Place on their heads that crown distain’d with gore,
Which these dire hands from my slain father tore;
Go! and a parent’s heavy curses bear; 115
Break all the bonds of Nature, and prepare
Their kindred souls to mutual hate and war.
Give them to dare, what I might wish to see,
Blind as I am, some glorious villany!
Soon shalt thou find, if thou but arm their hands, 120
Their ready guilt preventing thy commands:
Couldst thou some great proportion’d mischief frame,
They’d prove the father from whose loins they came.’
The Fury heard, while on Cocytus’ brink
Her snakes, untied, sulphureous waters drink; 125
But at the summons roll’d her eyes around,
And snatch’d the starting serpents from the ground.
Not half so swiftly shoots along in air
The gliding lightning or descending star.
Thro’ crowds of airy shades she wing’d her flight, 130
And dark dominions of the silent night;
Swift as she pass’d the flitting ghosts withdrew,
And the pale spectres trembled at her view:
To th’ iron gates of Tenarus she flies,
There spreads her dusky pinions to the skies. 135
The Day beheld, and, sick’ning at the sight,
Veil’d her fair glories in the shades of night.
Affrighted Atlas on the distant shore
Trembled, and shook the heav’ns and Gods he bore.
Now from beneath Malea’s airy height 140
Aloft she sprung, and steer’d to Thebes her flight;
With eager speed the well known journey took,
Nor here regrets the Hell she late forsook.
A hundred snakes her gloomy visage shade,
A hundred serpents guard her horrid head; 145
In her sunk eyeballs dreadful meteors glow:
Such rays from Phœbe’s bloody circle flow,
When, lab’ring with strong charms, she shoots from high
A fiery gleam, and reddens all the sky.
Blood stain’d her cheeks, and from her mouth there came 150
Blue steaming poisons, and a length of flame.
From every blast of her contagious breath
Famine and Drought proceed, and Plagues and Death.
A robe obscene was o’er her shoulders thrown,
A dress by Fates and Furies worn alone. 155
She toss’d her meagre arms; her better hand
In waving circles whirl’d a funeral brand;
A serpent from her left was seen to rear
His flaming crest, and lash the yielding air.
But when the Fury took her stand on high, 160
Where vast Cithæron’s top salutes the sky,
A hiss from all the snaky tire went round:
The dreadful signal all the rocks rebound,
And thro’ th’ Achaian cities send the sound.
Œte, with high Parnassus, heard the voice; 165
Eurotas’ banks remurmur’d to the noise;
Again Leucothea shook at these alarms,
And press’d Palæmon closer in her arms.
Headlong from thence the glowing Fury springs,
And o’er the Theban palace spreads her wings, 170
Once more invades the guilty dome, and shrouds
Its bright pavilions in a veil of clouds.
Straight with the rage of all their race possest,
Stung to the soul, the brothers start from rest,
And all their furies wake within their breast: 175
Their tortured minds repining Envy tears,
And Hate, engender’d by suspicious Fears;
And sacred thirst of Sway, and all the ties
Of Nature broke, and royal Perjuries;
And impotent desire to reign alone, 180
That scorns the dull reversion of a throne:
Each would the sweets of sov’reign Rule devour,
While Discord waits upon divided power.
As stubborn steers, by brawny ploughmen broke,
And join’d reluctant to the galling yoke, 185
Alike disdain with servile necks to bear
Th’ unwonted weight, or drag the crooked share,
But rend the reins, and bound a diff’rent way,
And all the furrows in confusion lay:
Such was the discord of the royal pair 190
Whom fury drove precipitate to war.
In vain the chiefs contrived a specious way
To govern Thebes by their alternate sway:
Unjust decree! while this enjoys the state,
That mourns in exile his unequal fate, 195
And the short monarch of a hasty year
Foresees with anguish his returning heir.
Thus did the league their impious arms restrain,
But scarce subsisted to the second reign.
Yet then no proud aspiring piles were rais’d, 200
No fretted roofs with polish’d metals blazed;
No labour’d columns in long order placed,
No Grecian stone the pompous arches graced;
No nightly bands in glitt’ring armour wait
Before the sleepless tyrant’s guarded gate; 205
No charges then were wrought in burnish’d gold,
Nor silver vases took the forming mould;
Nor gems on bowls emboss’d were seen to shine,
Blaze on the brims, and sparkle in the wine.
Say, wretched rivals! what provokes your rage? 210
Say to what end your impious arms engage?
Not all bright Phœbus views in early morn,
Or when his ev’ning beams the west adorn,
When the South glows with his meridian ray,
And the cold North receives a fainter day — 215
For crimes like these not all those realms suffice,
Were all those realms the guilty victor’s prize!
But Fortune now (the lots of empire thrown)
Decrees to proud Eteocles the crown.
What joys, O Tyrant! swell’d thy soul that day, 220
When all were slaves thou could’st around survey,
Pleas’d to behold unbounded power thy own,
And singly fill a fear’d and envied throne!
But the vile vulgar, ever discontent,
Their growing fears in secret murmurs vent; 225
Still prone to change, tho’ still the slaves of state,
And sure the monarch whom they have to hate;
New lords they madly make, then tamely bear,
And softly curse the tyrants whom they fear.
And one of those who groan beneath the sway 230
Of kings imposed, and grudgingly obey,
(Whom Envy to the great, and vulgar Spite,
With Scandal arm’d, th’ ignoble mind’s delight)
Exclaim’d—”O Thebes! for thee what fates remain,
What woes attend this unauspicious reign? 235
Must we, alas! our doubtful necks prepare
Each haughty master’s yoke by turns to bear,
And still to change whom changed we still must fear?
These now control a wretched people’s fate,
These can divide, and these reverse the state: 240
Ev’n Fortune rules no more — O servile land,
Where exiled tyrants still by turns command!
Thou Sire of Gods and men, imperial Jove!
Is this th’ eternal doom decreed above?
On thy own offspring hast thou fix’d this fate 245
From the first birth of our unhappy state,
When banish’d Cadmus, wand’ring o’er the main,
For lost Europa search’d the world in vain,
And fated in Bœotian fields to found
A rising empire on a foreign ground, 250
First rais’d our walls on that ill-omen’d plain
Where earth-born brothers were by brothers slain?
What lofty looks th’ unrivall’d monarch bears!
How all the Tyrant in his face appears!
What sullen fury clouds his scornful brow! 255
Gods! how his eyes with threat’ning ardour glow!
Can this imperious lord forget to reign,
Quit all his state, descend, and serve again?
Yet who before more popularly bow’d?
Who more propitious to the suppliant crowd? 260
Patient of right, familiar in the throne,
What wonder then? he was not then alone.
Oh wretched we! a vile submissive train,
Fortune’s tame fools, and slaves in every reign!
‘As when two winds with rival force contend, 265
This way and that the wavering sails they bend,
While freezing Boreas and black Eurus blow,
Now here, now there the reeling vessel throw;
Thus on each side, alas! our tott’ring state
Feels all the fury of resistless Fate, 270
And doubtful still, and still distracted stands,
While that prince threatens, and while this commands.’
And now th’ almighty Father of the Gods
Convenes a council in the bless’d abodes.
Far in the bright recesses of the skies, 275
High o’er the rolling heav’ns, a mansion lies,
Whence, far below, the Gods at once survey
The realms of rising and declining day,
And all th’ extended space of earth, and air, and sea.
Full in the midst, and on a starry throne, 280
The Majesty of Heav’n superior shone:
Serene he look’d, and gave an awful nod,
And all the trembling spheres confess’d the God.
At Jove’s assent the deities around
In solemn state the consistory crown’d. 285
Next a long order of inferior powers
Ascend from hills, and plains, and shady bowers;
Those from whose urns the rolling rivers flow,
And those that give the wand’ring winds to blow:
Here all their rage and ev’n their murmurs cease, 290
And sacred Silence reigns, and universal Peace.
A shining synod of majestic Gods
Gilds with new lustre the divine abodes:
Heav’n seems improv’d with a superior ray,
And the bright arch reflects a double day. 295
The Monarch then his solemn silence broke,
The still creation listen’d while he spoke;
Each sacred accent bears eternal weight,
And each irrevocable word is Fate.
‘How long shall man the wrath of Heav’n defy, 300
And force unwilling vengeance from the sky?
O race confed’rate into crimes, that prove
Triumphant o’er th’ eluded rage of Jove!
This wearied arm can scarce the bolt sustain,
And unregarded thunder rolls in vain: 305
Th’ o’erlabour’d Cyclop from his task retires,
Th’ Æolian forge exhausted of its fires.
For this I suffer’d Phœbus’ steeds to stray,
And the mad ruler to misguide the day,
When the wide earth to heaps of ashes turn’d, 310
And Heav’n itself the wand’ring chariot burn’d;
For this my brother of the wat’ry reign
Releas’d th’ impetuous sluices of the main;
But flames consumed, and billows raged in vain.
Two races now, allied to Jove, offend; 315
To punish these, see Jove himself descend.
The Theban kings their line from Cadmus trace,
From godlike Perseus those of Argive race.
Unhappy Cadmus’ fate who does not know,
And the long series of succeeding woe? 320
How oft the Furies from the deeps of night
Arose, and mix’d with men in mortal fight;
Th’ exulting mother stain’d with filial blood,
The savage hunter and the haunted wood?
The direful banquet why should I proclaim, 325
And crimes that grieve the trembling Gods to name?
Ere I recount the sins of these profane,
The sun would sink into the western main,
And, rising, gild the radiant east again.
Have we not seen (the blood of Laius shed) 330
The murd’ring son ascend his parent’s bed,
Thro’ violated Nature force his way,
And stain the sacred womb where once he lay?
Yet now in darkness and despair he groans,
And for the crimes of guilty Fate atones; 335
His sons with scorn their eyeless father view,
Insult his wounds, and make them bleed anew.
Thy curse, O Œdipus! just Heav’n alarms,
And sets th’ avenging Thunderer in arms.
I from the root thy guilty race will tear, 340
And give the nations to the waste of war.
Adrastus soon, with Gods averse, shall join
In dire alliance with the Theban line;
Hence strife shall rise, and mortal war succeed;
The guilty realms of Tantalus shall bleed: 345
Fix’d is their doom. This all-rememb’ring breast
Yet harbours vengeance for the tyrant’s feast.’
He said; and thus the Queen of Heav’n return’d
(With sudden grief her lab’ring bosom burn’d):
‘Must I, whose cares Phoroneus’ towers defend, 350
Must I, O Jove! in bloody wars contend?
Thou know’st those regions my protection claim,
Glorious in Arms, in Riches, and in Fame:
Tho’ there the fair Egyptian heifer fed,
And there deluded Argus slept and bled; 355
Tho’ there the brazen tower was storm’d of old,
When Jove descended in almighty gold!
Yet I can pardon those obscurer rapes,
Those bashful crimes disguis’d in borrow’d shapes;
But Thebes, where, shining in celestial charms, 360
Thou camest triumphant to a mortal’s arms,
When all my glories o’er her limbs were spread,
And blazing lightnings danced around her bed;
Curs’d Thebes the vengeance it deserves may prove —
Ah! why should Argos feel the rage of Jove? 365
Yet since thou wilt thy sister-queen control,
Since still the lust of Discord fires thy soul,
Go, raze my Samos, let Mycene fall,
And level with the dust the Spartan wall;
No more let mortals Juno’s power invoke, 370
Her fanes no more with eastern incense smoke,
Nor victims sink beneath the sacred stroke;
But to your Isis all my rights transfer,
Let altars blaze and temples smoke for her!
For her, thro’ Egypt’s fruitful clime renown’d, 375
Let weeping Nilus hear the timbrel sound.
But if thou must reform the stubborn times,
Avenging on the sons the fathers’ crimes,
And from the long records of distant age
Derive incitements to renew thy rage; 380
Say, from what period then has Jove design’d
To date his vengeance? to what bounds confin’d?
Begin from thence, where first Alpheus hides
His wand’ring stream, and thro’ the briny tides
Unmix’d to his Sicilian river glides. 385
Thy own Arcadians there the thunder claim,
Whose impious rites disgrace thy mighty name;
Who raise thy temples where the chariot stood
Of fierce Œnomaüs, defil’d with blood;
Where once his steeds their savage banquet found, 390
And human bones yet whiten all the ground.
Say, can those honours please? and canst thou love
Presumptuous Crete, that boasts the tomb of Jove?
And shall not Tantalus’s kingdoms share
Thy wife and sister’s tutelary care? 395
Reverse, O Jove! thy too severe decree,
Nor doom to war a race derived from thee;
On impious realms and barb’rous kings impose
Thy plagues, and curse them with such sons as those.’
Thus in reproach and prayer the Queen exprest 400
The rage and grief contending in her breast;
Unmov’d remain’d the Ruler of the Sky,
And from his throne return’d this stern reply:
‘T was thus I deem’d thy haughty soul would bear
The dire tho’ just revenge which I prepare 405
Against a nation thy peculiar care:
No less Dione might for Thebes contend,
Nor Bacchus less his native town defend;
Yet these in silence see the Fates fulfil
Their work, and rev’rence our superior will: 410
For by the black infernal Styx I swear
(That dreadful oath which binds the Thunderer)
‘T is fix’d, th’ irrevocable doom of Jove;
No Force can bend me, no Persuasion move.
Haste then, Cyllenius, thro’ the liquid air; 415
Go, mount the winds, and to the shades repair;
Bid Hell’s black monarch my commands obey,
And give up Laius to the realms of day,
Whose ghost yet shiv’ring on Cocytus’ sand
Expects its passage to the further strand: 420
Let the pale sire revisit Thebes, and bear
These pleasing orders to the tyrant’s ear;
That from his exiled brother, swell’d with pride
Of foreign forces and his Argive bride,
Almighty Jove commands him to detain 425
The promis’d empire, and alternate reign:
Be this the cause of more than mortal hate;
The rest succeeding times shall ripen into Fate.’
The God obeys, and to his feet applies
Those golden wings that cut the yielding skies; 430
His ample hat his beamy locks o’erspread,
And veil’d the starry glories of his head.
He seiz’d the wand that causes sleep to fly,
Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye;
That drives the dead to dark Tartarean coasts, 435
Or back to life compels the wand’ring ghosts.
Thus thro’ the parting clouds the son of May
Wings on the whistling winds his rapid way;
Now smoothly steers thro’ air his equal flight,
Now springs aloft, and towers th’ ethereal height; 440
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 2
