise. 
 river, that flowest with friendly waters near, 
 Scamander, thou shalt never look again 
 On me, whose like— presumptuous words, but true— 
 Thy land ne'er saw in all the host that came 
 From Hellas ; and behold what I am now, 
 
24 AJAX. 
 
 Chor. Sad as thy fate is, I must needs say, Yea ; 
 Sad tho' thy fate be, I would fain say, Nay. 
 
 Ajax. Who would have thought my luckless name, 
 Aias, 
 To such good purpose jingled with Alas : 
 Alas— not once, but twice and thrice Alas ! 
 So miserable am I ; I, whose sire, 
 When he had won in fight the foremost place 
 Among his fellows, went with glory home ; 
 And I, his son, who came to this same land, 
 With just as proud and gallant an array, 
 And with my good sword won as fair a fame, 
 Dishonour'd by the Greeks am left to die. 
 Yet this much will I venture ; if in life 
 The best and bravest had Achilles named, 
 And giVn his arms as valour's meet reward, 
 That prize none other would have won than I, 
 But now th ? Atreidas play into the hands 
 0' the man from Ithaca, and Ajax is past by— 
 Ah ! had not hands and eyes and brain distraught 
 
A J AX. 25 
 
 Swerved from my purpose, never, nevermore 
 
 Would they have sat false judges on another — 
 
 But, as my sword was stretching forth to slay, 
 
 There came Athene, stern, invincible, 
 
 And with delusions turn'd my hand astray 
 
 To reek itself in this ignoble blood ; 
 
 And they are laughing now, out of harm's way ; 
 
 Sore, sore against my will ; but, if Heav'n will it, 
 
 The coward shall escape the better man. 
 
 And now what must I do ? I, whom the Gods 
 
 Plainly abhor, and every Greek detests, 
 
 I, whom Troy hates, and all the plains around 1 
 
 What ? shall I leave the camp upon the shore, 
 
 And o'er th' iEgean waters seek my home ; 
 
 JTay, nay ; what eyes, what forehead could I shew 
 
 My father Telamon ? would he endure 
 
 To see me coming naked of the prize 
 
 And crown of glory, that himself had won 1 
 
 This cannot be : then shall I go alone 
 
 To the walls of Troy, and fall upon the foe, 
 
26 AJAX. 
 
 And do some noble deed before I die ? 
 
 But that, methinks, would glad the Grecian kings ; 
 
 That cannot be : some way, then, must I find 
 
 To prove to my old father, Telamon, 
 
 That I — I, Ajax — am no recreant son. 
 
 'tis a shame to wish for length of days, 
 When length of days brings with it only sorrow ; 
 For how can one, day after day, delight 
 
 In hanging pendulous 'twixt life and death ? 
 
 1 would not value at a straw the man 
 
 That warm'd his heart with vain and silly hopes : 
 
 ISTay, either noble life or noble death 
 
 Becomes the brave :— now ; I have said my say. 
 
 Chor. No one will charge thee with a double 
 tongue, 
 Ajax ; these words come from thy very heart. 
 But lay aside these melancholy thoughts, 
 Let those who love thee conquer thy resolve. 
 
 Teem. my lord Ajax, there is not on earth 
 A power more terrible than Destiny ■ 
 
AJAX. 27 
 
 For I was born of a most noble house ; 
 
 My sire was wealthiest of Phrygian lords ; 
 
 And now I am a slave : so willed it Heav'n, 
 
 And thy right hand : wherefore, e'er since the day 
 
 I was thy wife, have I been dutiful ; 
 
 And I beseech thee by the hearth-god Zeus, 
 
 And by the bonds that make us man and wife, 
 
 Suffer it not that I should bear reproach, 
 
 A helpless captive in thine enemy's hand. 
 
 For on the day thou diest, that self-same day 
 
 Be sure that, seiz'd on by some Argive chief, 
 
 I and child put on the yoke of slaves. 
 
 And many an one o ? the chieftains will then speak 
 
 These words of bitterness ; " Behold the wife 
 
 Of Ajax, once the mightiest of the host ; 
 
 Ah ! what a change for her ; twixt now and then !" 
 
 So will they speak ; and sorrow will be my lot, 
 
 And this will be for shame to thee and thine. 
 
 But leave not thy father in Ins sad, old age, 
 
 Leave not thy poor old mother, who many a time 
 
28 A J AX. 
 
 Prays to the Gods to bring thee back safe home. 
 And, my lord, take pity on thy son ; 
 Think, if he lose thy care and pass his youth 
 Under unfriendly guardians, what a lot, 
 How sad a lot thou leavest him and me. 
 For I have naught whereunto I may look, 
 Save thee ; thou did'st destroy my native land ; 
 Father and mother, both are dead and gone ; 
 Where can I find a home save in thine arms ? 
 Th,ou art my father, mother, all in all — 
 Forget me not then ; how can a man forget 
 The woman he hath once clasp' d to his heart ; 
 Love merits love ; and he who says not so, 
 Is neither gallant soldier nor true man. 
 
 Chor. Had'st thou as much of pity in thy heart 
 As I, thou wouldst give heed to her request. 
 
 Ajax. I will give her heed enough, if she 
 Will do my bidding. 
 
 Teem. Speak and I obey. 
 
 Ajax. Bring me my child, and let me see his face. 
 
A J AX. 29 
 
 Teem. 'Twas fear that made me take the lad 
 away. (hesitating.) 
 
 Ajax. Fear of this mischief 1 
 
 Teem. Ay, for fear, poor child, 
 
 He met with thee, and fell beneath thine hand. 
 
 Ajax. Ay, ay, 'twere well in keeping with the 
 rest. 
 
 Teem. 'Twas to prevent it, that I took this care. 
 
 Ajax. It was well done ; thy forethought I ap- 
 prove. 
 
 Teem. Is there ought left whereby to please my 
 lord ? 
 
 Ajax. My child, my child, let me but see my 
 child. 
 
 Teem. Thy child is close at hand, and in safe 
 keeping. 
 
 Ajax. Then, woman, why is the lad so long 
 a-coming ? 
 
 Teem. Thy father calls thee child — (to a slave) go, 
 fetch him here. 
 
30 AJAX. 
 
 Ajax (after a pause). "Well ? is the slave thou 
 
 biddest lame or deaf i 
 Teem. Nay, look, here comes the slave bringing 
 
 the boy. 
 Ajax. Bring him in, bring him in hither : he will 
 not fear, 
 Methinks, to look upon the sight of blood, 
 If he be truly his own father's son. 
 Nay, see to it, and break him in betimes, 
 
 [To the Chorus. 
 And mould him after his rough father's ways. 
 
 (Enter the slave with Eurysaces : Ajax, embracing his 
 son, continues.) 
 
 Ah, child, may'st thou be happier than thy father ; 
 Like in all else, and thou wilt be no coward. 
 And yet I cannot, child, but envy thee, 
 That thou art all unconscious of these woes, 
 For life is sweetest, when we think the least, 
 Or ere we know what ' joy ' and ' sorrow ' mean. 
 
AJAX. 31 
 
 But when it comes to this, see that thou shew 
 
 Among thine enemies who thy father was. 
 
 Meanwhile enjoy all innocent delights 
 
 Of childhood, and be a comfort to thy mother. 
 
 No Greek shall harm thee with reproachful words, 
 
 Though I be absent ; such a trusty guard 
 
 Is Teucer, whom I leave, tho' now he seems 
 
 To linger far away, chasing the foe. 
 
 And you, my comrades, this I bid you all, 
 
 Tell Teucer, that he see the lad safe home 
 
 To Eribssa and to Telamon, 
 
 To be the stay and comfort of their age. 
 
 And let no chief, nor that cursed Ithacan, 
 
 Assign my arms in prizes to the host. 
 
 But thou, Eurysaces, take thou the shield, 
 
 Thy namesake — seven-fold, broad, impregnable — 
 
 The rest shall Teucer lay with me f the grave. 
 
 But now, be quick, and take the boy away ; 
 
 And close the door, and raise no cries without — 
 
 These women are ever ready with their tears — 
 
32 A J AX. 
 
 Shut, and be quick : it shews no skilful leech 
 To mutter spells o'er wounds that need the knife. 
 
 Clior. (aside) I fear these sharp words and this 
 eager haste. 
 
 Teem. my lord Ajax what is this thy will % 
 
 Ajax. Ask not, but shew thy sense by a still 
 tongue. 
 
 Teem. Ah me ! how sad my heart is— by thy 
 child, 
 And by the Gods I pray thee leave us not. 
 
 Ajax. Thou plaguest me ; why, what owe I the 
 Gods, 
 That I for their sakes should be bounden to thee % 
 
 Teem. Hush, hush, my lord. 
 
 Ajax. Go, speak to ears that hear. 
 
 Teem. Thou wilt not yield then 1 
 
 Ajax. Wilt thou speak for ever ? 
 
 Teem. My fears would for me. 
 
 Ajax. Take her away forthwith. 
 
 Teem. For Heaven's sake listen. 
 
A J AX. 33 
 
 Ajax. Thou art indeed a fool, 
 
 Thus late i J the day a heart like mine to school. 
 
 {Exeunt.) 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe. {Aria.) 
 
 famous Salamis, somewhere art thou lying, 
 
 Sea- washed and beautiful, 
 
 A theme for song for ever ; 
 
 And I, unhappy one, these many, many years, 
 
 In the pasture-lands of Ida am lingering, 
 
 And thro' the long months fretting, 
 
 With the miserable expectation 
 
 That ere long I shall be journeying 
 
 To gloomy Plato and his dark abode. 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 Now comes, as though we had not enough of trouble, 
 
 Ajax, the inflexible, 
 
 And the frenzy of heaven's sending. 
 
 Him once thou sentest forth in glory to the war ; 
 
 D 
 
34 AJAX. 
 
 But now he is become, with his wits a- wandering. 
 
 To his friends a shame and sorrow ; 
 
 And the great deeds of his arm, 
 
 Wrought of old, are all forgotten 
 
 By chiefs ungrateful and the host forgotten. 
 
 Strophe. 
 
 ! methinks his aged mother. 
 
 His grey-hair' d mother, 
 
 When she heareth of his madness, 
 
 Will raise a cry, 
 
 Ho musical lament of nightingale, 
 
 But a loud and bitter cry, 
 
 And with both hands beat her breast, 
 
 And tear in agony her poor white hair. 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 Better in his grave, far better, 
 
 This madman, Ajax, 
 
 Who, coming of the noblest house 
 
AJAX. 35 
 
 Of warlike Greeks, 
 
 Sharneth his fathers and his former self. 
 
 what a tale to hear, 
 Father, the sad fate of thy son, 
 
 The saddest that thy noble house hath known. 
 
 {Enter Ajax.) 
 
 Time in his long, immeasurable course, 
 
 Turns light to darkness, darkness unto light : 
 
 Nought is past hoping for : the binding oath 
 
 Is found at fault, the stoutest heart gives way. 
 
 For I, so stedfast in my firm resolve, 
 
 Am softened, like as steel when dipt in oil, 
 
 By this poor soul — 'twere hard mid foes to leave her, 
 
 A widow'd woman with an orphan child. 
 
 No — I'll away to the meadows by the shore, 
 
 And bathe, and purify myself, and strive 
 
 To keep Athene's heavy wrath away. 
 
 And, when I come upon some lonely spot, 
 
 1 will there hide this hated sword of mine, 
 
36 AJAX. 
 
 Deep in the ground where not an eye shall see, 
 Where Death, and Night shall keep it deep below. 
 For, since the day I took this cursed gift 
 From Hector's hands, the Greeks have done me wrong 
 Well, well — it seems there's truth i' the old saw, 
 " Trust not a foe who comes with open hand." 
 Henceforward, then, we'll bow to Heaven's decrees, 
 And learn to shew meet reverence to the kings ; 
 They are our lords ; obedience is their due ; 
 Yea, things, that hard and most unbending are, 
 Have sense of order ; so the winter snows 
 Duly give place to summer fruits and flowers ; 
 And so the dark and dismal car of Night 
 Eetreats before the white steeds of the Dawn ; 
 And blasts of stormy winds do raise and lull 
 The roaring sea, and the mighty hand of Sleep 
 Binds and lets loose, nor keeps his hold for ever : 
 Then why not I learn sense ?— of late I've found 
 A foe is just so far to have your hate, 
 As one whom chance may prove your friend ere long, 
 
AJAX. 37 
 
 And just so far a friend is to be served, 
 
 As who may turn foe o' the morrow — so safe, 
 
 Too oft, is friendship's haven to anchor in. 
 
 All this, then, shall go well ; wherefore, good wife, 
 
 Go thou indoors, and pray to the great Gods 
 
 To grant fulfilment to my heart's desire ; 
 
 And you, my friends, pay me that same regard, 
 
 And tell to Teucer, when he comes, to shew 
 
 His love for me and care withal for you ; 
 
 £Tow, do my bidding ; maybe, ere long you 11 say, 
 
 Ajax, tho' beaten, hath yet won the day. 
 
 (Exit.) 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe. (Aria, to quick and lively music.) 
 
 I shudder with delight, and leap for joy ; 
 
 Pan, Pan, come, come across the sea, 
 
 Come, thou that leadest the dances of the Gods, 
 
 From the snowy ridges of Cyllene, come, 
 
 Join me in the dances free of Nysus and of Knossus, 
 
 For now it is my will to dance. 
 
38 AJAX. 
 
 And thou, Apollo, shining king of Delos, 
 Let me see thee coming over Icarian waters, 
 And be my friend, my friend for evermore. 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 Sorrow is gone, our tears are wiped away ; 
 Zeus, now shines the bright light of the sun. 
 Now may we approach our swift-sailing ships, 
 For our lord hath forgotten all his troubles, 
 And prayeth to the Gods with holy reverence. 
 Time, great Time, bringeth all things to nought ; 
 Nothing shall I call impossible with Time, 
 Seeing that our lord past our hopes hath changed 
 From his anger and his strife with the brother-kings. 
 
 {Enter Messenger.) 
 
 Mess, Friends, my first news is, Teucer is arrived 
 Fresh from the Mysian heights, but scarce had reach'd 
 The central camp, before the news had spread 
 Of his coming, and straight the Argives one and all 
 
AJAX. 39 
 
 To right and left fell on him with abuse ; 
 " Mad traitor's brother/' cried they, as they shower'd 
 Stones, from the which 'twas well he 'scaped with life. 
 Swords crossed at length, but when the strife had 
 
 gone 
 Its furthest, came the elders and made peace. 
 But, my lord Ajax — prithee, where is he 1 
 What news we have 'tis meet my lord should hear. 
 
 Chor. 'Tis but this moment past he went away, 
 Changed for the better both in word and deed. 
 
 Mess. Alas ! then he who sent me on this errand, 
 Sent me too late, or I've been long i' the coming. 
 
 Chor. Why, what is wrong ? 
 
 Mess. Teucer forbad express 
 
 Ajax should leave his tent, till he were here. 
 
 Chor. Howe'er that be, the man is gone, and with 
 The best intent, to make his peace with the Gods. 
 
 Mess. Make peace with the Gods— these are 
 idle words, 
 If that mean ought which the seer Calchas says, 
 
40 AJAX. 
 
 CJior. Says what 1 ? what can he know of matters 
 
 here 1 
 Mess. Thus much I know, for I was there the 
 
 while. 
 The chiefs were gather' d in a circle round 
 The brother-kings, when Calchas drew aside, 
 And grasping Teucer kindly by the hand 
 Said, " Touching thy brother I most strictly charge thee, 
 If thou wouldst look upon his face to-morrow, 
 Keep him this day close prisoner to his tent. 
 Athene's wrath," these were the prophet's words, 
 " Athene's wrath haunts him this one day more. 
 For all men of thy brother's burly build, 
 Whose thews are stronger than their brains, are sure 
 To incur the sore displeasure of the Gods, 
 If this their strength breed pride and arrogance. 
 Now," said the seer, "thy brother scarce had stepp'd 
 Across his threshold hither, when he prov'd 
 His folly, for his father wisely bade him 
 Hope for the victory, but ground his hope 
 
AJAX. 41 
 
 Evermore on the favour of the Gods. 
 And haughtily and foolishly he replied, 
 That any coward with God's help might win, 
 But he would win, whether Heav'n wnTd or no. 
 And once again, when in the tide of fight 
 Athene urg'd him on against the foe, 
 In words of blasphemy he bade her go 
 And stand by those who needed help, for he 
 Xeeded no help of either Gods or man. 
 With these words he brought down upon his head 
 The unrelenting anger of the Goddess, 
 Because, so speaking, he remembered not 
 With all his might he was but mortal man. 
 But/' said the seer, "if he outlive to-day, 
 Maybe with Heaven's help we may save him yet." 
 So spake the prophet, and Teucer straightway rose 
 And bade me bring this message unto you ; 
 But if your lord hath slipp'd your hands, so sure 
 As Calchas is a seer, Ajax is gone. 
 Ohor, Tecmessa ! ho Tecmessa ! 
 
42 AJAX. 
 
 Hither poor woman, and hear this man, whose words 
 Stab mortally, I fear, at thy repose. 
 
 (Enter Tecmessa, from the tent.) 
 
 Teem. Why, when I just had gain'd this respite brief 
 From sorrow, would ye call me forth again ? 
 
 Chor. Listen to this man's words ; he brings us 
 news 
 Of Ajax, which it pains my soul to hear. 
 
 Teem. me, what sayst thou, man? is there no 
 
 hope? 
 Mess. For thee I know not ; but if he be gone, 
 I fear me there is little hope for him. 
 
 Teem. Nay, but he is gone ; speak, what dost thou 
 
 mean? 
 Mess. Twas Teucer's bidding he should keep his 
 tent, 
 And by no means be suffered forth alone. 
 
 Teem. Where, where is Teucer ? and what mean 
 these words ? 
 
A J AX. 43 
 
 Mess. He is just come, and bids me say, his 
 brother 
 Must keep his tent on peril of his life. 
 
 Teem. miserable me, whence learnt he this ? 
 
 Mess. Calchas so spake, and on this very day, 
 This day, so big with fate to him and thee. 
 
 Teem. help me, help me, friends, in my sore need ; 
 Quick, quick ; go some, and bring me Teucer here, 
 Go others to the valleys, east and west, 
 And track the steps of this unhappy man. 
 Ah now I see, he spake but to deceive, 
 And all his ancient love for me is gone. 
 0, child, what shall I do ; I cannot stand : 
 Kay, nay ; I too will go, where'er I can. 
 Quick, quick, friends — come — we may not tarry now 
 If we would save him from his own rash hand. (Exit.) 
 
 Chor. Eun, friends ; to help the lady in her need 
 Eequires not idle words, but speed, speed, speed. 
 
 (Exeunt all, by different sides of the stage; 
 part of the floor in the after part of the 
 
44 AJAX. 
 
 stage is wheeled round, so as to remove the 
 
 tent scene, and present a ivoodland glade ; 
 
 Ajax alone ; his sword fixed with the hilt 
 
 in the ground oeside him.) 
 Ajax. The sword is standing where 'twill pierce 
 the best ; 
 That sword, if one have leisure for the thought, 
 The gift of Hector, my most hated foe. 
 Now it stands fix ? d in the hostile land of Troy, 
 New sharpened by the steel-consuming whetstone. 
 And I have happ'd it carefully all round, 
 To give a kindly and a speedy death. 
 So far, all's well ; and now, great king of Gods, 
 Thou first, for so 'tis meet, give me thine aid— 
 'Tis but a little boon I'll ask of thee— 
 Send me some herald with the sad report 
 To Teucer, that his friendly hands be first 
 To lift me fall'n upon this dripping sword ; 
 Eor fear some eye unfriendly spy me first, 
 And cast me forth a prey to the dogs and birds, 
 
AJAX. 45 
 
 This, Zeus, I beg of thee, and pray withal 
 
 The herald Hermes of the under-world 
 
 To lull me, when the sword hath pierc'd my side, 
 
 Swiftly, without a struggle, to my sleep. 
 
 And you, ye ever- virgin Powers, I summon, 
 
 You, who view all the sorrows of mankind, 
 
 Ye venerable, swift Furies, that ye see 
 
 How my death comes from the Atreidse's hand. 
 
 haunt th' accursed wretches to the death, 
 
 And as ye see me fall by mine own hand, 
 
 So let them fall by the hand they love the best. 
 
 Come, ye swift, avenging Furies, come, 
 
 Spare not, but wreak your vengeance on them all. 
 
 And thou, Sun, that climbest the steep sky, 
 
 When thou shalt look upon my father-land, 
 
 There stay thy golden reins, and tell the tale 
 
 Of my sorrows and my death to my old father 
 
 And my poor mother — ah me ! alas poor mother, 
 
 What cries will thine be, when thou hear'st the tale, 
 
 But truce to sorrow — to work — and quickly too : 
 
46 AJAX. 
 
 Death, Death, come now and gaze upon me — 
 And yet I soon shall see thee face to face. 
 And, thou bright light of the shining day, 
 And thou, careering Sun, I call upon you, 
 For the last, last time, and never more again. 
 
 light, sacred soil of my native earth, 
 Mine own isle Salamis, and my father's home, 
 Ye founts and rivers, and ye plains of Troy, 
 
 1 call upon you— fare ye well, old friends — 
 These words speaks Ajax with his latest breath ; 
 All else i' the realms below hell speak with Death. 
 
 (Falls upon his sword ; as he falls forward, 
 the Semi- Chorus, rushing in from one side, 
 hide him from the audience, and occupy 
 half the front part of the stage.) 
 Ohor. 1. Labour, labour, labour all in vain ! 
 Whither, whither, whither have I not been 1 
 But not one spot can tell me where he is — 
 But hist ! methinks I hear a sound— who's there % 
 
 (Enter the other Semi- Chorus from the other side.) 
 
A J AX. 47 
 
 Chor. 2. Messmates and friends. 
 
 Chor. 1. What tidings do ye bring 1 
 
 Chor. 2. We scour'd the land to westward of the 
 
 fleet. 
 Chor. 1. And found 1 
 
 Chor. 2. Found nothing, tho' we lost our breath. 
 Chor. 1 . We too have traversed all the eastern side, 
 But not a sign or trace was to be seen. 
 
 Chorus (Aria). 
 
 Come, fisher, from thy wakeful toil, 
 
 Come, Nymph, or Eiver-god, 
 Come, guide our wand'ring steps, and shew 
 
 The path our Ajax trod. 
 after roaming on the seas, 
 
 And watching on the plain, 
 Sore task it is for weary limbs 
 
 To toil, and toil in vain. 
 Teem. 0, 0, me! (from the after part of the 
 stage.) 
 
48 AJAX. 
 
 Chor. Whose voice is this, comes from the grove 
 hard by '? 
 
 Teem. Me miserable ! me miserable ! 
 
 Chor. I see the captive lady of our lord, 
 Tecmessa, quite heart-broken with her sorrow. 
 
 Teem. friends, my life is gone, clean gone for ever. 
 
 Chor. What is it, lady 1 
 
 Teem. See, my lord lies here, 
 
 The sword within his breast, and newly dead. 
 
 Chor. Alas, alas, no chance of home again ! 
 When thou didst fall, we all fell down with thee, 
 Thy comrades all, and this poor lady here. 
 
 Teem. Ah me ! we 've food enough for sorrow here. 
 
 Chor. Poor man ! whose hand was it that dealt 
 the blow i 
 
 Teem. His own— See here, his sword is tight i' the 
 ground, 
 And he has flung himself upon the point. 
 
 Chor. That such a man should come to such an end ! 
 And not one friend beside him ! fool that I was, 
 
AJAX. 49 
 
 Fool, fool to let him go — where does he lie 
 Our headstrong, our unlucky-named Aias J 
 
 {Moving towards the after part of the stage.) 
 Teem, (beckoning them back). Not to be look'd 
 upon — from head to foot 
 In this his cloak I wrap him round, for sure 
 No one, that is a friend, would have the heart 
 To see the black blood bubbling from his mouth, 
 And the broad gash, self sought, upon his breast. 
 What shall I do ? what friend will bear thee off i 
 Teucer, come ; thou art sore needed here : 
 Come, Teucer, come and close thy brother's eyes. 
 Ah ! my poor Ajax, is it come to this ] 
 A sight to melt an enemy to tears. 
 
 Chorus (Aria). 
 
 The mutter' d words by night and day, 
 
 The gloom, the knitted brow, 
 We knew not what they meant : alas, 
 
 'Tis clear as noon-day now. 
 
 E 
 
50 AJAX. 
 
 0, Ajax, 'twas a fatal day 
 
 When on the ground were thrown 
 The chieftain's arms ; that day began 
 Thy sorrows and our own. 
 Teem. me ; me ! 
 Chor. True grief, I know, doth pierce to the very 
 
 heart. 
 Teem. Ome; me ! 
 
 CJwr. For such sad words thou hast too good a 
 cause ; 
 Thou, who hast lost so lately such a friend. 
 
 Teem. So thinkest thou ; so to my cost know I. 
 We are slaves, my child ; we are no longer free • 
 Stern masters and hard work await us now. 
 
 Chor. Stern tho ? our chieftains be, they are not yet 
 So hard of heart as to press farther on 
 Your misery : no, no ; may the Gods forbid ! 
 
 Teem. They might as easily have forbidden this. 
 Chor. They have indeed press'd heavily upon 
 you. 
 
AJAX. 51 
 
 Teem. Tis all the terrible Athene's doin< 
 
 «> 
 
 All for her favourite of Ithaca. 
 
 CJior. The much-enduring man, th' inscrutable, 
 He must have laugh'd indeed, and with him laugh' d 
 The brother-kings of Sparta and Mycene. 
 
 Teem, Ah, let them laugh and revel in his woes ! 
 Maybe, for all they slighted him in life, 
 The day will come, when, in the press of war, 
 They'll miss his arm and wish him back again. 
 More bitter unto me than sweet to them 
 Is this his death : but still 'twas his own pleasure ; 
 Then on what grounds should these men laugh at him ! 
 Twas of heaven's doing that he died, not theirs ; 
 Then let Ulysses have his silly laugh : 
 Ajax they have no longer;— but to me 
 Sorrow is left, sorrow for evermore. 
 
 (A ery is heard from behind the scenes.) 
 
 Ghor. Hush, hush : 'tis Teucer's voice, and from 
 the sound 
 'T would seem he knew what sorrow waits him here. 
 
52 A J AX. 
 
 {Enter Teucer.) 
 
 Ten. Ajax, Ajax ! my own dear brother! 
 And has it fared with thee as rumour tells % 
 
 Chor. Teucer, 'tis all too true — -Ajax is dead. 
 
 Ten. wretched me — this is too hard to bear. 
 
 Chor. There is indeed too good a cause for tears. 
 
 Ten. wretched me ! loss most terrible ! 
 
 Chor. Too terrible, indeed. 
 
 Ten. "Where is his child 1 
 
 Where in the Troad is the little one 1 
 
 Chor. Alone within the tent. 
 
 Ten. Go, with all speed 
 
 The lioness is left alone, and foes 
 Will seize upon the cub that's left behind— 
 Haste, haste — too many will make haste to tread 
 Upon his back, whose face is to the ground. 
 
 Chor. Teucer, this zeal in the poor child's behalf, 
 Is but the purport of his last command. 
 
 Ten. 0, of all sights most terrible to me, 
 The saddest that these eyes e'er look'd upon ; 
 
AJAX. 53 
 
 And of all journeys I e'er undertook. 
 Most melancholy this, whereon I learnt 
 That thou wast dead, dear Ajax, dead and gone. 
 For swifter far than human tongue could bear, 
 Thro' all the host the fatal news had spread ; 
 And the mere hearing made me sad enough, 
 But now the sight itself will drive me mad. 
 me! 
 
 Come, let me lift this cloak, and see it all — 
 Poor face, what stern resolve its look bespeaks : 
 This deed of thine leaves me a load of sorrow — 
 Where can I shew my forehead 1 I that left thee 
 To struggle with thy misery all alone — 
 Methinks our father Telamon, when I come 
 Without thee, with a kind and welcome face 
 Will greet me — he, a man, whose countenance 
 Was of the grimmest in his best of moods. 
 What words upon my head will he forbear 
 To heap 1 " The foreign woman's base-born brat, 
 That left his brother in his hour of need, 
 
54 AJAX. 
 
 From cowardice or treacherous intent, 
 
 To hold the place and honours of the dead ;" 
 
 So will the old man speak, fretful with age, 
 
 And quick to quarrel at a word or look ; 
 
 And he will turn me out of doors at last, 
 
 An exile, branded with the name of slave. 
 
 So much for my home welcome ; and in Troy 
 
 My foes are many, and my friends are few : 
 
 And all this misery cometh by thy death. 
 
 Ah me ! what shall I do ? how can I pluck 
 
 Out of thy body the sharp, gleaming steel, 
 
 That let thy life out !— See'st thou, how at length 
 
 Hector was dooni'd e'en dead to work thine end ? 
 
 I pray you note the fate of these two men ; 
 
 Twas by the girdle Ajax gave to him 
 
 That Hector to the chariot-rim was tied 
 
 And dragg'd along, until he breathed his last ; 
 
 And, see, the sword, on which this man hath falFn, 
 
 Was Hector's gift to him : methinks, the sword 
 
 Was of some Fury's forging, and the belt 
 
AJAX. 55 
 
 The work of Death, a craftsman terrible : — 
 
 For mine own part, in these things and the like 
 
 I evermore shall see the hand of Gods 
 
 Dealing with man ; who thinketh otherwise, 
 
 May keep his own thoughts, and let me keep mine. 
 
 Chor. Cut short thy words, and think how we 
 shall lay 
 This man in his grave ; and, if one question thee, 
 Be ready with an answer, for I see 
 An enemy coming, and he conies, methinks, 
 To scoff, the villain, at our misery. 
 
 Teu. Who comes % 
 
 Chor. The prince of Sparta, Menelaus, 
 
 Whose troubles brought us hither. 
 
 Teu. Ay, I see ; 
 
 At this short distance it were hard to miss. 
 
 (Enter Menelaus.) 
 
 Mene. Ho, sirrah, see thou venture not to raise 
 That body from the ground : let it lie there. 
 
56 AJAX. 
 
 Teu. And, prithee, wherefore all this waste of words ? 
 
 Mene. I speak mine own will and the will of him, 
 Who is the lord and captain of the host. 
 
 Teu. And may we hear the cause of this same will? 
 
 Mene. The cause is simple : we had thought to bring 
 This man from home an ally and a friend, 
 And he was found upon experiment 
 More dangerous than any open foe : 
 The wretch, who schem'd the murder of us all, 
 And under cover of the night set forth 
 To put his bloody purpose to effect ; 
 And, but that heaven had quenched the mad attempt, 
 A fate were ours ignoble as his own, 
 And he were living now ; but the Gods turn'd 
 His ruthless hand against the flocks and herds. 
 No man is, then, so strong, as who shall dare 
 To lay him in his grave in my despite, 
 But sea-birds first shall have their feast, and leave 
 Upon the yellow sand his mouldering bones. 
 Wherefore restrain thy temper and thy tongue ; 
 
 
AJAX. 57 
 
 For, tho' the man gave us scant heed in life, 
 We'll lord it o'er him dead, say what thou wilt, 
 And mould him to our will ; for, sooth to say, 
 That will was little heeded heretofore. 
 And yet ; tis most unseemly that a man, 
 One of the many, should refuse to pay 
 Obedience to his betters ■ for in a state 
 'No laws could have their due effect, unless 
 The sense of fear were in a people's heart ; 
 JSTor could an army be well led, that lack'd 
 The sense of order and respect of place. 
 A man should reckon, be he ne'er so big, 
 The smallest pebble may trip up his heels. 
 But, where obedience and respect is found, 
 There is found safety ; but in man or state, 
 Where wilfulness and outrage rule the day, 
 That state or man will drive before the wind 
 Sooner or later on a shore of ruin. 
 ISTay, nay ; let us shew fear where fear is due, 
 Eemembering evermore that, if we shape 
 
58 A J AX. 
 
 Our actions to our pleasure, other hands 
 May shape their consequences to our pain. 
 There is a see-saw in these things ; for once 
 'Twas this man's turn to bluster, now 'tis mine. 
 Wherefore I pray thee, busy not thyself 
 With this man's burial, lest, as thou shalt bend 
 Over his grave, thou topple into thine own. 
 
 Chor. Prince, when thou can'st propound such 
 weighty rules 
 Of conduct, it becomes thee ill to mar 
 Their good effect by outrage to the dead. 
 
 Ten. I shall not be disposed to wonder, friends, 
 To see some base-born fellow play the fool, 
 When men, reputed of most ancient birth, 
 Display such arrant folly in their words- 
 Tell me, Sir Prince, came Ajax at the first 
 An ally of thy bringing to the war ? 
 Was not the fleet, he sailed withal, his own ? 
 Was he not master of himself % Then how 
 Art thou his lord ? how art thou king of men, 
 
AJAX. 59 
 
 That under Ajax came from Salamis ? 
 
 Thou 'rt lord of Sparta, and no king of ours : 
 
 To order this man's goings thou hast no more 
 
 Of right, than he would have to order thine : 
 
 Thou earnest under others ; not supreme, 
 
 That Ajax should owe fealty to thee. 
 
 Go rule where thou hast right to rule, and vent 
 
 Thy pride ; but for the man who lieth here, 
 
 Say thou and say thy brother what ye will, 
 
 I tell ye both, I'll lay him in his grave, 
 
 As a prince should be laid, for all your threats. 
 
 'Twas not thy wife that brought him to the war, 
 
 The sorry cause that brought the plodding herd ; 
 
 It was the oath that bound him, and no cause 
 
 Of thine, for he set little store on fools. 
 
 Go, fetch a crowd of servants, and my lord, 
 
 The general ; as for me, I will not stir 
 
 One inch, whilst thou art what I take thee for. 
 
 Chor. And thy words too are out of time ; such words 
 How just so e'er they be, cut to the quick. 
 
60 AJAX. 
 
 Mene. The archer seems contented with himself. 
 
 Teu. The archer's trade may justify content. 
 
 Mene. How he would bluster if he wore a sword. 
 
 Teu. My bow were match for any sword of thine. 
 
 Mene, Thy spirit must be high indeed, if we 
 May judge it by thy tongue. 
 
 Teu. High words 
 
 Are all in place, with justice on their side. 
 
 Mene. Justice ! and seems it just this man should go 
 Unpunished, after he has murdered me. 
 
 Teu. Murdered thee ! heav'ns, what can the fellow 
 mean ? 
 He must be living-dead or dead-alive. 
 
 Mene. That I am now alive, the Gods be thank'd ; 
 It were not so, had this man had his way. 
 
 Tea. Slight not the Gods, if they have been so 
 kind. 
 
 Mene. And wherein, prithee, do I slight the Gods ? 
 
 Teu. By staying thus the burial of the dead. 
 
 Mene. He was mine enemy : I am in my right. 
 
AJAX. 61 
 
 Teu. Why, how was Ajax enemy of thine % 
 
 Mene. Our hate was mutual, as thou know'st right 
 well. 
 
 Teu. Ay, ay ; the votes had foul play at thy 
 hands. 
 
 Mene. The loss, thou hintest at, was the award 
 Of the judges and not me. 
 
 Teu. Ay, thou can'st do 
 
 Mischief enough, and do it in the dark. 
 
 Mene. Thou shalt most bitterly rue this insolence. 
 
 Teu. Whate'er I get, I will give back in kind. 
 
 Mene. These few words more ; " Thou shalt not 
 bury him." 
 
 Teu. And I will answer thee in two ; " I will." 
 
 Mene. Once on a time I saw a braggart knave, 
 The while a storm was brewing, urging on 
 His messmates to set sail ; but, when 
 The storm was fairly on, the man was dumb, 
 And underneath his cloak lay on the deck, 
 A mat for all that chose to trample on — 
 
62 AJAX. 
 
 And so with thee and with thy blust'ring tongue, 
 Maybe a flood out from some little cloud 
 Will burst, and lay this windy storm of words. 
 
 Teu. I, too, once saw a man with folly brimm'd, 
 Whose chief delight was in his neighbour's woes ; 
 And there stood by him one like me in face 
 And temper, and on this wise counselled him ; 
 " Good friend be not unfeeling towards the dead, 
 Else others prove unfeeling towards thee : " 
 Such was the counsel given the graceless man— 
 And now, if these eyes cheat me not, I see 
 The man before me — Is my riddle plain ? 
 
 Mene. I will begone : it is poor chastisement 
 To use harsh words, when one may use harsh means, 
 
 Teu. Ay, get thee gone ; I am ashamed thus long 
 To listen to the folly of a fool. 
 
 {Exit Menelaus.) 
 
 Chor. {advancing). Mischief will come of this ; so 
 with all speed 
 Search, Teucer, for some spot where we may dig 
 
AJAX. 63 
 
 A hollow grave, which, famous among men, 
 Shall be the hero's earthly resting-place. 
 
 [Enter Tecmessa and child.) 
 
 Teu. See, friends, as though their footsteps had 
 been timed 
 To suit our wishes, come his wife and child, 
 To pay the last sad honours to the dead. 
 Come hither, child, and sit thee down beside 
 Thy father, with one hand upon his breast, 
 And in the other hold these locks of hair, 
 Thy mother's, mine and thine ; then, if one dare 
 To tear thee rudely from the dead man's side, 
 My curse be on him ; may his life be spent 
 In exile ; may his body be cast forth 
 Unsepultur'd ; and, as this lock I sever, 
 So perish he, his kindred, root and branch. 
 Here, child, take this and guard it well ; let none 
 Eemove thee, but kneel down and keep fast hold. 
 And you, my friends, be men, and shield from harm 
 
64 AJAX. 
 
 These twain till I return, which will not be 
 Till all be ready, let who will say Nay. 
 
 {Exit Teucek.) 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Strophe {Aria). 
 
 Wearily roll the long years by ; 
 
 Conies pause to sorrow never ; 
 Old troubles end, new troubles rise, 
 
 As they would last for ever : 
 Beneath Troy's walls, on her broad plain 
 We have bled freely and in vain. 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 My curse upon the scheming knave, 
 Who set our chiefs in motion ; 
 
 He should have died, before a sail 
 Were set across the Ocean ; 
 
 Then many a man were safe and sound. 
 
 That now lies sleeping under ground. 
 
AJAX. 65 
 
 Strophe. 
 
 No dances cheer the lagging hours, 
 
 Wo sound of music now ; 
 'No brimming wine- cup fills my hand, 
 
 No wreath entwines my brow. 
 And love is a forgotten theme ; 
 
 Forgotten is all joy : 
 Our days are full of fears, our nights 
 
 Chill'd with the dews of Troy. 
 
 Antistrophe. 
 
 And this our safeguard in the dark, 
 
 Our buckler thro' the day, 
 Is gone ; and with his parting breath 
 
 Our hopes are fled away. 
 would we were safe round the cape, 
 
 That frowns upon the sea, 
 With Athens on our starboard-bow, 
 
 And home upon our lee. 
 
 F 
 
66 A J AX. 
 
 (Enter Agamemnon.) 
 
 Agam. They tell me, sir, that thou hast dar'd to 
 speak 
 In rebel terms of my authority, 
 Eegardless of the pains such words incur ; 
 That thou hast dar'd, the captive woman's son : 
 Heav'ns, if thy mother had been of gentle birth, 
 Thy pride would walk on tip-toe, and thy tongue 
 Would freely wag, if base-born thou presurn'st 
 To champion one no better than thyself. 
 So we are come, say'st thou, without command 
 Of Grecian fleets or Grecian soldiery ; 
 And Ajax owed obedience to none : 
 This is indeed high language for a slave. 
 Who w r as this man, of whom these vaunts are made ? 
 Where'er he went or stood, was I not found i 
 Was he of all Aehaeans the one man ? 
 Methinks we have good reason to repent 
 The contest for the arms, if Teucer here 
 
AJAX. 67 
 
 Be free on all occasions to impugn 
 The justice of our motives ; and if you 
 Cry out against a sentence duly giv'n • 
 If we must be exposed to ribald words 
 From you, and treachery, you beaten men. 
 If things go thus, no law can have effect \ 
 If, when one wins his cause, we set aside 
 His rights, and push the hindmost to the front. 
 This must not be ; ; tis not your brawny men 
 That are the safest in the hour of need ; 
 Wisdom in one and all things bears the palm. 
 Your ox, for all its ponderous flanks, a child 
 May drive before him with a little goad— 
 And now, methinks, unless thou take good heed, 
 Some such appliance must be used with thee. 
 The man is dead and gone, in whose behalf 
 Thou givest such license to thy flippant tongue. 
 Learn sense : consider who and what thou art, 
 And go, and fetch me, sir, some one free-born, 
 Who may interpret what thou hast to say, 
 
68 AJAX. 
 
 For words of thine were thrown away on me ; 
 I have such poor skill in these foreign tongues. 
 
 Chor. I pray you curb these tempers ; it may be 
 Poor counsel, sirs, but 'tis the best I have. 
 
 Teu. Alas ! when once a man is dead, how soon 
 The memory of his good deeds fades away, 
 When this man, Ajax, for whose sake thy life 
 Was perill'd many a time, begrudges thee 
 The sorry tribute of one kindly word : 
 Nay, all is gone, clean gone, and quite forgotten— 
 Thou foolish man, dost thou remember not, 
 When ye were in the toils, when hope was gone, 
 How in the turn of fight this man alone 
 Sav'd you, when now the ships were in a blaze, 
 And down among you all great Hector came, 
 Taking the trenches at a flying bound i 
 Who saved you then % was it not this man here ? 
 Did this man so, or am I speaking lies ? 
 Again, when lots were cast, he freely took 
 The issue, and met Hector face to face ; 
 
AJAX. 69 
 
 The lot he cast into the helmet then 
 
 Was not your coward's bit of crumbling earth, 
 
 But such a pebble, round and smooth, as might 
 
 Leap out at the first rattling of the brass : 
 
 This was the man, and by his side stood I, 
 
 The foreigner, the slave, the captive's son. 
 
 Wretch ! dar'st thou look me in the eyes, and speak 
 
 These words, when thou the while must know right well 
 
 Pelops, the founder of thy line, to be ; 
 
 No Hellen, but a Phrygian foreigner 1 
 
 Thy father, Atreus, was the guilty wretch, 
 
 Who banqueted a brother on the flesh 
 
 Of that same brother's children ■ and thy mother 
 
 Was Cretan-born, and she, surpris'd one day 
 
 With her paramour, was hurl'd into the sea 
 
 To feed the silent fishes— and dost thou 
 
 With such a lineage dare to carp at mine ? 
 
 My sire was Telamon, the foremost man 
 
 Of Grecian warriors, and he took to wife 
 
 My mother, princess of a royal house, 
 
70 AJAX. 
 
 Child of Laomedon, whom Alcmene's son 
 
 Gave to my father as a prize of war. 
 
 Shall I then, sprung from this most noble pair, 
 
 See outrage done to mine own flesh and blood, 
 
 My brother, whom in this extremity 
 
 Thou wouldst cast forth, nor blush to give the word ? 
 
 Learn this, wherever thou shalt cast him forth, 
 
 There shalt thou cast his wife and child and me. 
 
 For unto me it were more honourable 
 
 To die before the world in his behalf, 
 
 Than fighting for thine own or brother's wife : 
 
 Wherefore, look well unto thyself, not me ; 
 
 For, if thou dost me harm, may be one day 
 
 Thou It wish thy valour had been dash'd with fear. 
 
 {Enter Ulysses.) 
 
 Chor. My lord Ulysses, thou art come in time, 
 If thou art come to part these disputants, 
 
 Ulys. What is it friends ? for from afar I heard 
 The General's voice over this valiant dead. 
 
A J AX. 71 
 
 Agam. No wonder, for but now we were assail' d 
 By this man here with the most vile abuse. 
 
 Ulys. How so 1 I can well feel for any man 
 That giveth like for like. 
 
 Agam. ? Twas so with me ; 
 
 His acts began it, and I paid in words. 
 
 Ulys. What had he done this anger to incur 1 
 
 Agam. He swears this body shall not be deprived 
 The rites of burial, and that his own hands 
 Will lay it in the grave in my despite. 
 
 Ulys. May then a friend speak out the honest truth, 
 Nor forfeit friendship ? 
 
 Agam. Speak ; it were unwise 
 
 To take amiss the words of my best friend. 
 
 Ulys. Hear then— I do adjure thee by the Gods, 
 Cast not this body forth thus ruthlessly ; 
 And let not passion master thee so far, 
 That thou should'st tread on right to glut thy hate. 
 For I too had in him my bitterest foe 
 After the contest for the arms ; but still 
 
72 AJAX. 
 
 Bemembering who he was, I cannot force 
 
 My conscience to deny this testimony, 
 
 That, save Achilles, he was of ns all 
 
 The bravest soldier that set sail for Troy. 
 
 Thou hast no right then to dishonour him ; 
 
 For not to him, but to the Gods below 
 
 The wrong were done ; and most unjust it were, 
 
 Be hatred ne'er so strong, to harm a man, 
 
 A worthy man, when dead and on the ground. 
 
 Agam. Speaking these words, Ulysses, thou dost 
 plead 
 His cause against thy friend. 
 
 Ulys. I do indeed ; 
 
 And yet he had my hate, while hate was fair. 
 
 Agam. Is it so wrong to trample on the dead ? 
 
 Ulys, It were a triumph a good man would spurn. 
 
 Agam. It is not easy for a king to weigh 
 Eight in so nice a balance. 
 
 Ulys. But a king 
 
 Can lend an ear to a true friend's advice. 
 
AJAX. 73 
 
 Agam. One who is loyal to a king should learn 
 Obedience. 
 
 Ulys. Xay, my lord, press not so far 
 
 Thy resolution ; whoso to a friend 
 Submits, is of the twain the conqueror. 
 
 Again. Bethink thee what this fellow was, to 
 whom 
 Thou shew'st such kindness. 
 
 Ulys. I remember well ; 
 
 He was my foe, but a good man withal. 
 
 Agam. "What ? would'st respect the body of a foe ? 
 
 Ulys. Yea, for his worth is stronger than my 
 hate, 
 
 Agam. Methinks, such words do savour of a heart 
 Too shallow to conceive or love or hate. 
 
 Ulys. Sometimes the man who went to sleep your 
 friend, 
 Wakes up an enemy. 
 
 Agam. And would'st thou advise 
 
 Winning such friendship. 
 
74 AJAX. 
 
 Ulys. I would advise, my lord, 
 
 A firm resolve, but not obduracy. 
 
 Agam. Thou 'It make us cowards in the eyes of all. 
 
 Ulys. Not cowards ■ nay, but honourable men. 
 
 Agam, Thou'dst have me grant, then, burial to 
 this dead ? 
 
 Ulys. I would, my lord ; for I must go one day, 
 Where Ajax is already. 
 
 Agam. Even so ; 
 
 In every action is the trace of self. 
 
 Ulys. Myself seems the best motive for myself. 
 
 Agam. Well, well ; take thou the deed upon 
 thyself. 
 
 Ulys. However 'tis done, the credit rests with thee. 
 
 Agam. I yield me then, but I must state withal, 
 That, tho' I would do more than this for thee, 
 Yet this man, as in life, so here in death, 
 I hated and shall hate him to the last— 
 And now do with him what it pleaseth thee. 
 
 (Exit) 
 
AJAX. ' 
 
 Chor. Whoso, Ulysses, after deeds like this, 
 Denies thee wisdom, is himself a fool. 
 
 Ulys. And, Teucer, now I proffer thee my hand, 
 A sworn foe hitherto, henceforth a friend ; 
 And let me bear a hand in these sad rites, 
 And shew, as all we mortal men are bound 
 To shew, my honour for a brave, good man. 
 
 Teu. Ulysses, I do thank thee from my heart ; 
 Thou hast most honourably belied my hopes, 
 For thou, albeit this man's most bitter foe, 
 Alone hast helped us in our need, alone 
 Hast scorn' d' to mock the unresisting dead ; 
 Not like yon pair of thunder-stricken fools, 
 Who came to insult this body, and to cast 
 It forth without the honour of a grave. 
 For this I do beseech the Olympian sire, 
 The wakeful Furies and the dreaded Power 
 Of Eetribution, that their end may be 
 In keeping with their wishes to the dead. 
 But thou, Ulysses, old Laertes' son, 
 
76 A J AX. 
 
 In this one thing I cannot take thine aid, 
 For fear I do displeasure to the dead : 
 But give thy help some other form, or bring 
 Some other of the chiefs to take thy place. 
 Now to my business ; I will add but this, 
 Thou'st proved thyself to us a friend indeed. 
 
 Ulys. I could have wish'd it otherwise, but since 
 It is thy will, I yield and say Farewell. 
 
 (Exit) 
 
 Teu. Tis good: we've wasted time enough: so 
 come, 
 Dig some of you a hollow trench ; and soifte 
 Prepare the lustral waters ; others go, 
 And fetch the hero's armour from the tent. 
 And thou, child, with what little strength thou hast, 
 Clasp tenderly with me thy father's form, 
 And lift it gently— very gently, child, 
 For the black blood still swells i' the warm veins. 
 And hasten all of you ; do what ye can 
 
A J AX. 77 
 
 Of service for a man as good and true, 
 As you or I shall live to see again. 
 
 (Exit slowly, carrying the body of Aj ax.) 
 Ohor. {retiring slowly.) To see is to believe ; but, 
 till we see, 
 To-morrow's life is veil'd to you and me. 
 
 (Exeunt to a funeral march.) 
 
IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 
 
 Observations. — Calchas has notified that the hopes of the 
 whole expedition to Troy depend on the sacrifice of Iphigenia. 
 Agamemnon, as instructed by a council of elders, sends a letter 
 to Clytemnestra, requesting her to bring her daughter to the 
 camp to be married to Achilles. At the last moment his courage 
 fails him, and in a second letter he tells her the whole plot, and 
 begs her to devise some excuse for not coming. This letter is 
 intercepted by Menelaus. The mother and daughter arrive at 
 the camp ; the following scene opens just after they have learned 
 privately the real object of their coming. 
 
IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 
 
 Scene. 
 
 Aulis ; the camp, in front of Agamemnon's tent. Enter 
 Clytemnestra from the tent. 
 
 Clyt. Where is this Agamemnon ] I would fain 
 Behold this father, who is soon to dye 
 His hands unnatural in a daughter's blood. 
 
 (Enter Agamemnon from the side.) 
 
 Agam. Daughter of Leda, very seasonably 
 I find thee here, for I would speak with thee 
 Alone, of matters which it were unfit 
 Our child, the bride-elect, should overhear. 
 
 Clyt. And to what purpose is the moment tim ; d % 
 Agam. The lustral- waters are prepar'd ; the meal 
 To scatter on the purifying flame ; 
 
80 IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 
 
 The kids, that ere the bridal- day must fall 
 
 To Artemis, the sacrifice of blood ; 
 
 So tell the child her father waits her here. 
 
 Clyt. These are fair words ; (aside) methinks, 
 'twere hard to find 
 Words that would shew their hidden purport fair. 
 
 (Retreats towards the tent-door, and holding it 
 open, speaks in an under 4one to Iphigenia 
 within.) 
 Come hither, child ; thou know'st thy father's wish ; 
 And bring with thee, under thy mantle's fold, 
 Thy little brother Orestes, 
 
 (re-advancing) See, my lord, 
 
 Here is thy child, obedient to thy will : 
 Let me be speaker now for her and me. 
 
 Agam. Why weep, my child ? and wherefore meet 
 me not 
 With the old smile ? why is thy face cast down ? 
 And wherefore with thy mantle shade thine eyes? 
 Clyt Alas ! alas ! 
 
IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 81 
 
 Which of my griefs shall first find utterance ? 
 All are so great, that they will all come first, 
 And none will yield to other precedence. 
 
 Agam. What meaneth this ] why, ye are all alike, 
 And trouble's writ on every countenance. 
 
 Clyt. I'll put a question to thee, and do thou 
 Give me an answer honest and direct. 
 
 Agam. That needs no bidding: speak; I am all 
 ears. 
 
 Clyt. Thy daughter, thine and mine — dost mean 
 to kill her ? 
 
 Agam. Ah ! 
 Why, that were monstrous ; surely in thy brain 
 Suspicions lurk, that have no business there. 
 
 Clyt. That matters not ; answer my question first. 
 
 Agam. Merciful heavens ! what a fate is mine ! 
 
 Clyt. And mine, and hers ; a sad one for all three. 
 
 Agam. What harm's been done ] 
 
 Clyt. What ? Askest that of me ?— 
 
 The plan is deep • but one may fathom it. 
 
 G 
 
82 IPHIGENIA IN AULIS, 
 
 Agam. I am undone : my secret is betray' d. 
 
 Clyt. Ay, 'tis no secret ; we have heard it all. 
 There is no need to rack thy brain for words ; 
 Thy silence and thy sighs speak plain enough. 
 
 Agam. I have no answer ; none : my grief so 
 great 
 Needs not the base addition of a lie. 
 
 Clyt Listen then ; listen ; I will now speak plain. 
 And drop this speech of hint and parable. 
 First then, to let my angry words maintain 
 Due time and sequence, I was at the first 
 Made wife of thine by durance and constraint ; 
 My husband, Tantalus, was slain by thee ; 
 By thee my baby from my breast was torn,, 
 Torn by those pitiless hands, and dashed to earth. 
 My brothers twain, the hero-sons of Zeus 5 
 Mounted their shining cars in hot pursuit y 
 Thou fled'st a suppliant to my father's feet ; 
 He rais'd thee ; pardon' d thee, and gave thee life, 
 Thy forfeited life, and his own daughter's hand. 
 
IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 83 
 
 And I forgave thee all, and thou wilt own 
 
 That I was blameless towards thee and thine, 
 
 A chaste and virtuous wife, that order' d well 
 
 Thy house, so that thou wert a happy man 
 
 In ail thy goings out and comings in. 
 
 And such a wife is not found by the way ; 
 
 Your thriftless ones are plentiful as weeds. 
 
 Three children bare I unto thee, whereof 
 
 This boy is youngest-born ; and of the three 
 
 Thou hast the heart to rob me of this girl. 
 
 If one should ask thee, " Wherefore dost thou kill her ? " 
 
 What wouldst thou answer I — shall I answer for thee i 
 
 " That Menelaus may win Helen back." 
 
 HeaVns ! 'tis a grand exchange for us to give 
 
 Our children, to redeem a worthless jade : 
 
 With what we love we purchase what we hate. 
 
 Come, if thou leavest me at home, to pass 
 
 Thyself long years out yonder in the war, 
 
 What, thinkest thou, will be my thoughts at home, 
 
 When I shall see my daughter's vacant place, 
 
84 IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 
 
 And vacant chamber, when alone I brood 
 Over my sorrows, making ceaseless moan, 
 " My child, my child, thy father slew thee, child, 
 Thy father his own child, with his own hand." 
 Tempt me not, I beseech thee by the Gods, 
 To be thine enemy, and be not thou 
 Thine own worst enemy — little would suffice 
 For me and for the children left behind, 
 To make us render thee on thy return 
 The welcome thou deservest at our hands. 
 
 (A long pause, during which she gazes fixedly 
 
 on Agamemnon, who stands silent and 
 
 motionless) 
 Well ; be it so ; and thou wilt slay the child : 
 And, prithee, what will be thy words of prayer, 
 And what will be the blessing thou call'st down 
 Upon thine own head, as thou killest her 1 
 Or were, it right that I should pray for thee ? 
 Methinks it were an insult to the Gods 
 To ask their blessing on a murderer. 
 
IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 85 
 
 And when thou comest home, wilt thou embrace 
 Thy children ? nay, thou wilt have lost all right ; 
 And which of them will dare present itself 
 Before thee, to be made a sacrifice ? 
 
 Is all thine office circumscrib'd to this, 
 To wield a sceptre and to marshal men i 
 Why speak not words of reason to the host ; 
 " Achaeans, would ye sail to Phrygian land ? 
 Then cast the lots, whose daughter is to die." 
 For this were fair, and not that thou shouldst be 
 Thus singled out to sacrifice thy child ; 
 Or that thy brother, whom it most concerns, 
 Should give Hermione in her mother's stead. 
 Ko ; I, that have been true to thee, must lose 
 My child, and the wanton find on her return 
 A living daughter and a happy home. 
 
 Tell me, if any of my words be wrong ; 
 If they be right — 0, I intreat thee, spare 
 Our child, and thou wilt be a wise, good man. 
 
 Iphig. 0, if I had the voice of Orpheus, father, 
 
86 IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 
 
 To draw the stones with music after me, 
 
 And charm with words each listener to my will, 
 
 I would use words ; now use I what I have, 
 
 My tears ; I have nought else to plead for me. 
 
 I am thy child, born to thee of this lady, 
 
 And I entreat the, clinging to thy knees, 
 
 Slay me not in the spring-tide of my days ; 
 
 Life is so sweet, so sweet ; force me not 
 
 Out of my happy youth into my grave. 
 
 I am thy first-born ; it was my voice first 
 
 That babbled "father j" first upon thy knee 
 
 'Twas I that sat, caressing and caress' d. 
 
 And thou wouldst often say, " I wonder, child, 
 
 If I shall see thee grown to womanhood, 
 
 And in some prince's house a happy wife, 
 
 In state, as suits the daughter of a king." 
 
 And, playing with thy beard, which now I hold 
 
 A humble suppliant, I would make reply ; 
 
 " I wonder if the days will ever come, 
 
 When thou shalt have grown old, and I shall have 
 
IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 87 
 
 A home wherein to welcome thee and pay 
 
 Thy former love by nursing thy grey hairs." 
 
 All this I do remember well, but thou 
 
 Forgettest, and thou seekest my young life. 
 
 by the shades of our great ancestors, 
 
 Have mercy on me, and for my mother's sake, 
 
 Who at my death will feel a second time 
 
 The pangs she suffer'd when she gave me birth. — - 
 
 "Why, what had I to do with Helen's loves ? 
 
 And how should Paris come to ruin me ? 
 
 ]Nay, father, look on me, give me one kiss, 
 
 And, if thou wilt not hearken to my prayer, 
 
 And I must die, then I will take the kiss 
 
 Away with me in memory of thy love. 
 
 And thou, my brother, little as thou art, 
 
 Do what thou canst, and join thy tears with mine, 
 
 And of thy father beg thy sister's life ; 
 
 Even thy little brain may dimly guess 
 
 What sorrow means — see ! without words he prays ; 
 
 Two, whom thou lovest, are clinging to thy knees ; 
 
88 IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 
 
 Thine infant boy, thy daughter in her prime. 
 But one word more ; to all men life is sweet, 
 And death 's a blank ; who prays to die is mad ; 
 Better is shame in life than glory in one's grave. 
 Agam. I am not steel' d to pity ; I do love 
 My children ; I were mad, an 'twere not so. 
 Lady, I have strong reason for the deed, 
 Strong reason to refrain : there is no help. 
 Look round, and see this fleet of serried ships \ 
 These chieftains, leaders all of armed men ; — 
 These men, so Calchas the old seer proclaims, 
 May never spread a sail across the sea, 
 May never take the far-famed walls of Troy, 
 If I refuse to offer thee my child. 
 And all the host is smitten with a wild 
 And passionate longing to set sail forthwith, 
 And they will rise and slay us one and all. 
 Here and in Argos, if I disobey. 
 I am not slave to Menelaus, child, 
 Nor are my doings fram'd to humour him ; 
 
IPHIGENIA IN AULIS. 89 
 
 jSo, 'tis for Hellas I must offer thee, 
 Our fatherland : to her we must give way : 
 And thou and I, child, must do all we can 
 To keep her free, nor let these foreigners come 
 And stain the honour of Hellenic wives. 
 
 (Exit Agamemnon.) 
 
THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES. 
 
 And first he made a buckler, great and strong, 
 
 All over chasing it, and round it threw 
 
 A shining rim, triple-fold, glittering, 
 
 And made a belt of silver ; and there were 
 
 Five folds unto the shield, and on the front 
 
 Devices strange of subtlest workmanship. 
 
 Therein he plae'd the earth, the heaven, the sea, 
 The Sun unwearied and the full-faced Moon, 
 And all the stars wherewith the sky is crowned, 
 The Pleiads, Hyads, and Orion's might, 
 And Arctus, called by mortal men the Wain, 
 That dogs Orion, turning on one spot, 
 Alone unwashed by old Oceanus, 
 
92 THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES. 
 
 And therein placed he cities twain of men, 
 Beautiful ; bridals there and banquetings ; 
 And from their chambers thro' a city's streets 
 By torchlight they were leading brides, and loud 
 The marriage-hymn was rising, and the youths 
 Were whirling in the dance, and in the midst 
 The flutes and lyres were sounding, and good wives- 
 Were standing at their doors in wonderment. 
 
 And in the market-place a crowd of men 
 Was gathered, for a quarrel had arisen : 
 There strove two men about the price of blood 
 Of a slain man ; and of the twain one sware 
 The price was paid, the other still said, Nay. 
 And both made haste to bring their cause before 
 An umpire ; and the crowd were of two minds, 
 With this man siding some, and some with that. 
 And there were heralds keeping back the crowd, 
 And in a sacred circle on smooth stones 
 The elders were there seated, staff in hand ; 
 And with the staves they turn'd to right and left, 
 
THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES. 93 
 
 Hearing both sides ; and in the midst there lay 
 Two talents weight of gold, to give to him 
 Whoso should seem to plead his cause aright. 
 And round the second city were encamped 
 Two hosts of people, glittering in arms, 
 Whose counsel was divided ; some were fain 
 To storm the city and divide the spoil, 
 All that the goodly city held within ; 
 Others were bent upon an ambuscade : 
 But on the city's walls there stood on guard 
 Women and little lads and aged men ; 
 So the others started, and before them went 
 Pallas Athene, and the God of war, 
 Both wrought in gold, with golden garments clad, 
 Both beautiful and tall, as Gods should be, 
 In armour, and distinct from all the rest, 
 For those they led were puny in compare. 
 And when they reached the place of ambuscade 
 By a river's side where cattle came to drink, 
 There sat they down, all clad in shining mail : 
 
94 THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES. 
 
 And at a distance from them sat two spies, 
 To wait the coming of the flocks and herds ; 
 And these came soon, and herdsmen twain behind 
 Playing their pipes, without a thought of guile ; 
 And they in ambush, seeing them, rush'd forth, 
 And straightway slew the herds and goodly flocks 
 Of white-fleeced sheep, and slew the herdsmen too. 
 And the others, seated in the agora, 
 Hearing the din and lowing of the herds, 
 Mounted their cars, and to the rescue came ; 
 And there they stood, and by the river's side 
 Joined fight ; and spears and arrows flew apace. 
 And Strife and Tumult mingled in the fray, 
 And dreaded Doom, holding one man alive 
 Just wounded, and another without hurt, 
 One she was dragging by both feet, stone-dead ; 
 And all her garments were dyed red with blood. 
 And they, like mortal men, joined in the fight, 
 And dragg'd the corses from each other's hands. 
 And therein placed he a soft fallow-land, 
 
THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES. 95 
 
 A corn-field rich, and broad and triple-plough'd ; 
 
 And in the corn-field many husbandmen 
 
 Were driving teams of oxen to and fro \ 
 
 And when they reached the limits of the field, 
 
 One coming forward plac'd a cup of wine 
 
 Into their hands ; and they turn'd back in haste 
 
 To reach the limits of the field again. 
 
 And all the ground was black, as ground when ploughed, 
 
 Tho J wrought in gold : so wondrous was the work. 
 
 And therein placed he a rich field of corn, 
 And reapers with sharp sickles in their hands 
 Were reaping ; and some handfuls to the ground 
 Along the furrow in a line were falling, 
 Others the binders fastened into sheaves 
 (For there were three sheaf-binders), and behind 
 The lads were busy gleaning their laps full : 
 Among them, staff in hand, the Farmer stood, 
 In silence on the furrow, glad at heart. 
 And serving-men far off beneath an oak 
 Prepar'd a feast, for they had slain an ox, 
 
96 THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES. 
 
 And therewithal were busy ; and the while 
 The women -folk were sprinkling a good store 
 Of barley for the reapers' evening meal. 
 
 And therein likewise he a vineyard plac'd, 
 Heavy with bunches, beautiful, in gold \ 
 And purple were the clusters ; and it stood 
 With props of silver pierced thro' and thro'. 
 A dark-blue trench and hedge went round about 
 Of tin ; and hereunto one pathway led, 
 Whereby the men at vintage came and went. 
 And lads and lasses in the bloom of youth 
 Were gathering in baskets the rich fruit \ 
 And in the midst upon a full-ton' d lyre 
 A lad was sweetly playing, and to the lyre 
 Was singing an ancient ditty with clear voice ; 
 And to the music they were keeping time 
 With song and cries and movements of the limbs. 
 
 And therein was a herd of horned kine, 
 That were all wrought of mingled gold and tin ; 
 They lowing from their stalls to pasture went, 
 
THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES. 97 
 
 To a sounding stream, swift-flowing, thick with, reeds. 
 
 And herdsmen, wrought in gold, went with the herds. 
 
 Four, and nine dogs swift-footed came behind ; 
 
 And two fierce lions in the front had hold 
 
 Both of one bull, who loudly bellowing 
 
 Was being dragg'd along, and youths and hounds 
 
 Were following in pursuit, and the lions twain 
 
 Were lapping up the entrails and black blood ; 
 
 And the youths stood frightened, and cheer' d on the 
 
 hounds ; 
 But the hounds refrain' d from closing with the beasts, 
 But stood and bark'd, and still kept out of reach. 
 
 And therein the illustrious Lame-God wrought 
 A pasture full of sheep, in a rich vale, 
 With stalls and pens and shelter' d, close-roof 'd sheds. 
 
 A choral dance he also placed therein, 
 Like to that one, which in wide Knossus once 
 Daedalus for fair-hair' d Ariadne wrought. 
 And therein youths and maids of high degree 
 Were dancing, holding one another's wrists ; 
 
 H 
 
98 THE SHIELD OP ACHILLES. 
 
 And the maidens wore fine raiment, and the youths 
 Tunics well-spun, glistering with olive-oil ; 
 The maidens all had chaplets, and the youths 
 Had dirks of gold, that hung by silver belts ; 
 And they at times ran round with nimble feet 
 Eapidly, like as when a potter sits 
 And tries with his hands a top, if it will spin ; 
 And then they ran in rows one after other. 
 And a great crowd stood round the pleasant band, 
 Delighted ; and among them there was singing 
 A bard divine to music of the lyre ; 
 And two men, very skilful in the dance, 
 Giving the time, were whirling in the midst. 
 And last around the outer rim he placed 
 The great, broad river of Oceanus. 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOE. 
 
 So they the city through, as scared as hinds, 
 Wiped off the sweat, and drank and quench/ d their thirst, 
 Leaning against the battlements, and the Greeks 
 Drew near, their shields across their shoulders slung. 
 But Fate bound Hector to remain outside, 
 In front of Ilium and the Scsean gates. 
 
 Meanwhile Apollo to Achilles spake ) 
 " Why with fleet feet, Achilles, dost pursue 
 Thou, mortal man, me, an immortal god? 
 Surely thou hast not yet perceived, that I 
 Am not of earth, so eager is thy haste. 
 Thou carest no more to slay the flying foe, 
 But, lo, they all are gathered safe within 
 
100 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 Their walls, while thou hast hither turn'd aside : 
 Me, who immortal am, thou canst not slay." 
 
 And, moved to wrath, Achilles, swift of foot, 
 Spake, " Archer-god, of gods most mischievous, 
 Thou didst me grievous wrong, to turn me now 
 Off from the wall ; for many a man ere this 
 Had bitten the dust ere he reach'd Ilium. 
 Them hast thou saved, at cost of my renown ; 
 No wonder, seeing thou hadst nought to fear * 
 Else, I would make thee pay me back in full " 
 
 He spake ; and angry towards the city sped, 
 Eapidly, as in the chariot-race a steed 
 Euns swiftly at full stretch across the plain • 
 So lightly wielded he his feet and limbs. 
 
 And him old Priam was the first to see, 
 Scouring the plain, and shining like the star, 
 That rises in the autumn, and whose rays 
 Are clearly seen among the stars at night ; 
 The star by men yclept Orion's hound ; 
 It is a bright star, but a sign of ill, 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 101 
 
 Portending fever to poor mortal men ; 
 
 So, as he ran, the steel gleam'd on his breast. 
 
 And the old man struck his forehead with his hands, 
 Eaising his hands on high, and groan'd aloud, 
 Praying his son ; but he before the gates 
 Stood, without flinching, resolute for the fight : 
 And thus with outstretched hands the old man pray'd : 
 
 " Hector, my child, await not thou alone 
 This man, for fear thou quickly meet thine end, 
 Slain by him ; for he is the mightier far. 
 Wretch ! would he were no dearer to the gods 
 Than unto me ; the vultures and the hounds 
 Would quickly have their prey, and from my heart 
 A load of sorrow were removed, for he 
 Hath me bereft of many goodly sons, 
 Slaying, or selling them in far off isles. 
 Yea now, when all are coop'd within the walls, 
 Two sons, born to me of Laothoe, 
 Lycaon and Polydorus, I nowhere see ; 
 Now, if they still are living in the host, 
 
102 THE DEATH OF HECTOK. 
 
 With brass and gold we yet may ransom them ; 
 For we have plenty, and Laothoe 
 Was by her royal father richly dower' d ; 
 But, if they be already dead and gone, 
 'Twill be for grief to their mother and to me, 
 But greater far will be the grief of all, 
 If thou fall too beneath Pelides , hand : 
 So come, my son, within the walls, to save 
 Our men and matrons, and give not renown 
 To Achilles with the loss of thine own life. 
 Likewise on me, a most unhappy man, 
 Take pity, while I breathe the breath of life, 
 Whom ere long on the threshold of old age 
 The Father, son of Kronos, will destroy 
 Wretchedly, after seeing many woes, 
 My sons cut off, my daughters dragg'd away, 
 My home polluted, and my little ones 
 Dash'd cruelly to earth, and my sons' wives 
 Led away captive by the conquering Greeks : 
 And, last of all, when some one with a sword 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 103 
 
 Hath smitten me, or struck me with, a spear, 
 And let my life out, then at mine own door 
 The greedy hounds will tear my corse, the hounds 
 I fed with mine own hands to keep my gates ; 
 There they will lie, and eagerly lap my blood. 
 Wow for a young man 'tis a seemly thing, 
 In battle slain and pierced by the sharp sword, 
 To lie exposed ; for, now that he is dead, 
 All things are honourable, whate'er betide ; 
 But, when the hair and beard is hoar with age, 
 To see the outraged corse of an old man, 
 This is the saddest sight beneath the sun." 
 
 The old man spake, and tore with both his hands 
 His hoary hair : but Hector was unmoved. 
 His mother also wept and made lament, 
 And pointing to her bosom with one hand 
 For Hector to regard, spake through her tears ; 
 
 " My son, respect this bosom, and if here 
 I nursed thee fondly in thy tender years, 
 Forget it not • but keep this enemy off 
 
104 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 Within our walls, nor meet him in the field. 
 
 Wretch ! if he slay thee, mine own darling child, 
 
 I o'er thy bier shall never make lament, 
 
 I or thy dower' d wife ; but far from us 
 
 The hounds shall tear thee by the Grecian ships. " 
 
 So they twain weeping called unto their son, 
 Beseeching him ; but Hactor was unmoved • 
 And all the while the stately foe drew nigh. 
 
 And as a serpent, fed on venomous herbs, 
 Bides in its den the coming of a man ; 
 And dreadful anger fills it, and it glares 
 Tearfully, as it rolls around its den ; 
 So Hector, filled with might unquenchable, 
 Stood manfully his ground, and lean'd against 
 A jutting buttress his bright-shining shield ; 
 And, deeply moved, spake thus to his own soul ; 
 
 " Ah me ! if I shall enter now the gates, 
 Polydamas will be the first to blame, 
 Who bade me lead the men w T ithin the walls 
 Last fatal night, when the great chief arose. 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 105 
 
 But I refused, though now it seems to me 
 
 It had been better to obey ; but now, 
 
 When through my folly many men have fallen, 
 
 I dread my townsmen and their long-robed dames, 
 
 For fear some one, a meaner man than I, 
 
 Should say, 'twas Hector's folly ruin'd all. 
 
 So will they speak, and then 'twere better far 
 
 Either victorious to return, or lie 
 
 Gloriously slain before my city's walls. 
 
 " But were I now to lay upon the ground 
 My boss'd shield and my heavy helm, and go 
 Myself before the great Achilles' face ; 
 And promise to restore to the two sons 
 Of Atreus Helen and the precious things, 
 That Alexander in the hollow ships 
 Brought hitherward, the cause of all the strife ; 
 And to divide among the Grecian host 
 The substance of our city, and to bind 
 The people by a solemn oath to hide 
 Nought of their goods, but to divide them all 
 
106 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 " But why thus idly commune with myself] 
 I fear me, should I go before him, he 
 Would shew me little pity or respect, 
 But slay me, as before him I should stand, 
 Just like a woman, helpless and unarm'd. 
 For he is, verily, not such an one, 
 As whom to speak withal in whispering tones 
 Under a tree or wall, as youth and maid, 
 As maid and youth speak whisperingly together. 
 
 "No : better to join battle ; and to see 
 Forthwith, to whether of the twain the sire 
 Olympian shall award the victory/' 
 
 So stood he pondering ; and meanwhile drew near, 
 Like the great war-god, Enyalius, 
 Achilles ; o'er his shoulder, as he came, 
 Brandishing his great spear of Pelian ash, 
 Terrible ; and round about his armour gleamed, 
 Bright -as a flame or as the rising sun. 
 A trembling came o'er Hector at the sight, 
 Nor had he courage longer to abide, 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOE. 107 
 
 But left the gates behind, and fled away. 
 And Achilles after him rush'd furiously ; 
 Even as a hawk, the swiftest of all birds, 
 Upon the mountains lightly swoops adown 
 Upon a trembling dove, which underneath 
 Flies, and the hawk shrill shrieking close behind 
 Plunges into the brake to clutch the prey ; 
 So flew Achilles, and Hector fled in fear 
 Beneath the walls, and lightly moved his limbs. 
 So by the watch-tower and the windy tree, 
 The one wild fig-tree, ran they, evermore 
 By the beaten track close in beneath the walls. 
 And now they came unto the fountains fair, 
 Where rise the twin springs of the eddying stream, 
 Scamander : of the twain the one doth flow 
 With waters warm, and round about a smoke 
 Upriseth, like as from a burning fire ; 
 But the other floweth e'en in summer tide 
 With waters cold as hail, or snow, or ice ; 
 And close beside them were wide basins built, 
 
108 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 Beautiful, of stone, where Trojan wives 
 
 And their fair daughters wash'd their raiment fine 
 
 Of old in peace-time, ere the Achaean came. 
 
 Here ran they, one in front and one behind, 
 A brave man first, behind a braver far, 
 Kapidly ; nor strove they for an ox or skin, 
 Such as may win the runners in a race : 
 The prize they ran for was great Hector's life. 
 
 And like as trampling horses in a race 
 Move swiftly round the goals, and the prize lies 
 For all to see, a tripod or a slave, 
 When men pay funeral honours to the dead ; 
 So thrice they twain around the walls of Troy 
 Ean swiftly ; and all the Gods were looking on ; 
 And among them spake the king of Gods and men ; 
 
 " Ah me ! I see one chased around the walls, 
 One whom I love : my very heart is sore 
 For Hector, who so oft hath honour' d me 
 With sacrifice of oxen on the peaks 
 Of Ida many-valley'd, and in Troy 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 109 
 
 In the high places : now around the walls 
 Achilles, swift of foot, pursueth him. 
 Come therefore, Gods, bethink ye what to do, 
 Whether to rescue him, or let him fall 
 Beneath Achilles, brave man though he be." 
 
 To him gray-eyed Athene in reply : 
 " God of the thunder, dweller in the clouds, 
 Why, Father, what a word is this for thee ! 
 A mortal man, by fate doom'd long ago, 
 Wouldst thou release from the stern bonds of death % 
 So do ; but we are all of other mind." 
 
 To her in answer cloud- compelling Zeus : 
 " Fear not, Tritogeneia, my own child ; 
 The words fell idly from me : I am wiird 
 To deal with thee in kindness • so fulfil 
 What seemeth best to thee, sans let or fear." 
 
 So spake he, and Athene's eager heart 
 Was quicken'd to fresh eagerness, and away 
 From high Olympus she went swooping down. 
 
 Meanwhile, unceasingly the chase went on ; 
 
110 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 And as when on the mountains from its lair 
 
 A hound hath raised a fawn, and chaseth it 
 
 Through pass and glade, and if the flying fawn 
 
 For refuge cower into a brake, the hound 
 
 Euns on and on, until it track it out ; 
 
 So after Hector swift Achilles ran. 
 
 And evermore as Hector made to win 
 
 The gates right underneath the battlements, 
 
 So oft the other running in betimes 
 
 Turn'd him towards the plain ; for evermore 
 
 Fled Hector for the city ; and so it was, 
 
 As when one thinketh in a dream to run, 
 
 When whoso follows, never overtakes, 
 
 And whoso flees, seems never to escape ; 
 
 So 'twas with Hector and iEacides. 
 
 And maybe Hector had escaped his doom, 
 
 But that Apollo at the last drew nigh, 
 
 And made him stout of heart and lithe of limb. 
 
 And now Achilles beckon' d with a nod 
 For all his people to hold back, nor hurl 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOE. Ill 
 
 A weapon, lest some other hand than his 
 
 Striking him won the glory of the deed. 
 
 But when the fourth time they had reached the springs, 
 
 Zeus took the golden balance in his hand, 
 
 And in the bowls thereof he placed two fates, 
 
 The fates of Hector and iEacides ; 
 
 And poised the balance, and great Hector's fate 
 
 Outweighed the other, and sank down, down, down : 
 
 So Phoebus left him, and Athene came 
 
 Beside Achilles, and spake winged words : 
 
 " Now I do hope, Achilles, that we twain 
 Shall carry back great glory to the fleet, 
 When we have stripp'd the armour off the back 
 Of Hector, valiant soldier though he be. 
 For now, methinks, he hardly can escape 
 Our hands, for all the Archer-god may do, 
 Eolling himself before the feet of Zeus. 
 But rest thee for a while, and I will go 
 Yonder, and urge the man to stand and fight." 
 
 She spake ; and the hero glad at heart obey'd, 
 
112 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 And leaning on his steel-tipt ashen spear 
 
 He stood ; meanwhile the goddess went her way, 
 
 In voice and visage like Deiphobus, 
 
 And drawing close to Hector she thus spake : 
 
 " Good brother mine, Achilles swift of foot 
 
 Presseth thee sore indeed, around the walls 
 
 Chasing thee ; but let us twain make a halt, 
 
 And break his onset, standing side by side." 
 
 Him answered Hector of the glancing helm ; 
 " Deiphobus, of all the children born 
 By Hecuba to Priam, heretofore 
 Thou hast been dearest unto me, but now 
 I needs must love thee with a tenfold love, 
 Because, though peril was before thine eyes, 
 For my sake thou hast ventured to the plain ? 
 When all the rest are lingering within." 
 
 To him gray-eyed Athene in reply : 
 " Ah, brother, hadst thou seen how on their knees 
 Our father and good mother pray ? d to me, 
 And how my comrades all join'd in the prayer, 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 113 
 
 To keep me in ! — such, terror held them all ; 
 
 But on my breast there lay a load of shame. 
 
 So come, let us go forth, and let our spears 
 
 Find work to do, and let us know this day, 
 
 Whether yon prince shall bear our bloody spoils 
 
 To the ships, or fall himself beneath thy spear." 
 
 So Pallas led him on with words of guile ; 
 
 But when the heroes were now face to face, 
 
 Thus spake great Hector of the glancing helm ; 
 
 " I will no longer flee before thy face, 
 
 Great son of Peleus ; thrice around the walls, 
 
 Already have I run, nor dared to meet 
 
 Thine onset ; now, my purpose is to stand, 
 
 And bide the issue, victory or death. 
 
 But come now, let us call the gods to be 
 
 Our witnesses, for they are best to guard 
 
 Such covenants as men make one with other. 
 
 I will not use thee ill, if Zeus to me 
 
 Shall give the victory, and I take thy life ; 
 
 But, stripping off the armour, I will give 
 
 Thy body back; and deal thou so with me." 
 
 i 
 
114 THE DEATH OF HECTOE. 
 
 Achilles, scowling on him, made reply : 
 " Wretch, never speak of covenants with me ; 
 Lions and men are never made sworn friends ; 
 There is no peace betwixt the wolves and sheep, 
 But ill intent and enmity for ever : 
 So betwixt us no peace or love may be 
 Or covenant, till of the twain one fall 
 And with his life-blood sate the God of war. 
 So come, call all thy valour to thine aid • 
 Thou never had'st more need to prove thyself 
 A spearsman ready-handed, stout of heart ; 
 Come, there is no escape ; beneath my hand 
 Pallas Athene soon shall lay thee low ; 
 Then shalt thou pay in full for all the friends 
 In battle fall'n beneath thy ruthless spear." 
 
 He spake, and poising hurl'd the quivering shaft ; 
 But Hector was in time to shun the blow, 
 For, seeing the spear a-coming, he crouch'd down, 
 And it flew over him, and the spear-head 
 Stuck in the ground : but Pallas caught it up, 
 And unobserved of Hector bare it back : 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 115 
 
 And thus spake Hector to iEacides : 
 " So, son of Peleus, thou hast miss'd thine aim ; 
 It cannot be then, as thou saidst e'en now, 
 That Zeus hath given thee promise of my life • 
 Nay, but thy words were braggart lies, to make 
 Me frighten'd and forgetful of myself. 
 In me thou shalt not strike a coward's back, 
 But pierce me through the breast as I come on, 
 If the gods will it so : but now, beware 
 My spear— may the head be buried in thy heart, 
 For then the war were lighter to us all, 
 If thou wert fallen; thou, our deadliest bane." 
 
 He spake, and poising hurl'd the quivering spear, 
 That struck the middle of Pelides' shield, 
 And glanced off far away ; and Hector stood 
 Angry, because the weapon from his hand 
 Had sped thus idly, and his visage fell; 
 For now he had no other spear to hurl : 
 So with a shout he call'd Deiphobus,. 
 His brother of the white shield, to beg of him 
 His spear; but lo! Deiphobus was gone. 
 
116 THE DEATH OF HECTOK. 
 
 And Hector saw the end was come, and said ; 
 "Now verily I see mine end is come : 
 I thought Deiphobus was at my side, 
 But he was safe behind the city's walls, 
 While Pallas in his shape beguiled me. 
 So now the bitterness of death draws near, 
 And there is no escape; thus long ago 
 Methinks it hath seem'd good to Father Zeus, 
 And to the Archer-god, who heretofore 
 Have been my friends : but now my Fate is come : 
 But for all that I would not die without 
 Achievement of some glorious deed, to serve 
 For story to the men of after times." 
 
 He spake, and from the sheath the sharp sword drew, 
 That from his loins was swinging, great and strong ; 
 And crouching down he made a swoop, as when 
 A soaring eagle through the murky clouds 
 Swoops down upon the plain to seize its prey, 
 A tender lamb or cowering leveret ; 
 So Hector swoop'd, brandishing his sharp sword. 
 Achilles too rush'cl on, his whole heart full 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 117 
 
 Of rage, and before his breast he held his shield 
 
 Of chased-work, beautiful ; and over-head 
 
 His shining helm was nodding, and the plumes 
 
 Were streaming o'er his shoulders and around, 
 
 Plumes golden-yellow, which the Artist-god 
 
 Luxuriant had scatter'd on the helm. 
 
 And as among the stars at dead of night 
 
 Shines Hesperus, the fairest star in heaven, 
 
 So went a gleam from the sharp-pointed spear, 
 
 That great Achilles wielded, vowing death 
 
 To Hector, and scanning all his form to find 
 
 Where best his armour would let in a wound. 
 
 But Hector's body was all cased in mail, 
 
 The shining mail from off Patroclus torn ; 
 
 Only between the shoulders and the neck, 
 
 There where a wound is mortal, might be seen 
 
 An opening, and thereat Achilles aim'd, 
 
 And through the soft flesh the sharp spear-point drave ; 
 
 The wind-pipe was untouched, so for a while 
 
 The power of speech was left the wounded man : 
 
118 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 Down in the dust he fell, and over him 
 In triumph the great son of Peleus spake : 
 
 " Hector, when thou wert stripping of his arms 
 The dead Patroclus, thou did'st think to pass 
 Unpunished, nor hadst thou a thought of me. 
 Fool ! by the hollow ships was left behind 
 A swordsman far more terrible than he, 
 Myself, thy victor : so this body of thine 
 To dogs and birds shall be a prey, but him 
 The Greeks shall bear with honour to his grave." 
 
 And faintly breathing, Hector made reply : 
 " Achilles, I entreat thee by thy life 
 And parents dear, let not my body lie 
 A prey to the dogs beside the Grecian ships; 
 But take for ransom what of brass and gold 
 My father and good mother will freely give ; 
 And send my body home, that it may be 
 By men of mine own city and their wives 
 Laid with due honour on the funeral pyre." 
 
 And scowling on him, spake iEacides : 
 "Dog, never pray to me; for would to heaven 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 119 
 
 The fury in my heart would let me tear 
 Thy body piecemeal and devour it raw ; 
 Such little chance hath any to release 
 Thy body, though before me they should bring 
 A tenfold ransom or a twentyfold; 
 Should Priam offer to redeem thy corse 
 With its own weight in gold, not for it all 
 Should thine own mother lay thee on the bier, 
 And weep above thee \ no. the dogs and birds 
 Shall tear thy body piecemeal, limb by limb." 
 
 And dying, Hector slowly made reply : 
 " I knew it would be so ; my chance was poor 
 To move thee, for thy heart is hard as stone. 
 Beware, lest unto thee I prove a curse, 
 That day when Paris and the Archer-god 
 With arrow from the string shall lay thee low, 
 For all thy valour, by the Scsean gates." 
 
 He spake : the death-film gathered o'er his eyes, 
 And the soul to Hades from the body fled, 
 Mourning its fate, and loth to leave behind 
 Beauty and vigour and manhood in its prime. 
 
120 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 And prince Achilles thus address'd the dead : 
 "Die thou, and I will welcome mine own fate 
 When Zeus so wills it, and the Gods above," 
 
 He spake, and from the body wrenched the spear, 
 And cast it by, and stripp'd the bloody arms 
 From off the shoulders of the dead : meanwhile 
 The Grecian soldiers all came flocking round, 
 To catch a glimpse of the grand, stately form 
 Of Hector ; nor came one but gave a wound ; 
 And thus they spake, the one unto the other : 
 
 " Hector is safer now to deal withal, 
 By heavens, than when he set the ships a-blaze." 
 
 So spake they, and struck the body as it lay ; 
 But when the armour was stripped off the corse, 
 Up stood Achilles, and spake winged words : 
 
 " Leaders and councillors of the host, give ear ; 
 The Gods have given into our hands this man, 
 Who did us more of mischief than they all, 
 Wherefore let us in harness make essay 
 What may the will be of his countrymen ; 
 Whether, now he is fallen, they choose to leave 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 121 
 
 Their battlements, or whether they are bent 
 To hold their ground, though Hector is no more. 
 But why hold converse thus with mine own soul ? 
 By the ships there lies unwept, unsepultur'd, 
 The dead Patroclus ; him will I not forget, 
 The while I live, and while my limbs can move. 
 For though in Hades they forget the dead, 
 I even there will yet remember him. 
 So raise the song of triumph, and return 
 Bearing the body to the hollow ships : 
 We have won glory ; we have slain the prince, 
 To whom they pray'd as to a God in Troy." 
 
 He spake ; and meditated usage foul 
 To Hector ; for the tendons of both feet 
 Between the ankle and the heel he pierc'd, 
 And fastened thongs of leather thereunto, 
 And bound him to the car, and let the head 
 Trail on the ground, and stepped upon the car, 
 And lifted up the splendid spoils, and smote 
 The steeds to gallop, and away they flew : 
 And as the corse was trail'd along, the dust 
 
122 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 Eose underneath, and the dark, glossy hair 
 Was scatter' d in the dust, and in the dust 
 Was dragg'd the face, afore so beautiful — 
 For Zeus had granted to his mortal foes 
 Thus to dishonour him in his own dear land. 
 And while the face was trailing in the dust, 
 His mother saw her child, and tore her hair, 
 And far away from her with both hands flung 
 Her shining head-dress, and shriek'd out aloud ; 
 And piteously his father groan' d, and all 
 The town was fill'd with wailing and shrill cries ; 
 And it was even as though Ilium 
 From crown to base were smouldering in fire. 
 And the old man, utterly distraught with woe, 
 Scarcely by force was held within the gates ; 
 Down in the mire he roll'd, and pray'd to all, 
 Each one by name, to let him issue forth : 
 
 " Hold, friends ; for all you love me, let me go 
 Out of the city to the Grecian ships ; 
 Let me entreat this cruel man of blood ; 
 It may be he will reverence mine age, 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOE. 123 
 
 And pity ray grey hairs ; for surely he 
 
 Hath even such a father as myself, 
 
 Old Peleus, who begat and rear'd him up, 
 
 A curse to Troy — a very curse to me, 
 
 For all my stout sons falFn beneath his hand : 
 
 But for them all I do not grieve so much, 
 
 With all my sorrow, as for one, whose loss 
 
 Will bring my grey hairs swiftly to the grave, 
 
 For Hector — would he had died within mine arms ; 
 
 Then had we wept the fulness off our hearts, 
 
 His mother and I, a most unhappy twain." 
 
 So spake he, weeping ; and his countrymen 
 Gave groan for groan ; meanwhile, among her maids 
 Queen Hecuba led on the long lament : 
 
 " Me miserable, what shall I do, my child, 
 Now thou art gone ! for thou wast night and day 
 My glory, and a blessing unto all 
 The men and women-folk that lived in Troy ; 
 And when thou earnest from the war, they gave 
 Thee welcome such as men give to a god ; 
 
124 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 And thou wast unto them a crown of joy, 
 In life ; but now the fated end is come." 
 
 "Weeping she spake ; but Hector's wife as yet 
 Knew nought of all, for none had made her ware 
 How Hector tarried yet without the walls ; 
 But she was weaving in an inner room 
 An ample cloth of purple, and tracing it 
 With flowers and many-hued embroideries ; 
 And she had bidden her long-hair' d maids to place 
 Upon the fire a tripod, and prepare 
 A bath for Hector when he left the field : 
 Poor simple one ; she little thought, alas ! 
 How Pallas by the great Achilles' hand 
 Had sent her Hector far away, where baths 
 Would needless be henceforth for evermore. 
 And meanwhile from the battlements there came 
 The sound of lamentation and shrill cries ; 
 The shuttle fell from her hands, and her knees shook, 
 And mid her long-hair' d maidens she thus spake : 
 
 " Hither come two of you, and let me see 
 What thing hath happen' d ; for methought I heard 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 125 
 
 The voice of our good mother, and my limbs 
 
 Are frozen, and I have a boding fear, 
 
 Some mischief hath befallen a prince of Troy. 
 
 Heaven grant it be not so ; but still I fear 
 
 Lest Hector, severed from the walls, is driven 
 
 Before the great Achilles towards the plain; 
 
 And lest that gallant spirit, over bold, 
 
 Be quench' d this day ; for he was ne'er content 
 
 To bide his turn, but yielding place to none 
 
 Ever kept first and foremost in the van." 
 
 She spake, and folio w'd by her maids rush'd out, 
 Wild as a Maenad, her heart beating fast ; 
 But when they reach' d the ramparts and the crowd, 
 She stood and eagerly gaz'd towards the plain, 
 And there she saw the body of her lord 
 Dragg'd onwards, and the swift steeds dragging it 
 Eecklessly at full gallop to the sea. 
 And down upon her eyes the black night came, 
 And falling backwards she swoon' d out her life, 
 And from her head the shining head-gear fell, 
 The band and coif and woven anadem, 
 
126 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 And the veil, that golden Aphrodite gave, 
 That day when Hector of the glancing helm 
 Led her away from her old father's home, 
 A queenly wife and with a queenly dower. 
 And all her royal sisterhood nock ? d round, 
 Comforting her, and kept the life within ; 
 But when her spirit was reviv'd, and back 
 Her senses came, she heav*d a long-drawn sigh, 
 And thus among the women-folk she spake : 
 " Hector, woe is me ! so with one fate 
 We twain were born ; thou in the Trojan home 
 Of Priam ; I in Thebes beneath the woods 
 Of Placus, in the home of my old sire, 
 Eetion, who from childhood rear'd me up 
 Unto a fate unhappy as his own ! 
 would to God I never had been born ! 
 Now in the darkness of the under- world 
 Methinks thou wilt be journeying to the home 
 Of Hades, but thou leavest me to mourn, 
 A widow- woman ; and the boy, we twain 
 Had born to us, is but a little child ; 
 
THE DEATH OF HECTOE. 127 
 
 And thou in death, dear Hector, wilt not prove 
 A blessing unto him, nor he to thee ; 
 For e'en if he escape the chance of war, 
 Trouble awaits him in the coming years ; 
 His heritage will pass to other hands • 
 For the orphan child stands utterly desolate 
 Among his fellows ; and he will go betimes 
 In need of somewhat to his father's friends, 
 And catch one by the tunic or the cloak ; 
 And maybe one in pity mil just deign 
 To hold a goblet out to wet his lips, 
 And nothing more ; and maybe at a feast 
 Some fellow, that hath living parents twain, 
 Will jostle him, or smite him on the cheek, 
 Or speak these words of bitterest reproach — 
 4 Brat, get thee gone ; thy father sups not here.' 
 And weeping to his widow'd mother's lap 
 He will return — my boy, Astyanax, 
 Who sat upon his father's knee, and fared 
 On marrow only and fatlings of the lea ; 
 My boy, who, when his fun had tired him out, 
 
128 THE DEATH OF HECTOR. 
 
 Slept in a soft bed, in his nurse's arms, 
 His heart filled to the brim with happiness ; 
 And many a time will he be made to feel 
 His loss — Astyanax, the hope of Troy, 
 For so men call'd him — rightly called, for thou 
 Wert aye the safeguard of their gates and walls. 
 But far away from home, by the beak'd ships 
 Upon thy body, when the dogs have had 
 Their meal, the crawling worms will feed ; on thee 
 Naked, for all thy raiment lieth here, 
 Fine, beautiful, the work of ladies' hands ; 
 But wherein shall it profit thee 1 thy limbs 
 Will ne'er be wrapp'd therein : nay, I will burn 
 It all, and the burning of it shall be held 
 For honour to thee in the sight of all 
 The men and women of thine own dear Troy." 
 So spake she, weeping ; and the women all 
 Took up the lamentation, groan for groan. 
 
THE FLIGHT OF PERSEUS WITH THE 
 GORGON'S HEAD, 
 
 AND 
 
 THE TRANSFORMATION OF ATLAS. 
 
 Hence through the empty air by warring winds 
 Tost hither and thither, like a rainy cloud, 
 He speeds along, and from his dizzy height 
 Looks down, as he flies over the wide world. 
 Three times he visited the frozen North ; 
 Three times the stars that shine on Southern seas ; 
 Again from West to East, from East to West 
 The windy currents waft him, till at length, 
 As day was setting, fearful of the dark 
 He lighted down upon Hesperian land, 
 The realm of ancient Atlas : here he sought 
 
 K 
 
130 THE FLIGHT OF PERSEUS, ETC., 
 
 A shelter for the coming night, until 
 
 The Morning-Star should wake the slumbering fires, 
 
 And bring again the chariot of the Dawn. 
 
 Here Atlas dwelt, son of Iapetus, 
 In stature tallest of all mortal men, 
 King of the western world's remotest rim, 
 And of the sea, into whose cooling waves, 
 Tired with their long day's journey through the sky, 
 The panting horses of the Sun-god plunge. 
 For him a thousand flocks, a thousand herds 
 Boani'd in the pastures ; and no neighbour mark'd 
 With boundary line his solitary realm. 
 His were the orchards of the wondrous trees, 
 With fruit and leaves and branches all of gold. 
 
 " Stranger/' thus Perseus to the monarch spake, 
 " If noble birth have any claim on thee, 
 My father is the king of Gods and men ; 
 If thou art touch'd with deeds of high emprise, 
 Thy heart may well be touch'd by deeds of mine : 
 I beg a night's rest only." Hereupon 
 
AND THE TRANSFORMATION OF ATLAS. 131 
 
 The king remembered the old prophecy, 
 By Themis on Parnassus given of yore : 
 " Atlas" so Themis spake, "the day will come 
 To see the gold stript off thy trees ; a son 
 Of Jove shall have the honour of the spoil." 
 Wherefore the king had girt his garden round 
 With solid walls, and set a dragon-guard, 
 And banish' d every stranger from his realms. 
 
 So then to Perseus he replied : " Begone, 
 Or else thou'lt find thy lies avail not here 
 Of lofty deeds and heavenly father-hood." 
 
 And not content with menace, he essay'd 
 Eude violence ; the while the other made 
 Eesistance, firm but temperate withal : 
 His strength at last gave way ; for who in strength 
 Could vie with Atlas '? and so Perseus spake ; 
 " Seeing thou reck'st so little of my love, 
 Take thy reward ;" and shading his own eyes, 
 Stretched forth his left arm, and exposed to view 
 The snaky tresses of the Gorgon's head. 
 
132 THE FLIGHT OF PERSEUS, ETC. 
 
 Big as he was, Atlas to mountain turn'd : 
 His hair and beard pass into shaggy woods ; 
 His shoulders into ridges stretch away ; 
 Where was his head, is now a mountain-peak ; 
 His bones to granite change. On every side 
 He grows and grows past measure, till the heaven 
 Eeposes on him with its weight of stars. 
 
CERES AND PROSERPINE. 
 
 Cyane, the Water-Nymph. 
 
 There is not far from Henna's walls a pool, 
 Pergus by name, of waters deep and cool ; 
 Cayster, its melodious banks along, 
 With all its swans, is not more rife with song ; 
 Woods, to the water's edge stretch' d round about, 
 W ith leafy curtain shut the noon-day out ; 
 Flowers of all hues abound, and branches fling 
 A coolness out, that makes perpetual spring. 
 'Twas in this valley Proserpine was straying, 
 With a sweet band of little maids a-maying, 
 In baskets or their laps a-gathering posies 
 Of lilies white, dark violets and roses ; 
 Proserpine's only thought and only care 
 
134 CERES AND PROSERPINE. 
 
 Was that her lap should be the fullest there : 
 Pluto beheld, loved, seized the maid away 
 At once — so little brook' d his love delay. 
 Upon her mother and her friends for aid, 
 Her mother loudest, shriek' d the frightened maid ; 
 Her robe was rent, and fluttering in the wind, 
 As flew the chariot, fell the flowers behind ; 
 But e'en amid her wonderment and fears 
 This simple loss called forth her childish tears. 
 Away, away the flying chariot speeds ; 
 The royal lover cheers the panting steeds ; 
 Over their necks, over their streaming manes 
 He bends and loosely hangs the violet reins ; 
 By the deep lakes and standing pools he flies, 
 Where sulphurous vapours through the rifts uprise ; 
 Until they reach the city by the sea, 
 By princes built of ancient Ephyre. 
 
 There is 'twixt Cyane and the Pisan rill 
 A narrow strip of water deep and still ; 
 There dwelt beneath this pool, that bore her name, 
 
CERES AND PROSERPINE. 135 
 
 Cyane, a Naiad of Sicilian fame. 
 
 It so befell that, as the car drew near, 
 
 The Nymph was rising from her waters clear ; 
 
 She saw, and recognised the God, and cried : 
 
 " Hold in thy steeds ; if thou would'st win the 
 
 bride, 
 Her mother Ceres will with right demand 
 Courteous entreaty and not force of hand. 
 If little things with great ones may compare, 
 I in love matters too have had my share ; 
 But not with violence Anapis strove, 
 He, like a lover, woo'd and won my love." 
 
 She spake, and stretch' d her arms to bar his path ; 
 No longer could the God restrain his wrath ; 
 He lash'd his terrible steeds, and with a swing 
 Hurled his huge sceptre to the lowermost spring ; 
 A cavern yawned, and into realms of night 
 Chariot and charioteer plunged out of sight. 
 
 Her fount despised, her mistress stolen away 
 To brooding sorrow leave the nymph a prey ; 
 
136 CERES ANT) PROSERPINE. 
 
 She pines and pines, and where she late bare rule, 
 
 Melting in tears, is lost in her own pool ; 
 
 Her limbs grow soft and softer every one, 
 
 Supple and suppler each resisting bone ; 
 
 Her hands and feet and every part extreme 
 
 First disappear to mingle with the stream • 
 
 Her face, her neck, her shoulders, and her breast 
 
 Little by little melt into the rest ; 
 
 The liquid gradual spreads through pores and veins, 
 
 And nothing you could touch or grasp remains. 
 
CERES AND PEOSEEPINE. 
 
 Ceres and the Eude Boy. 
 
 Over the wide earth and the wider main 
 The trembling mother sought her child in vain ; 
 Aurora, as with dripping locks she came, 
 Found her at work, and Hesperus the same ; 
 A pine-torch on Mount (Etna from a spark 
 She lit, and bore it restless through the dark : 
 Again, when daylight drove the stars away, 
 She search' d from sun-rise to the close of day ; 
 Wearied with toil, with lips athirst and dry, 
 She look'd in vain some cheering spring to spy ; 
 At length she sees a lonely straw-thatched shed ; 
 She knocks, and out an old crone pokes her head, 
 Who gives of porridge from her scanty store ; 
 Poor stuff, perhaps, but she had nothing more. 
 
138 CERES AND PROSERPINE. 
 
 The Goddess sups it eagerly, the while 
 A lad looks on with a provoking smile : 
 " Why, from the way she eats her dinner, Mother, 
 You'd think she never hoped to have another." 
 The Goddess took offence, as who would not ? 
 And punished the offender on the spot : 
 To take an aim she just drew back a pace, 
 Then flung the porridge in the urchin's face ; 
 With pimples straight the face was mottled o'er, 
 And wee legs grew, where arms had grown before ; 
 Down on all fours he grovelled, and a tail 
 Behind him on the ground was seen to trail ; 
 For fear the imp should mischief find to do, 
 His shape was shrivelled to an inch or two ; 
 His mother shriek'd, and tried in vain, poor soul, 
 To clutch him, but he slipped into a hole ; 
 In lizard-shape his after life he spent, 
 A warning to all boys on mischief bent, 
 Whene'er they meet respectable old dames, 
 Not to make faces or give vulgar names. 
 
CERES AND PROSERPINE. 
 
 Proserpine and the Story-teller. 
 
 There is, so stories tell, in Elis found 
 
 A little stream, that sinks into the ground, 
 
 And with fresh waters runs beneath the sea, 
 
 Until it reaches far-off Sicily. 
 
 This under-ground and under- water way 
 
 Swam Arethuse, a water-nymph, one day, 
 
 And down below in Pluto's realm she spied 
 
 The lost one, Proserpine, a queen and bride. 
 
 The happy tidings she to Ceres brings, 
 
 Who straight her flight up to Olympus wings, 
 
 And eloquent with all a mother's love, 
 
 Pleads her hard case before the throne of Jove 
 
 The father answered — but the words he said 
 
 Gave little hope, and not a little dread — 
 
140 CERES AND PROSERPINE. 
 
 " Pluto and Neptune, my two brothers, and I 
 
 Are Lords of Hades and the Sea and Sky : 
 
 Thy Proserpine is queen of one of these ; 
 
 If this content thee not, thou'rt hard to please : 
 
 Still, if this honour seems mere banishment, 
 
 And thou on her return art fully bent, 
 
 On this condition I will grant thy prayer, 
 
 If she have never broken fast down there." 
 
 'Now Proserpine, it chanced, that very day, 
 
 Through Pluto's garden went her lonely way, 
 
 And, tired and hardly knowing what to do, 
 
 Pluck'd a pomegranate, and ate a grain or two ; 
 
 The only witness unto what was done 
 
 Was child of Orphne and of Acheron, 
 
 The lad Ascalaphus ; provoking elf, 
 
 He might have kept the secret to himself ; 
 
 The little story-teller told it all, 
 
 And Proserpine was fixed beyond recall : 
 
 The harm was done, and nothing could undo it, 
 
 But the offender had good cause to rue it. 
 
CEEES AND PROSERPINE. 141 
 
 Weeping and praying and wringing both his 
 hands, 
 Before the angry queen the culprit stands ; 
 She lifts a handful from the Stygian flood 
 Of muddy water or of watery mud, 
 And after a few words of magic said, 
 Scatters the liquid on the wretch's head. 
 
 His little snub-nose sharpens to a beak ; 
 A fluffy down spreads gradual o'er his cheek ; 
 Into his head one half his body flies, 
 And from his head stare out two big round eyes ; 
 With painful effort lazily he swings 
 His arms beneath the novel w T eight of wings ; 
 His little toes to crooked talons bend, 
 And feathers cover him from end to end ; 
 In fact he stands an Owl ; in other words, 
 The ugliest, unluckiest of birds. 
 
LATONA AND THE RUSTICS. 
 
 Latona, from her isle of Delos driven, 
 
 Was flying from the jealous Queen of heaven : 
 
 Close to her breast, wrapt in her mantle's fold, 
 
 She clasped her twins, a very few days old : 
 
 At length with toil and heat she thirsty grew ; 
 
 Her little ones were very thirsty too ; 
 
 But still, with parched lips and aching feet, 
 
 She pushed on bravely through the noon-day heat ; 
 
 Until she spies beneath a neighbouring hill 
 
 A pool of water, fresh, and green, and still ; 
 
 Now I suppose the dwellers in this vale 
 
 Made baskets, chairs, and wicker-work for sale, 
 
 For crowds of men and women o'er the meads 
 
 Were gathering rushes, willow-slips, and reeds ; 
 
LATONA AND THE RUSTICS. 143 
 
 Onwards the Goddess came, and by the brink 
 Kneeled down upon the grass, and stooped to drink ; 
 The rustics pulled her with rude hands away, 
 While she in her sore need deigned thus to pray : 
 " Wherefore, good friends, so churlish as decline 
 A share of what is no more yours than mine ] 
 Why, surely, rich and poor alike may share 
 These common blessings, water, light, and air : 
 Give me, I beg and pray for pity's sake, 
 What without begging I have right to take : 
 Why, for your pool, I have no wish, heaven knows, 
 To wash therein my hands, or face, or clothes ; 
 I only ask to drink • why should you fear 
 'T would make the water shallower or less clear? 
 Have pity ; see, how tired I am and weak ; 
 My lips and tongue are dry ; I scarce can speak : 
 Water, or I shall faint : one quaff divine 
 To me were fresher, sweeter than all wine : 
 Give me one draught, then, and I'll own, to you, 
 !Xext after Father Jove, my life is due : 
 
144 LATONA AND THE RUSTICS. 
 
 If me you pity not, I pray you spare 
 These pets, who, look you, stretch their hands in 
 prayer. " 
 
 Strange ; at the word, as though it understands, 
 Each child holds out its silly little hands ; 
 A prayer so eloquent, a sight so pretty 
 Might well have moved a heart of stone to pity ; 
 These clowns had hearts, then, harder than a stone 
 Their gentle suppliant they bid begone \ 
 Some call her names ; some push her from the place 
 Some shake their dirty fists in her poor face • 
 Some spiteful wretches in the water wallow, 
 Till 'tis unfit for any pig to swallow. 
 
 Latona's patience fairly went at last ; 
 Fatigue and thirst both into anger past : 
 Disdaining further words of supplication, 
 She burst into this sudden execration : 
 " Be it your lot, abominable rabble, 
 For ever in the mud to splash and dabble." 
 She spake ; and in a twinkling on the green 
 
LATONA AND THE RUSTICS. 145 
 
 A swarm of speckled frogs were hopping seen ; 
 Doomed by the Fates to lead a life for ever 
 Amphibious in marsh, or pond, or river ; 
 Their voices roughened, and, whene'er they spoke, 
 The only sound they made was " croak ! croak ! 
 
 croak !" 
 Their heads and bodies touched; no neck was seen; 
 Their stomachs were all white ; their back was 
 
 green ; 
 A hump was there, where necks had been before ; 
 Their mouths stretch' d out, till they would stretch 
 
 no more. 
 And, had you seen, you w r ould have thought it 
 
 strange, 
 That habits could with form so quickly change : 
 Some in the pool kept swimming at the top, 
 Some from the bank dived right in w r ith a plop ; 
 Some sat, as if on serious thought intent, 
 Some in and out frisk' d to their heart's content ; 
 But, though their lives were now in water past, 
 
 L 
 
146 LATONA AND THE RUSTICS. 
 
 Their old bad ways clung by them to the last ; 
 The water never drown'd that quarrelling spirit, 
 Which all their children to this day inherit, 
 Who still are thought, e'en in this generation, 
 The crossest, croakingest creatures in creation. 
 
SIMONIDES. 147 
 
 DANAE AND CHILD IN THE AEK. 
 
 When in the ark of curious workmanship 
 The winds and swaying waters fearfully 
 Were rocking her, with streaming eyes around 
 Her boy the mother threw her arms, and said, 
 
 " darling, I am very miserable ; 
 But thou art cosy- warm and sound asleep 
 In this thy dull, close-cabin' d prison-house, 
 Stretched at full ease in the dark, ebon gloom. 
 Over thine head of long and tangled hair 
 The wave is rolling ; but thou heedest not, 
 Nor heedest thou the noises of the winds, 
 Wrapt in thy purple cloak, sweet pretty one, 
 
 " But if this fearful place had fears for thee, 
 Those little ears would listen to my words ; 
 But sleep on, baby, and let the sea- waves sleep, 
 And sleep our own immeasurable woes. 
 Father Zeus, I pray some change may come • 
 But, Father, if my words are over-bold, 
 Have pity, and for the child's sake pardon me." 
 
148 STATIUS. 
 
 STATIUS; THEBAIS. II. 32-42. 
 
 Est locus (Inachiae dixerunt Tsenara gentes), 
 Qua formidatum Malese spumantis in auras 
 It caputs et nullos admittit culmine visus. 
 Stat sublimis apex, ventosque imbresque serenus 
 Despicit^ et tantuni fessis insiditur astris. 
 Illic exhausti posuere cubilia venti ; 
 Fuiminibusque iter est : medium cava nubila montis 
 Insumsere latus : summos nee prsepetis alae 
 Plausus adit colles, nee rauca tonitrua pulsant ; 
 Ast, ubi prona dies, longos super asquora fines 
 Exigit, atque ingens medio natat umbra profundo. 
 
STATIUS. 149 
 
 CAPE MATAPAN 1 . 
 
 There is a spot, named in Inachian lands 
 Tasnarus, where foaming Malea's dreaded cape 
 Eises in air beyond the ken of man. 
 Sublime the peak on winds and rains serene 
 Looks down ; above, the weary stars alone. 
 There the tired winds have made their resting-place, 
 And lightnings fly ; upon the mountain's waist 
 Hollow clouds hover ; on the topmost heights 
 Nor swift wing flaps, nor rumbling thunders beat ; 
 But, when day falls, he stretches far away. 
 And his huge shadow swims i J the central deep. 
 
150 STATIUS. 
 
 STATIUS; THEBAIS. I 303-311. 
 
 Paret Atlantiades dictis genitoris ; et inde 
 Summa pedum propere plantaribus illigat alis, 
 Obnubitque comas, et temperat astra galero. 
 Turn dextee virgam inseruit, qua pellere dulces 
 Aut suadere iterum somnos, qua nigra subire 
 Tartara, et exsangues animare assueverat umbras. 
 Desiluit; tenuique exceptus inhorruit aura. 
 Nee mora, sublimes raptim per inane volatus 
 Carpit ? et ingenti designat nubila gyro. 
 
STATIUS. 151 
 
 THE DESCENT OF MERCUEY. 
 
 Hermes obeys his sire's commands, and straight 
 In haste with winged sandals binds his feet, 
 And veils his locks and caps his starry head. 
 Then takes in hand the wand, wherewith he wont 
 To banish or to bring again sweet sleep, 
 To enter Hell and charm the bloodless shades : j" 
 Down he leaps, rustling, caught i' the thin air, 
 And rapidly through the void his night sublime 
 He wings, and with a halo marks the clouds. 
 
152 STATIUS. 
 
 STATIUS; SILVM V. 5. 79-87. 
 
 ISTonne gemamte, care puer? quo sospite, natos 
 Non cupii : primo gremium cui protinus ortu 
 Applicui fixique meum : cui verba sonosque 
 Monstravi, questusque et murmura caeca resolvens; 
 Keptanteroque solo ? demissus ad oscula, dextra 
 Erexi; blandique sinus jam jamque natantes 
 Excepisse genas, dulcesque arcessere somnos ; 
 Cui nomen vox prima meum, ludusque tenello 
 Bisus, et e nostro veniebant gaudia vultu. 
 
STATIUS. i 53 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 
 
 Shall I not mourn thee, darling boy ? with whom 
 Childless I miss'd not children of my own ; 
 I, who first caught and pressed thee to my breast, 
 And call'd thee mine, and taught thee sounds and 
 words, 
 
 And solved the riddle of thy murmurings, 
 
 And stoop'd to catch thee creeping on the ground, 
 
 And propp'd thy steps, and ever had my lap 
 
 Ready, if drowsy were those little eyes, 
 
 To rock them with a lullaby to sleep : 
 
 Thy first word was my name, thy fun my smile, 
 
 And not a joy of thine but came from me. 
 
154 STATIUS. 
 
 STATIUS; SILV^E. II. (4). 
 
 Hue doctae stipentur aves, quels nobile fandi 
 Jus Natura dedit : plangat Phoebeius ales, 
 Auditasque memor penitus demittere voces 
 Sturnus, et Aonio versae certamine picae, 
 Quique refert jungens iterata vocabula perdix, 
 Et quae Bistonio queritur soror orba cubili. 
 Ferte sirnul geraitus, cognataque ducite flammis 
 Funera; et hoc cunctse miserandum addiscite carmen 
 
 Occidit, aeriae celeberrima gloria gentis, 
 Psittacus, ille plagae viridis regnator Eoae ; 
 Quern noxi gemmata volucris Junonia cauda 
 Vinceret adspectu, gelidi non Phasidis ales, 
 Nee quas humenti Euraidae rapuere sub Austro. 
 Ille salutator regum, nomenque locutus 
 
STATIUS 155 
 
 POOE POLL. 
 
 Hither come all ye learned birds, to whom 
 Nature hath given the noble right of speech : 
 Come, raven, bird by Phoebus changed of old, 
 Come, mimic starlings and transformed pies, 
 Come, chirping partridge and sad nightingale : 
 Weep all, and lay your brother in his grave, 
 And sing with me this melancholy dirge — 
 
 Dead is the glory of the aerial race, 
 Poll, the green monarch of an Eastern clime ; 
 Whom neither Juno's bird of starry tail 
 KivalTd, nor he from Phasis, chilly stream ; 
 Nor birds of Afric, caught where Auster rains : 
 The pet of kings, who knew great Caesar's name, 
 Who had his words of fun or mimic plaint, 
 
156 STATIUS. 
 
 Caesareum, et queruli quondam vice functus amici 
 Nunc conviva levis ? monstrataque reddere verba 
 Tarn facilis ; quo tu, Melior dilecte, recluso, 
 Nunquam solus eras. At non inglorius umbris 
 Mittitur : Assyrio cineres adolentur amomo • 
 Et tenues Arabum respirant gramma plumae, 
 Sicaniosque crocos : senio nee fessus inerti 
 Scandit odoratos Phoenix felicior ignes. 
 
STATIUS. 157 
 
 The rogue, to cheer his master's lonely hours. 
 Ah ! not inglorious to the shades he goes ; 
 With Syrian spice his ashes are embalm' d, 
 His plumage fine breathes gums of Araby 
 And saffron of Sicilia ; not more blest 
 The bird, who, tired with immortality, 
 Climbs ever and anon his odorous pyre, 
 
158 STATIUS. 
 
 STATIUS; THEBAIS. I. 364. 
 
 Ille tamen (modo saxa jugis fugientia ruptis 
 Miratus, modo nubigenas e niontibus amnes 
 Aure pavens, passiinque insano turbine raptas 
 Pastorum pecorumque dornos) non segnius, amens, 
 Incertusque viae per nigra silentia vastum 
 Haurit iter : pulsat metus undique, et undique frater. 
 Ac velut hiberno deprensus navita ponto, 
 Cui neque temo piger, neque amico sidere monstrat 
 Luna vias, medio coeli pelagique tumultu 
 Stat rationis inops : jam jam que aut saxa malignis 
 Exspectat submersa vadis, aut vertice acuto 
 Spumantes scopulos erects incurrere prorae : 
 Talis, opaca legens nemorum, Cadmeius heros 
 Accelerat, vasto metuenda umbone ferarum 
 Excutiens stabula, et prono virgulta refringit 
 Pectore (dat stimulos animo vis moesta timoris), 
 Donee ab Inachiis victa ealigine tectis 
 Emicuit, lucem devexa in nicenia fundens, 
 Larissaeus apex. 
 
STATIUS. 159 
 
 POLYNICES IN THE STOEM. 
 
 Onwards he goes, listening in wonderment 
 
 As stones come tumbling down the mountain-sides, 
 
 And rain-swoln torrents sweep away the homes 
 
 Of sheep and shepherd ; onward still he goes 
 
 Through gloom and silence on his lonely way, 
 
 Not knowing where he goes ; his heart beats fast ; 
 
 His brother's image dogs him at each step. 
 
 And as a sailor tempest- caught at sea, 
 
 Without or polar star or friendly moon 
 
 To guide, in warring of the sea and sky 
 
 Is utterly perplexed, and evermore 
 
 Thinketh to founder on a perilous reef, 
 
 Or run his prow against sharp-pointed rocks ; 
 
 So Polynices threading the dark wood 
 
 Hurries, and with the great boss of his shield 
 
 Disturbs the lair of beasts, and presses on 
 
 Snapping the brushwood — such his haste and fear — 
 
 Till from afar through waning darkness shone, 
 
 With light upon its sloping battlements, 
 
 The castle of Larissa. 
 
160 CLAUDIAN. 
 
 CLAUDIAN j EAPT. PEGS., I. 253. 
 
 Nee color unus inest : stellas accendit in auro ; 
 Ostro fundit aquas ; attollit litora gemmis, 
 Filaque mentitos jamjam caelantia fluctus 
 Arte tunient : credas illidi cautibus algam, 
 Et raucum bibulis inserpere murmur arenis. 
 Addit quinque plagas : mediam subtemine rubro 
 Obsessam fervore notat : squalebat adustus 
 Limes, et assiduo sitiebant stamina sole : 
 Vitales utrimque duas ; quas mitis oberrat 
 Temperies, habitanda viris : turn fine supremo 
 Torpentes traxit geminas, brumaque perenni 
 Foedat, et seterno contristat frigore telas. 
 
CLAUDIAN. 161 
 
 CEKES' EMBEOIDEEY. 
 
 A work it was of rare device ; the stars 
 In gold she lit ; dark-blue the waters rolTd ; 
 With pearl the shore is raised, and evermore 
 The embroider'd threads swell into mimic waves ; 
 You see the sea-weed tumbling on the rocks, 
 You hear the hoarse sea roar along the sand. 
 Five zones she adds ; whereof with scarlet thread 
 The central zone she weaves ; the track adust 
 Bakes on the web beneath continual suns ; 
 On either side with temperate air serene 
 Two, fit for life and the abode of man ; 
 Then on the outer edge the torpid belts 
 She draws, and dims the beauty of her work 
 With ice eternal and eternal cold. 
 
 M 
 
162 CL AUDI AN. 
 
 CLAXJDIAN; EAPT. PKOS., I. 274. 
 
 Merserat unda diem : sparso nox humida somno 
 Languida coeruleis invexerat otia bigis. 
 Janique viam Pluton superas molitur ad auras, 
 Germani monitu : torvos invisa jugales 
 Alecto temone ligat, qui pascua mandunt 
 Cocyti, spatiisque Erebi nigrantibus errant ; 
 Stagnaque tranquillae potantes marcida Lethes, 
 iEgra soporatis spumant oblivia Unguis : 
 Orphnaeus crudele niicans, iEthonque sagitta 
 Ocyor, et Stygii sublimis gloria Nyc'teus 
 Armenti, Ditisque nota signatus Alastor, 
 Stabant ante fores juncti, saevumque fremebant, 
 Crastina ventures spectantes gaudia praedee 
 
CLAUDIAN. 163 
 
 THE CHAEIOT OF PLUTO. 
 
 The Sun had sunk i' the waves, and dewy Night 
 
 On car of ebony had brought repose. 
 
 Now sets out Pluto on his upward way, 
 
 At Jove's behest : his chariot-steeds are yoked 
 
 By fell Alecto ; dreadful steeds, that feed 
 
 On plains of Erebus by Cocytus' banks, 
 
 Whose lips are froth' d with Lethe's stagnant tide, 
 
 Lethe, the river of Oblivion. 
 
 Orphnoeus wildly glaring, iEthon swift 
 
 As arrow, Alastor mark'd with Pluto's brand, 
 
 And Nycteus, glory of the Stygian herd, 
 
 Were standing at the gate, and neighing fierce, 
 
 With eager longing for the morrow's prey. 
 
164 CLAUDIAN. 
 
 CLAUDIAN; PHCENIX. 
 
 Oceani summo circumfluus aequore lucus 
 Trans Indos Eurumque viret, qui primus anhelis 
 Sollicitatur equis ; vicinaque verbera sentit, 
 Humid a roranti resonant cum limina curru, 
 Unde rabet Ventura dies, longeque coruscis 
 Nox afflata rotis refugo pallescit amictu. 
 Haac fortunatus nimium Titanius ales 
 Eegna colit; Solisque plaga defensus iniqua, 
 Possidet intactas aegris animantibus oras ; 
 Sseva nee humani patitur contagia mundi; 
 Par volucer Superis ; stellas qui vividus aequat 
 Durando, membrisque terit redeuntibus aevum ; 
 Non epulis saturare famem, non fontibus ullis 
 Assuetus prohibere sitim : sed purior ilium 
 Solis fervor alit ; ventosaque pabula libat 
 Tethyos, innocui carpens alimenta vaporis. 
 
CLAUD IAX. 165 
 
 THE PHCENIX. 
 
 Einim'd by the waters of Oceanus 
 There blooms a grove beyond far Eastern Ind, 
 Trod by the panting steeds of morn, and feels 
 The neighbouring rays, when ; neath the dewy car 
 The gates of morning echo, and the day 
 Blushes, and far before the shining wheels 
 Night's gradual robe of darkness pales away. 
 Here dwells Apollo's bird supremely blest, 
 Ear from extremes of heat or cold, in realms 
 To miserable mortals all unknown. 
 He knows no contact with the world of man, 
 The bird divine ; but like the eternal stars 
 Lives on with limbs unconscious of decay. 
 No banquets feed him, and no watery springs 
 Assuage his thirst ; his food aerial 
 Is sunlight pure and vapour of the sea. 
 
166 CLAUDIAN. 
 
 CLAUDIAN; EAPE OF PEOSERPIKE, I. 76-88. 
 
 Turn Maia genitum, qui fervida dicta reportet, 
 Imperat acciri. Cyllenius adstitit ales 
 Somniferam quatiens virgam, tectusque galero. 
 Ipse nidi fultus solio, nigraque verendus 
 Maj estate sedet : squalent immania fcedo 
 Sceptra situ; sublime caput moestissima nubes 
 Asperat ; et dirse riget inclementia formse. 
 Terrorem dolor augebat. Turn talia celso 
 Ore tonat : (tremefacta silent, dicente tyranno, 
 Atria ; latratum tripliceni compescuit ingens 
 Janitor ; et presso lacrymarum fonte resedit 
 Cocytos, tacitisque Acheron obmutuit undis, 
 Et Phlegethontese requierunt murmura ripae.) 
 
CL AUDI AN. 167 
 
 PLUTO. 
 
 He bids them summon Maia's son to bear 
 His angry message. Hermes at the word 
 Came, wing'd and capp'd, with drowsy wand in hand. 
 On his rude throne in grim and awful state 
 The monarch sits ; upon his front sublime 
 A cloud of sorrow gathers, and his form 
 Dreadful is yet more dreadful in his woe. 
 Then, as in thundering tones he speaks, the hall 
 Trembling is silent, and huge Cerberus 
 Holds in his triple bark ; Cocytus stays 
 His fount of tears, and Acheron is still, 
 And still the murmuring banks of Phlegethon. 
 
168 CATULLUS. 
 
 CATULLUS; FUNUS PASSEEIS. 
 
 Passer mortuus est lnese puellae, 
 
 Passer delicise meae puellae ? 
 
 Nam mellitus erat, suamque norat 
 
 Ipsain tarn bene qnam puella matrem ; 
 
 Nee sese a gremio illius movebat, 
 
 Sed solam ad doimnam usque pipilabat ; 
 
 Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum 
 
 Illuc unde negant redire quenquam. 
 
 factum male ! miselle passer ! 
 
 Tua nunc opera mese puellae 
 
 Flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli. 
 
CATULLUS. 169 
 
 THE DEAD CAXABY. 
 
 Wee bit birdie's dead and gane, 
 
 The pet o' my ain dearie 0, 
 And now is journeyin' all alane 
 
 The road so dark and dreary O, 
 The road that maun be trod by all 
 
 0' mortal men and birdies 0. 
 
 Sweet birdie kenn'd his mistress weel, 
 
 Her face fra ilka ither 0, 
 As weel as e'er my lassie kenn'd 
 
 The face o' her ain mither 0, 
 And nestled in her breast, he'd pipe 
 
 And cheep the hour thegither 0. 
 
 Ah birdie, what for was thy life, 
 
 Thy puir bit life sae fleetin' 0, 
 'Tis a' for thee my dearie's een 
 
 Are red and sair wi' greetin' 0, 
 'Tis a' for thee thae bonny een 
 
 Are red and sair wi' greetin' 0. 
 
 N 
 
170 STATIUS. 
 
 STATIUS; SILV^E. V. 14. 
 
 Crimine quo inerui juvenis, placidissime Diviim, 
 Quove err ore miser, donis nt solus egerem, 
 Somne, tuis ? Tacet omne pecus, volucresque, feraeque 
 Et simulant fessos curvata cacumina somnos : 
 X ec trucibus fluviis idem sonus ; occidit horror 
 -ZEquoris, et terris maria acclinata quiescunt. 
 Septima jam rediens Phoebe mihi respicit segras 
 Stare genas; toties nostros Tithonia questus 
 Praeterit ? et gelido tangit miserata flagello. 
 Alme veni, nee te totas infundere pennas 
 Luminibus compello meis (hoc turba precetur 
 Lsetior) ; extremo me tange cacumine virgas 
 (Sufficit), aut levior suspenso poplite transi. 
 
STATIUS. 1 7 1 
 
 TO SLEEP, 
 
 Sleep, gentle sleep, what have I said or done, 
 That I alone, most miserable youth, 
 Call thee in vain ? — All earth and air is still ; 
 With bended heads the tree-tops feign repose ; 
 The hoarse streams cease to murmur, and the sea- 
 Leans its tired waves against the shore in rest. 
 Seven times the Moon returning has beheld 
 My wan and wakeful eyes ; seven times the Dawn 
 Has pass'd with pity in her cold, grey beams. 
 Come, gentle God, I venture not to beg 
 Presumptuous the full shedding of thy wings — 
 Such prayers are for the happy — but for me 
 It were enough to feel thine extreme wand, 
 Or thy light presence pass on tip-toe by. 
 
172 ovid. 
 
 HADES. 
 
 Est via declivis funesta nubila taxo : 
 ducit ad infernas per muta silentia sedes. 
 Styx nebulas exhalat iriers : umbraeque recentes 
 descendunt iliac, simulacraque functa sepulcris. 
 Pallor Hiemsque tenent late loca senta : novique, 
 qua sit iter, manes, Stygiam quod ducat ad urbem, 
 ignorant : ubi sit nigri fera regia Ditis. 
 Mille capax aditus, et apertas undique portas 
 urbs habet. Utque f return de tota numina terra, 
 sic omnes animas locus accipit ille ; nee ulli 
 exiguus populo est, turbamve accedere sentit. 
 Errant exsangues sine corpore et ossibus umbrae ; 
 parsque forum celebrant, pars imi tecta tyranni ; 
 pars aliquas artes, antiquae imitamina vitae, 
 exercent : aliam partem sua poena coercet. 
 
OVID. 173 
 
 HADES, 
 
 A sloping road, obscured by funeral yews, 
 
 Leads through dumb silence to the realms of Death ; 
 
 Dull Styx exhales in fog, and far and wide 
 
 Pallor and Winter have their dismal home ; 
 
 And ghosts are seen, fresh from their sepulchres, 
 
 Journeying they know not whither ; ignorant 
 
 What road may lead to the grim battlements 
 
 Of Pluto, and the city of the dead. 
 
 Around the city's walls wideopen stand 
 
 A thousand gates ; and as into the sea 
 
 All rivers flow, so pours through every gate 
 
 The tide of spirits ; and the city still, 
 
 Tho J filling evermore, is never full. 
 
 Dim, spectral shapes, bloodless, incorporal, 
 
 Flit to and fro ; some in their shadowy homes 
 
 Linger ; some throng the forum and the street ; 
 
 And some their wonted occupations ply 
 
 In ghastly mimicry of bygone life ; 
 
 And some, a wretched crew, are doomed to pay 
 
 The penalty of sin with endless woe. 
 
174 HODIERNA. 
 
 INSCRIPTION FOE THE PEDESTAL OF 
 AN ATLAS TIME-PIECE. 
 
 A tiny ball of brass my load 
 
 May seem to all beholders ; 
 They little think how huge a weight 
 
 Is pressing on my shoulders. 
 
 For all the days in all the years, 
 Each hour and every minute, 
 
 With Winter, Autumn, Summer, Spring, 
 Lie cramm'd together in it. 
 
HODIEENA. 
 
 175 
 
 ATLAS LOQUITUR. 
 
 Eorsitan exiguani videor tibi tollere molem, 
 
 Parvula nee pondus prodit imago suum. 
 
 Hie Vera, ^Estates, Auctumni Hyernesque premuntur, 
 Cumque suis horis ISToxque Diesque latent. 
 
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