Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series
Page 298
Returning from the unsunned depths where dwells
Haides’ wife Koré, let me not affront
Those gods beneath my roof I first should hail!
AMPHITRUON.
For didst thou really visit Haides, son?
HERAKLES.
Ay — dragged to light, too, his three-headed beast.
AMPHITRUON.
By fight didst conquer, or through Koré’s gift?
HERAKLES.
Fight: well for me, I saw the Orgies first!
AMPHITRUON.
And is he in Eurustheus’ house, the brute?
HERAKLES.
Chthonia’s grove, Hermion’s city, hold him now.
AMPHITRUON.
Does not Eurustheus know thee back on earth?
HERAKLES.
No: I would come first and see matters here.
AMPHITRUON.
But how wast thou below ground such a time?
HERAKLES.
I stopped, from Haides, bringing Theseus up.
AMPHITRUON.
And where is he? — bound o’er the plain for home?
HERAKLES.
Gone glad to Athens — Haides’ fugitive!
But, up, boys! follow father into house!
There’s a far better going-in for you
Truly, than going-out was! Nay, take heart,
And let the eyes no longer run and run!
And thou, O wife, my own, collect thy soul
Nor tremble now! Leave grasping, all of you,
My garments! I’m not winged, nor fly from friends!
Ah, —
No letting go for these, who all the more
Hang to my garments! Did you foot indeed
The razor’s edge? Why, then I’ll carry them —
Take with my hands these small craft up, and tow
Just as a ship would. There! don’t fear I shirk
My children’s service! this way, men are men,
No difference! best and worst, they love their boys
After one fashion: wealth they differ in —
Some have it, others not; but each and all
Combine to form the children-loving race.
CHOROS.
Youth is a pleasant burthen to me;
But age on my head, more heavily
Than the crags of Aitna, weighs and weighs,
And darkening cloaks the lids and intercepts the rays.
Never be mine the preference
Of an Asian empire’s wealth, nor yet
Of a house all gold, to youth, to youth
That’s beauty, whatever the gods dispense!
Whether in wealth we joy, or fret
Paupers, — of all God’s gifts most beautiful, in truth!
But miserable murderous age I hate!
Let it go to wreck, the waves adown,
Nor ever by rights plague tower or town
Where mortals bide, but still elate
With wings, on ether, precipitate,
Wander them round — nor wait!
But if the gods, to man’s degree,
Had wit and wisdom, they would bring
Mankind a twofold youth, to be
Their virtue’s sign-mark, all should see,
In those with whom life’s winter thus grew spring.
For when they died, into the sun once more
Would they have traversed twice life’s racecourse o’er;
While ignobility had simply run
Existence through, nor second life begun.
And so might we discern both bad and good
As surely as the starry multitude
Is numbered by the sailors, one and one.
But now the gods by no apparent line
Limit the worthy and the base define;
Only, a certain period rounds, and so
Brings man more wealth, — but youthful vigour, no!
Well! I am not to pause
Mingling together — wine and wine in cup —
The Graces with the Muses up —
Most dulcet marriage: loosed from music’s laws,
No life for me!
But where the wreaths abound, there ever may I be!
And still, an aged bard, I shout Mnemosuné —
Still chant of Herakles the triumph-chant,
Companioned by the seven-stringed tortoise-shell
And Libuan flute, and Bromios’ self as well,
God of the grape, with man participant!
Not yet will we arrest their glad advance —
The Muses who so long have led me forth to dance!
A paian — hymn the Delian girls indeed,
Weaving a beauteous measure in and out
His temple-gates, Latona’s goodly seed;
And paians — I too, these thy domes about,
From these grey cheeks, my king, will swan-like shout —
Old songster! Ay, in song it starts off brave —
“Zeus’ son is he!” and yet, such grace of birth
Surpassing far, to man his labours gave
Existence, one calm flow without a wave,
Having destroyed the beasts, the terrors of the earth.
LUKOS.
From out the house Amphitruon comes — in time!
For ‘t is a long while now since ye bedecked
Your bodies with the dead-folk’s finery.
But quick! the boys and wife of Herakles —
Bid them appear outside this house, keep pact
To die, and need no bidding but your own!
AMPHITRUON.
King! you press hard on me sore-pressed enough,
And give me scorn — beside my dead ones here.
Meet in such matters were it, though you reign,
To temper zeal with moderation. Since
You do impose on us the need to die —
Needs must we love our lot, obey your will.
LUKOS.
Where’s Megara, then? Alkmené’s grandsons, where?
AMPHITRUON.
She, I think, — as one figures from outside, —
LUKOS.
Well, this same thinking, — what affords its ground?
AMPHITRUON.
— Sits suppliant on the holy altar-steps, —
LUKOS.
Idly indeed a suppliant to save life!
AMPHITRUON.
— And calls on her dead husband, vainly too!
LUKOS.
For he’s not come, nor ever will arrive.
AMPHITRUON.
Never — at least, if no god raise him up.
LUKOS.
Go to her, and conduct her from the house!
AMPHITRUON.
I should partake the murder, doing that.
LUKOS.
We, — since thou hast a scruple in the case, —
Outside of fears, we shall march forth these lads,
Mother and all. Here, follow me, my folk —
And gladly so remove what stops our toils!
AMPHITRUON.
Thou — go then! March where needs must! What remains —
Perhaps concerns another. Doing ill,
Expect some ill be done thee!
Ha, old friends!
On he strides beautifully! in the toils
O’ the net, where swords spring forth, will he be fast —
Minded to kill his neighbours — the arch-knave!
I go, too — I must see the falling corpse!
For he has sweets to give — a dying man,
Your foe, that pays the price of deeds he did.
CHOROS.
Troubles are over! He the great king once
Turns the point, tends for Haides, goal of life!
O justice, and the gods’ back-flowing fate!
AMPHITRUON.
Thou art come, late indeed, where death pays crime —
These insults heaped on better than thyself!
CHOROS.
Joy gives this outb
urst to my tears! Again
Come round those deeds, his doing, which of old
He never dreamed himself was to endure —
King of the country! But enough, old man!
Indoors, now, let us see how matters stand —
If somebody be faring as I wish!
LUKOS.
Ah me — me!
CHOROS.
This strikes the keynote — music to my mind,
Merry i’ the household! Death takes up the tune!
The king gives voice, groans murder’s prelude well!
LUKOS.
O, all the land of Kadmos! slain by guile!
CHOROS.
Ay, for who slew first? Paying back thy due,
Resign thee! make, for deeds done, mere amends!
Who was it grazed the gods through lawlessness —
Mortal himself, threw up his fool’s-conceit
Against the blessed heavenly ones — as though
Gods had no power? Old friends, the impious man
Exists not any more! The house is mute.
Turn we to song and dance! For, those I love,
Those I wish well to, well fare they, to wish!
Dances, dances and banqueting
To Thebes, the sacred city through,
Are a care! for, change and change
Of tears to laughter, old to new,
Our lays, glad birth, they bring, they bring!
He is gone and past, the mighty king!
And the old one reigns, returned — O strange!
From the Acherontian harbour too!
Advent of hope, beyond thought’s widest range!
To the gods, the gods, are crimes a care,
And they watch our virtue, well aware
That gold and that prosperity drive man
Out of his mind — those charioteers who hale
Might-without-right behind them: face who can
Fortune’s reverse which time prepares, nor quail?
— He who evades law and in lawlessness
Delights him, — he has broken down his trust —
The chariot, riches haled — now blackening in the dust!
Ismenos, go thou garlanded!
Break into dance, ye ways, the polished bed
O’ the seven-gated city! Dirké, thou
Fair-flowing, with the Asopiad sisters all,
Leave your sire’s stream, attend the festival
Of Herakles, one choir of nymphs, sing triumph now!
O woody rock of Puthios and each home
O’ the Helikonian Muses, ye shall come
With joyous shouting to my walls, my town
Where saw the light that Spartan race, those “Sown,”
Brazen-shield-bearing chiefs, whereof the band
With children’s children renovates our land,
To Thebes a sacred light!
O combination of the marriage rite —
Bed of the mortal-born and Zeus, who couched
Beside the nymph of Perseus’ progeny!
For credible, past hope, becomes to me
That nuptial story long ago avouched,
O Zeus! and time has turned the dark to bright,
And made one blaze of truth the Herakleidan might —
His, who emerged from earth’s pavilion, left
Plouton’s abode, the nether palace-cleft.
Thou wast the lord that nature gave me — not
That baseness born and bred — my king, by lot!
— Baseness made plain to all, who now regard
The match of sword with sword in fight, —
If to the gods the Just and Right
Still pleasing be, still claim the palm’s award.
Horror!
Are we come to the self-same passion of fear,
Old friends? — such a phantasm fronts me here
Visible over the palace-roof!
In flight, in flight, the laggard limb
Bestir! and haste aloof
From that on the roof there — grand and grim!
O Paian, king!
Be thou my safeguard from the woeful thing!
IRIS.
Courage, old men! beholding here — Night’s birth —
Madness, and me the handmaid of the gods,
Iris: since to your town we come, no plague —
Wage war against the house of but one man
From Zeus and from Alkmené sprung, they say.
Now, till he made an end of bitter toils,
Fate kept him safe, nor did his father Zeus
Let us once hurt him, Heré nor myself.
But, since he has toiled through Eurustheus’ task,
Heré desires to fix fresh blood on him —
Slaying his children: I desire it too.
Up then, collecting the unsoftened heart,
Unwedded virgin of black Night! Drive, drag
Frenzy upon the man here — whirls of brain
Big with child-murder, while his feet leap gay!
Let go the bloody cable its whole length!
So that, — when o’er the Acherousian ford
He has sent floating, by self-homicide,
His beautiful boy-garland, — he may know
First, Heré’s anger, what it is to him,
And then learn mine. The gods are vile indeed
And mortal matters vast, if he ‘scape free!
MADNESS.
Certes, from well-born sire and mother too
Had I my birth, whose blood is Night’s and Heaven’s;
But here’s my glory, — not to grudge the good!
Nor love I raids against the friends of man.
I wish, then, to persuade, — before I see
You stumbling, you and Heré! trust my words!
This man, the house of whom ye hound me to,
Is not unfamed on earth nor gods among;
Since, having quelled waste land and savage sea,
He alone raised again the falling rights
Of gods — gone ruinous through impious men.
Desire no mighty mischief, I advise!
IRIS.
Give thou no thought to Heré’s faulty schemes!
MADNESS.
Changing her step from faulty to fault-free!
IRIS.
Not to be wise, did Zeus’ wife send thee here.
MADNESS.
Sun, thee I cite to witness — doing what I loathe to do!
But since indeed to Heré and thyself I must subserve,
And follow you quick, with a whizz, as the hounds a-hunt with the huntsman,
— Go I will! and neither the sea, as it groans with its waves so furiously,
Nor earthquake, no, nor the bolt of thunder gasping out heaven’s labour-throe,
Shall cover the ground as I, at a bound, rush into the bosom of Herakles!
And home I scatter, and house I batter,
Having first of all made the children fall, —
And he who felled them is never to know
He gave birth to each child that received the blow,
Till the Madness, I am, have let him go!
Ha, behold! already he rocks his head — he is off from the starting-place!
Not a word, as he rolls his frightful orbs, from their sockets wrenched in the ghastly race!
And the breathings of him he tempers and times no more than a bull in act to toss,
And hideously he bellows invoking the Keres, daughters of Tartaros.
Ay, and I soon will dance thee madder, and pipe thee quite out of thy mind with fear!
So, up with the famous foot, thou Iris, march to Olumpos, leave me here!
Me and mine, who now combine, in the dreadful shape no mortal sees,
And now are about to pass, from without, inside of the home of Herakles!
CHOROS.
Otototoi, — groan!
Away is mown
Thy flower, Zeus’ offspring, City!
Unhap
py Hellas, who dost cast (the pity!)
Who worked thee all the good,
Away from thee, — destroyest in a mood
Of madness him, to death whom pipings dance!
There goes she, in her chariot, — groans, her brood, —
And gives her team the goad, as though adrift
For doom, Night’s Gorgon, Madness, she whose glance
Turns man to marble! with what hissings lift
Their hundred heads the snakes, her head’s inheritance!
Quick has the god changed fortune: through their sire
Quick will the children, that he saved, expire!
O miserable me! O Zeus! thy child —
Childless himself — soon vengeance, hunger-wild,
Craving for punishment, will lay how low —
Loaded with many a woe!
O palace-roofs! your courts about,
A measure begins all unrejoiced
By the tympanies and the thyrsos hoist
Of the Bromian revel-rout!
O ye domes! and the measure proceeds
For blood, not such as the cluster bleeds
Of the Dionusian pouring-out!
Break forth, fly, children! fatal this —
Fatal the lay that is piped, I wis!
Ay, for he hunts a children-chase —
Never shall Madness lead her revel
And leave no trace in the dwelling-place!
Ai ai, because of the evil!
Ai ai, the old man — how I groan
For the father, and not the father alone!
She who was nurse of his children, — small
Her gain that they ever were born at all!
See! See!
A whirlwind shakes hither and thither
The house — the roof falls in together!
Ha, ha, what dost thou, son of Zeus?
A trouble of Tartaros broke loose,
Such as once Pallas on the Titan thundered,
Thou sendest on thy domes, roof-shattered and wall-sundered!
MESSENGER.
O bodies white with age! —
CHOROS.
What cry, to me —
What , dost thou call with?
MESSENGER.
There’s a curse indoors.
CHOROS.
I shall not bring a prophet: you suffice.
MESSENGER.
Dead are the children.
CHOROS.
Ai ai!
MESSENGER.
Groan! for, groans
Suit well the subject. Dire the children’s death,
Dire too the parent’s hands that dealt the fate.
No one could tell worse woe than we have borne.
CHOROS.
How dost thou that same curse — curse, cause for groan —
The father’s on the children, make appear?
Tell in what matter they were hurled from heaven
Against the house — these evils; and recount
The children’s hapless fate, O Messenger!
MESSENGER.
The victims were before the hearth of Zeus,