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Trachiniai (Campbell Translation)

<h2>THE TRACHINIAN MAIDENS</h2> <h1>by SOPHOCLES</h1> <h3>THE PERSONS</h3> <ul class="TOC"> <li>DÊANIRA, wife of Heracles.</li> <li>An Attendant.</li> <li>HYLLUS, son of Heracles and Dêanira.</li> <li>CHORUS of Trachinian Maidens.</li> <li>A Messenger.</li> <li>LICHAS, the Herald.</li> <li>A Nurse.</li> <li>An Old Man.</li> <li>HERACLES.</li> <li>IOLE, who does not speak.</li> </ul> SCENE. Before the temporary abode of Heracles in Trachis. This tragedy is named from the Chorus. From the subject it might have been called ‘Deanira or the Death of Heracles’. The Centaur Nessus, in dying by the arrow of Heracles, which had been dipped in the venom of the Hydra, persuaded the bride Deanira, whose beauty was the cause of his death, to keep some of the blood from the wound as a love-charm for her husband. Many years afterwards, when Heracles was returning from his last exploit of sacking Oechalia, in Euboea, he sent before him, by his herald Lichas, Iole, the king’s daughter, whom he had espoused. Deanira, when she had discovered this, commissioned Lichas when he returned to present his master with a robe, which she had anointed with the charm,—hoping by this means to regain her lord’s affection. But the poison of the Hydra did its work, and Heracles died in agony, Deanira having already killed herself on ascertaining what she had done. The action takes place in Trachis, near the Mahae Gulf, where Heracles and Deanira, by permission of Ceyx, the king of the country, have been living in exile. At the close of the drama, Heracles, while yet alive, is carried towards his pyre on Mount Oeta. <h3>THE TRACHINIAN MAIDENS</h3> DÊANIRA. Men say,—’twas old experience gave the word, —‘No lot of mortal, ere he die, can once Be known for good or evil.’ But I know, Before I come to the dark dwelling-place, Mine is a lot, adverse and hard and sore. Who yet at Pleuron, in my father’s home, Of all Aetolian women had most cause To fear my bridal. For a river-god, Swift Achelôüs, was my suitor there And sought me from my father in three forms; Now in his own bull-likeness, now a serpent Of coiling sheen, and now with manlike build But bovine front, while from the shadowy beard Sprang fountain-waters in perpetual spray. Looking for such a husband, I, poor girl! Still prayed that Death might find me, ere I knew That nuptial.—Later, to my glad relief, Zeus’ and Alcmena’s glorious offspring came, And closed with him in conflict, and released My heart from torment. How the fight was won I could not tell. If any were who saw Unshaken of dread foreboding, such may speak. But I sate quailing with an anguished fear, Lest beauty might procure me nought but pain, Till He that rules the issue of all strife, Gave fortunate end—if fortunate! For since, Assigned by that day’s conquest, I have known The couch of Heracles, my life is spent In one continual terror for his fate. Night brings him, and, ere morning, some fresh toil Drives him afar. And I have borne him seed; Which he, like some strange husbandman that farms A distant field, finds but at sowing time And once in harvest. Such a weary life Still tossed him to and fro,—no sooner home But forth again, serving I know not whom. And when his glorious head had risen beyond These labours, came the strongest of my fear. For since he quelled the might of Iphitus, We here in Trachis dwell, far from our home, Dependent on a stranger, but where he Is gone, none knoweth. Only this I know, His going pierced my heart with pangs for him, And now I am all but sure he bears some woe. These fifteen months he hath sent me not one word. And I have cause for fear. Ere he set forth He left a scroll with me, whose dark intent I oft pray Heaven may bring no sorrow down. ATTENDANT. Queen Dêanira, many a time ere now Have I beheld thee with all tearful moan Bewailing the departure of thy lord. But, if it be permitted that a slave Should tender counsel to the free, my voice May venture this:—Of thy strong band of sons Why is not one commissioned to explore For Heracles? and why not Hyllus first, Whom most it would beseem to show regard For tidings of his father’s happiness? Ah! here I see him bounding home, with feet Apt for employment! If you count me wise, He and my words attend upon your will. Enter HYLLUS. DÊ. Dear child, dear boy! even from the lowliest head Wise counsel may come forth. This woman here, Though a bond-maiden, hath a free-born tongue. HYL. What word is spoken, mother? May I know? DÊ. That, with thy father lost to us so long, ’Tis shame thou dost not learn his dwelling-place. HYL. Yea, I have learnt, if one may trust report. DÊ. Where art thou told his seat is fixed, my son? HYL. ’Tis said that through the length of this past year He wrought as bondman to a Lydian girl. DÊ. Hath he borne that? Then nothing can be strange! HYL. Well, that is over, I am told. He is free. DÊ. Where is he rumoured, then, alive or dead? HYL. In rich Euboea, besieging, as they tell, The town of Eurytus, or offering siege. DÊ. Child, hast thou heard what holy oracles He left with me, touching that very land? HYL. What were they, mother, for I never knew? DÊ. That either he must end his being there, Or, this one feat performed, his following time Should grace his life with fair prosperity. Wilt thou not then, my child, when he is held In such a crisis of uncertain peril, Run to his aid?—since we must perish with him, Or owe our lasting safety to his life. HYL. I will go, mother. Had I heard this voice Of prophecy, long since I had been there. Fear is unwonted for our father’s lot. But now I know, my strength shall all be spent To learn the course of these affairs in full. DÊ. Go then, my son. Though late, to learn and do What wisdom bids, hath certainty of gain. [Exit HYLLUS. DÊANIRA withdraws CHORUS (entering and turning towards the East). Born of the starry night in her undoing,I 1 Lulled in her bosom at thy parting glow, O Sun! I bid thee show, What journey is Alcmena’s child pursuing? What region holds him now, ’Mong winding channels of the deep, Or Asian plains, or rugged Western steep? Declare it, thou Peerless in vision of thy flashing ray That lightens on the world with each new day. Sad Dêanira, bride of battle-wooing,I 2 [104-143] Ne’er lets her tearful eyelids close in rest, But in love-longing breast, Like some lorn bird its desolation rueing, Of her great husband’s way Still mindful, worn with harrowing fear Lest some new danger for him should be near, By night and day Pines on her widowed couch of ceaseless thought, With dread of evil destiny distraught:[Enter DÊANIRA. For many as are billows of the SouthII 1 Blowing unweariedly, or Northern gale, One going and another coming on Incessantly, baffling the gazer’s eye, Such Cretan ocean of unending toil Cradles our Cadmus-born, and swells his fame. But still some power doth his foot recall From stumbling down to Hades’ darkling hall. Wherefore, in censure of thy mood, I bringII 2 Glad, though opposing, counsel. Let not hope Grow weary. Never hath a painless life Been cast on mortals by the power supreme Of the All-disposer, Cronos’ son. But joy And sorrow visit in perpetual round All mortals, even as circleth still on high The constellation of the Northern sky. What lasteth in the world? Not starry night,III Nor wealth, nor tribulation; but is gone All suddenly, while to another soul The joy or the privation passeth on. These hopes I bid thee also, O my Queen! Hold fast continually, for who hath seen Zeus so forgetful of his own? How can his providence forsake his son? DÊ. I see you have been told of my distress, And that hath brought you. But my inward woe, Be it evermore unknown to you, as now! [144-179] Such the fair garden of untrammeled ease Where the young life grows safely. No fierce heat, No rain, no wind disturbs it, but unharmed It rises amid airs of peace and joy, Till maiden turn to matron, and the night Inherit her dark share of anxious thought, Haunted with fears for husband or for child. Then, imaged through her own calamity, Some one may guess the burden of my life. Full many have been the sorrows I have wept, But one above the rest I tell to-day. When my great husband parted last from home, He left within the house an ancient scroll Inscribed with characters of mystic note, Which Heracles had never heretofore, In former labours, cared to let me see,— As bound for bright achievement, not for death. But now, as though his life had end, he told What marriage-portion I must keep, what shares He left his sons out of their father’s ground: And set a time, when fifteen moons were spent, Counted from his departure, that even then Or he must die, or if that date were out And he had run beyond it, he should live Thenceforth a painless and untroubled life. Such by Heaven’s fiat was the promised end Of Heracles’ long labours, as he said; So once the ancient oak-tree had proclaimed In high Dodona through the sacred Doves. Of which prediction on this present hour In destined order of accomplishment The veritable issue doth depend. And I, dear friends, while taking rest, will oft Start from sweet slumbers with a sudden fear, Scared by the thought, my life may be bereft Of the best husband in the world of men. CH. Hush! For I see approaching one in haste, Garlanded, as if laden with good news. [180-212] Enter Messenger. MESSENGER. Queen Dêanira, mine shall be the tongue To free thee first from fear. Alcmena’s child Is living, be assured, and triumphing, And bringing to our Gods the fruits of war. DÊ. What mean’st thou, aged sir, by what thou sayest? MESS. That soon thy husband, envied all around, Will come, distinguished with victorious might. DÊ. What citizen or stranger told thee this? MESS. Your herald Lichas, where the oxen graze The summer meadow, cries this to a crowd. I, hearing, flew off hither, that being first To bring thee word thereof, I might be sure To win reward and gratitude from thee. DÊ. And how is he not here, if all be well? MESS. Crossed by no light impediment, my Queen. For all the Maliac people, gathering round, Throng him with question, that he cannot move. But he must still the travail of each soul, And none will be dismissed unsatisfied. Such willing audience he unwillingly Harangues, but soon himself will come in sight. DÊ. O Zeus! who rulest Oeta’s virgin wold, At last, though late, thou hast vouchsafed us joy. Lift up your voices, O my women! ye Within the halls, and ye beyond the gate! For now we reap the gladness of a ray, That dawns unhoped for in this rumour’s sound. CHORUS With a shout by the hearth let the palace roof ring From those that are dreaming of bridal, and ye, Young men, let your voices in harmony sing To the God of the quiver, the Lord of the free! And the Paean withal from the maiden band To Artemis, huntress of many a land, Let it rise o’er the glad roof tree, [213-243] To Phoebus’ own sister, with fire in each hand, And the Nymphs that her co-mates be! My spirit soars. O sovereign of my soul! I will accept the thrilling flute’s control.[They dance The ivy-crownèd thyrsus, see! With Bacchic fire is kindling me, And turns my emulous tread Where’er the mazy dance may lead. Euoî! Euoî! O Paean! send us joy. See, dearest Queen, behold! Before thy gaze the event will now unfold. DÊ. Think not mine eye hath kept such careless guard, Dear maids, that I could miss this moving train. Herald, I bid thee hail, although so late Appearing, if thou bringest health with thee! Enter LICHAS, with Captive Women. LICHAS. A happy welcome on a happy way, As prosperous our achievement. Meet it is Good words should greet bright actions, mistress mine! DÊ. Kind friend, first tell me what I first would know— Shall I receive my Heracles alive? LICH. I left him certainly alive and strong: Blooming in health, not with disease oppressed. DÊ. In Greece, or in some barbarous country? Tell! LICH. Euboea’s island hath a promontory, Where to Cenaean Zeus he consecrates Rich altars and the tribute of the ground. DÊ. Moved by an oracle, or from some vow? LICH. So vowed he when he conquered with the spear The country of these women whom you see. DÊ. And who, by Heaven, are they? Who was their sire? Their case is piteous, or eludes my thought. [244-280] LICH. He took them for the service of the Gods And his own house, when high Oechalia fell. DÊ. Was’t then before that city he was kept Those endless ages of uncounted time? LICH. Not so. The greater while he was detained Among the Lydians, sold, as he declares, To bondage. Nor be jealous of the word, Since Heaven, my Queen, was author of the deed. Enthrallèd so to Asian Omphalè, He, as himself avers, fulfilled his year. The felt reproach whereof so chafed his soul, He bound fierce curses on himself and sware That,—children, wife and all,—he yet would bring In captive chains the mover of this harm. Nor did this perish like an idle word, But, when the stain was off him, straight he drew Allied battalions to assault the town Of Eurytus, whom, sole of earthly powers, He had noted as the source of his annoy, Because, having received him in his hall A guest of ancient days, he burst on him With outrage of loud voice and villanous mind, Saying, ‘with his hand upon the unerring bow, Oechalia’s princes could o’ershoot his skill; And born to bondage, he must quail beneath His overlord’; lastly, to crown this cry, When at a banquet he was filled with wine, He flung him out of door. Whereat being wroth, When Iphitus to the Tirynthian height Followed the track where his brood-mares had strayed, He, while the thought and eye of the man by chance Were sundered, threw him from the tower-crowned cliff. In anger for which deed the Olympian King, Father of Gods and men, delivered him To be a bond-slave, nor could brook the offence, That of all lives he vanquished, this alone Should have been ta’en by guile. For had he wrought In open quittance of outrageous wrong, Even Zeus had granted that his cause was just. The braggart hath no favour even in Heaven. [281-316] Whence they, o’erweening with their evil tongue, Are now all dwellers in the house of death, Their ancient city a captive;—but these women Whom thou beholdest, from their blest estate Brought suddenly to taste of piteous woe, Come to thy care. This task thy wedded lord Ordained, and I, his faithful minister, Seek to perform. But, for his noble self, When with pure hands he hath done sacrifice To his Great Father for the victory given, Look for his coming, lady. This last word Of all my happy speech is far most sweet. CH. Now surety of delight is thine, my Queen, Part by report and part before thine eye. DÊ. Yea, now I learn this triumph of my lord, Joy reigns without a rival in my breast. This needs must run with that in fellowship. Yet wise consideration even of good Is flecked with fear of what reverse may come. And I, dear friends, when I behold these maids, Am visited with sadness deep and strange. Poor friendless beings, in a foreign land Wandering forlorn in homeless orphanhood! Erewhile, free daughters of a freeborn race, Now, snared in strong captivity for life. O Zeus of battles, breaker of the war, Ne’er may I see thee turn against my seed So cruelly; or, if thou meanest so, Let me be spared that sorrow by my death! Such fear in me the sight of these hath wrought. Who art thou, of all damsels most distressed? Single or child-bearing? Thy looks would say, A maid, of no mean lineage. Lichas, tell, Who is the stranger-nymph? Who gave her birth? Who was her sire? Mine eye hath pitied her O’er all, as she o’er all hath sense of woe. LICH. What know I? Why should’st thou demand? Perchance Not lowest in the list of souls there born. DÊ. How if a princess, offspring of their King? [317-348] LICH. I cannot tell. I did not question far. DÊ. Have none of her companions breathed her name? LICH. I brought them silently. I did not hear. DÊ. Yet speak it to us of thyself, poor maid! ’Tis sorrow not to know thee who thou art. LICH. She’ll ne’er untie her tongue, if she maintain An even tenor, since nor more nor less Would she disclose; but, poor unfortunate! With agonizing sobs and tears she mourns This crushing sorrow, from the day she left Her wind-swept home. Her case is cruel, sure,— And claims a privilege from all who feel. DÊ. Well, let her go, and pass beneath the roof In peace, as she desires; nor let fresh pain From me be added to her previous woe. She hath enough already. Come, away! Let’s all within at once, that thou mayest speed Thy journey, and I may order all things here. [Exit LICHAS, with Captives, into the house. DÊANIRA is about to follow them Re-enter Messenger. MESS. Pause first there on the threshold, till you learn (Apart from those) who ’tis you take within, And more besides that you yet know not of, Which deeply imports your knowing. Of all this I throughly am informed. DÊ. What cause hast thou Thus to arrest my going? MESS. Stand, and hear. Not idle was my former speech, nor this. DÊ. Say, must we call them back in presence here, Or would’st thou tell thy news to these and me? MESS. To thee and these I may, but let those be. DÊ. Well, they are gone. Let words declare thy drift. MESS. That man, in all that he hath lately said, Hath sinned against the truth: or now he’s false, Or else unfaithful in his first report. [349-384] DÊ. What? Tell me thy full meaning clearly forth. That thou hast uttered is all mystery. MESS. I heard this herald say, while many thronged To hearken, that this maiden was the cause, Why lofty-towered Oechalia and her lord Fell before Heracles, whom Love alone Of heavenly powers had warmed to this emprise, And not the Lydian thraldom or the tasks Of rigorous Omphalè, nor that wild fate Of rock-thrown Iphitus. Now he thrusts aside The Love-god, contradicting his first tale. When he that was her sire could not be brought To yield the maid for Heracles to hold In love unrecognized, he framed erelong A feud about some trifle, and set forth In arms against this damsel’s fatherland (Where Eurytus, the herald said, was king) And slew the chief her father; yea, and sacked Their city. Now returning, as you see, He sends her hither to his halls, no slave, Nor unregarded, lady,—dream not so! Since all his heart is kindled with desire. I, O my Queen! thought meet to show thee all The tale I chanced to gather from his mouth, Which many heard as well as I, i’ the midst Of Trachis’ market-place, and can confirm My witness. I am pained if my plain speech Sound harshly, but the honest truth I tell. DÊ. Ah me! Where am I? Whither am I fallen? What hidden woe have I unwarily Taken beneath my roof? O misery! Was she unknown, as he that brought her sware? MESS. Nay, most distinguished both in birth and mien; Called in her day of freedom Iolè, Eurytus’ daughter,—of whose parentage, Forsooth as ignorant, he ne’er would speak. CH. I curse not all the wicked, but the man Whose secret practices deform his life. [385-413] DÊ. Say, maidens, how must I proceed? The words Now spoken have bewildered all my mind. CH. Go in and question Lichas, who perchance Will tell the truth if you but tax him home. DÊ. I will; you counsel reasonably. MESS. And I, Shall I bide here till thou com’st forth? Or how? DÊ. Remain. For see, without my sending for him, He issueth from the palace of himself. Enter LICHAS. LICH. What message must I carry to my lord? Tell me, my Queen. I am going, as thou seest. DÊ. So slow in coming, and so quickly flown, Ere one have time to talk with thee anew! LICH. What wouldst thou ask me? I am bent to hear. DÊ. And art thou bent on truth in the reply? LICH. By Heaven! in all that I have knowledge of. DÊ. Then tell me, who is she thou brought’st with thee? LICH. An islander. I cannot trace her stock. MESS. Look hither, man. Who is’t to whom thou speakest? LICH. Why such a question? What is thine intent? MESS. Nay, start not, but make answer if thou knowest. LICH. To Dêanira, Oeneus’ queenly child, Heracles’ wife,—if these mine eyes be true,— My mistress. MESS. Ay, that is the very word I longed to hear thee speak. Thy mistress, sayest? LICH. To whom I am bound. MESS. Hold there! What punishment Wilt thou accept, if thou art found to be Faithless to her? LICH. I faithless! What dark speech Hast thou contrived? MESS. Not I at all. ’Tis thou Dost wrap thy thoughts i’ the dark. [414-448] LICH. Well, I will go. ’Tis folly to have heard thee for so long. MESS. You go not till you answer one word more. LICH. One, or a thousand! You’ll not stint, I see. MESS. Thou knowest the captive maid thou leddest home? LICH. I do. But wherefore ask? MESS. Did you not say That she, on whom you look with ignorant eye, Was Iolè, the daughter of the King, Committed to your charge? LICH. Where? Among whom? What witness of such words will bear thee out? MESS. Many and sound. A goodly company In Trachis’ market-place heard thee speak this. LICH. Ay. I said ’twas rumoured. But I could not give My vague impression for advised report. MESS. Impression, quotha! Did you not on oath Proclaim your captive for your master’s bride? LICH. My master’s bride! Dear lady, by the Gods, Who is the stranger? for I know him not. MESS. One who was present where he heard thee tell, How that whole city was subdued and taken, Not for the bondage to the Lydian girl, But through the longing passion for this maid. LICH. Dear lady, let the fellow be removed. To prate with madmen is mere foolishness. DÊ. Nay, I entreat thee by His name, whose fire Lightens down Oeta’s topmost glen, be not A niggard of the truth. Thou tell’st thy tale To no weak woman, but to one who knows Mankind are never constant to one joy. Whoso would buffet Love, aspires in vain. For Love leads even Immortals at his will, And me. Then how not others, like to me? ’Twere madness, sure, in me to blame my lord When this hath caught him, or the woman there, His innocent accomplice in a thing, No shame to either, and no harm to me. [449-490] It is not so. But if from him thou learnest The lore of falsehood, it were best unlearnt; Or if the instruction comes of thine own thought, Such would-be kindness doth not prove thee kind. Then tell me all the truth. To one free-born The name of liar is a hateful lot. And thou canst not be hid. Thy news was heard By many, who will tell me. If thou fearest, Thou hast no cause—for doubtfulness is pain, But to know all, what harm? His loves ere now Were they not manifold? And none hath borne Reproach or evil word from me. She shall not, Though his new passion were as strong as death; Since most mine eye hath pitied her, because Her beauty was the ruin of her life, And all unweeting, she her own bright land, Poor hapless one! hath ravaged and enslaved.— Let that be as it must. But for thy part, Though false to others, be still true to me. CH. ’Tis fairly said. Comply. Thou ne’er wilt blame Her faithfulness, and thou wilt earn our loves. LICH. Yea, dear my Queen, now I have seen thee hold Thy mortal wishes within mortal bound So meekly, I will freely tell thee all. It is as he avers. This maiden’s love, Piercing through Heracles, was the sole cause, Why her Oechalia, land of plenteous woe, Was made the conquest of his spear. And he— For I dare so far clear him—never bade Concealment or denial. But myself, Fearing the word might wound thy queenly heart, Sinned, if thou count such tenderness a sin. But now that all is known, for both your sakes, His, and thine own no less, look favouringly Upon the woman, and confirm the word Thou here hast spoken in regard to her:— For he, whose might is in all else supreme, Is wholly overmastered by her love. DÊ. Yea, so my mind is bent. I will do so. [491-519] I will not, in a bootless strife ’gainst Heaven, Augment my misery with self-sought ill. Come, go we in, that thou may’st bear from me Such message as is meet, and also carry Gifts, such as are befitting to return For gifts new-given. Thou ought’st not to depart Unladen, having brought so much with thee.[Exeunt CHORUS. Victorious in her might,I 1 The Queen of soft delight Still ranges onward with triumphant sway. What she from Kronos’ son And strong Poseidon won, And Pluto, King of Night, I durst not say. But who, to earn this bride, Came forth in sinewy pride To strive, or e’er the nuptial might be known With fearless heart I tell What heroes wrestled well, With showering blows, and dust in clouds upthrown. One was a river bold,I 2 Horn-crowned, with tramp fourfold, Bull Achelôüs, Acarnania’s Fear; And one from Bacchus’ town, Own son of Zeus, came down, With brandished mace, bent bow, and barbèd spear. Who then in battle brunt, Together, front to front, Hurled, eager both to win the beauteous prize; And Cypris ’mid the fray Alone, that dreadful day, Sate umpire, holding promise in her eyes. Then clashed the fist, then clanged the bow;II Then horns gave crashing blow for blow, Whilst, as they clung, [520-555] The twining hip throw both essay And hurtling foreheads’ fearful play, And groans from each were wrung. But the tender fair one far away Sate watching with an eye of piteous cheer (A mother’s heart will heed the thing I say,) Till won by him who freed her from her fear. Sudden she leaves her mother’s gentle side, Borne through the waste, our hero’s tender bride. Enter DÊANIRA. DÊ. Dear friends, while yonder herald in the house Holds converse with the captives ere he go, I have stol’n forth to you, partly to tell The craft my hand hath compassed, and in part, To crave your pity for my wretchedness. For I have taken to my hearth a maid,— And yet, methinks, no maiden any more, Like some fond shipmaster, taking on board A cargo fraught with treason to my heart. And now we two are closed in one embrace Beneath one coverlet. Such generous meed For faith in guarding home this dreary while Hath the kind Heracles our trusty spouse, Sent in return! Yet, oft as he hath caught This same distemperature, I know not how To harbour indignation against him. But who that is a woman could endure To dwell with her, both married to one man? One bloom is still advancing, one doth fade. The budding flower is cropped, the full-blown head Is left to wither, while love passeth by Unheeding. Wherefore I am sore afraid He will be called my husband, but her mate, For she is younger. Yet no prudent wife Would take this angerly, as I have said. But, dear ones, I will tell you of a way, Whereof I have bethought me, to prevent This heart-break. I had hidden of long time [555-591] In a bronze urn the ancient Centaur’s gift, Which I, when a mere girl, culled from the wound Of hairy-breasted Nessus in his death. He o’er Evenus’ rolling depths, for hire, Ferried wayfarers on his arm, not plying Or rowing-boat, or canvas-wingèd bark. Who, when with Heracles, a new-made bride, I followed by my father’s sending forth, Shouldering me too, in the mid-stream, annoyed With wanton touch. And I cried out; and he, Zeus’ son, turned suddenly, and from his bow Sent a wing’d shaft, that whizzed into his chest To the lungs. Then the weird Thing, with dying voice Spake to me:—‘Child of aged Oeneüs, Since thou wert my last burden, thou shalt win Some profit from mine act, if thou wilt do What now I bid thee. With a careful hand Collect and bear away the clotted gore That clogs my wound, e’en where the monster snake Had dyed the arrow with dark tinct of gall; And thou shalt have this as a charm of soul For Heracles, that never through the eye Shall he receive another love than thine.’ Whereof bethinking me, for since his death I kept it in a closet locked with care, I have applied it to this robe, with such Addition as his living voice ordained.— The thing is done. No criminal attempts Could e’er be mine. Far be they from my thought, As I abhor the woman who conceives them! But if by any means through gentle spells And bonds on Heracles’ affection, we May triumph o’er this maiden in his heart, My scheme is perfected. Unless you deem Mine action wild. If so, I will desist. CH. If any ground of confidence approve Thine act, we cannot check thy counsel here. DÊ. My confidence is grounded on belief, Though unconfirmed as yet by actual proof. [592-627] CH. Well, do it and try. Assurance cannot come Till action bring experience after it. DÊ. The truth will soon be known. The man e’en now Is coming forth, and quickly will be there. Screen ye but well my counsel. Doubtful deeds, Wrapt close, will not deliver us to shame. Enter LICHAS. LICH. Daughter of Oeneus, tell me thy commands. Already time rebukes our tardiness. DÊ. Even that hath been my care, Lichas, while thou Wert talking to the stranger-maids within, That thou shouldst take for me this finewoven web, A present from these fingers to my lord. And when thou giv’st it, say that none of men Must wear it on his shoulders before him; And neither light of sun may look upon it, Nor holy temple-court, nor household flame, Till he in open station ’fore the Gods Display it on a day when bulls are slaughtered. So once I vowed, that should I ever see Or hear his safe return, I would enfold His glorious person in this robe, and show To all the Gods in doing sacrifice Him a fresh worshipper in fresh array.— The truth hereof he will with ease descry Betokened on this treasure-guarding seal.— Now go, and be advised, of this in chief, To act within thine office; then of this, To bear thee so, that from his thanks and mine Meeting in one, a twofold grace may spring. LICH. If this my Hermes-craft be firm and sure, Then never will I fail thee, O my Queen! But I will show the casket as it is To whom I bear it, and in faithfulness Add all the words thou sendest in fit place. DÊ. Go, then, at once. Thou hast full cognizance How things within the palace are preserved? LICH. I know, and will declare. There is no flaw. [628-662] DÊ. Methinks thou knowest too, for thou hast seen, My kind reception of the stranger-maid? LICH. I saw, and was amazed with heart-struck joy. DÊ. What more is there to tell?—Too rash, I fear, Were thy report of longing on my part, Till we can learn if we be longed for there.[Exeunt severally CHORUS. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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