PHILOCTETES
By Sophocles
Preceding Section
NEO. Where?
PHI. Let me go, I say!
NEO. I will not.
PHI. You will kill me. Let me go!
NEO. Well, thou know'st best I hold thee not.
PHI. O Earth,
I die. receive me to thy breast! This pain
Subdues me utterly, I cannot stand.
NEO. Methinks he will be fast in slumber soon
That head sinks backward, and a clammy sweat
Bathes all his limbs, while from his foot hath burst
A vein, dark bleeding. Let us leave him, friends,
In quietness, till he hath fallen to sleep.
CHORUS
Lord of the happiest life,
Sleep, thou that know'st not strife,
That know'st not grief,
Still wafting sure relief,
Come, saviour now!
Thy healing balm is spread
Over this pain worn head,
Quench not the beam that gives calm to his brow.
Look, O my lord, to thy path,
Either to go or to stay
How is my thought to proceed?
What is our cause for delay?
Look! Opportunity's power,
Fitting the task to the hour,
Giveth the race to the swift.
NEO. He hears not. But I see that to have ta'en
His bow without him were a bootless gain
He must sail with us. So the god hath said
Heaven hath decreed this garland for his head:
And to have failed with falsehood were a meed
Of shameful soilure for a shameless deed.
CH. God shall determine the end --
But for thine answer, friend,
Waft soft words low!
All sick men's sleep, we know,
Hath open eye;
Their quickly ruffling mind
Quivers in lightest wind,
Sleepless in slumber new danger to spy.
Think, O my lord, of thy path,
Secretly look forth afar,
What wilt thou do for thy need?
How with the wise wilt thou care?
If toward the nameless thy heart
Chooseth this merciful part,
Huge are the dangers that drift.
The wind is fair, my son, the wind is fair,
The man is dark and helpless, stretched in night.
(O kind, warm sleep that calmest human care!)
Powerless of hand and foot and ear and sight,
Blind, as one lying in the house of death.
(Think well if here thou utterest timely breath.)
This, O my son, is all my thought can find,
Best are the toils that without frightening bind.
NEO. Hush! One word more were madness. He revives.
His eye hath motion. He uplifts his head.
PHI. Fair daylight following sleep, and ye, dear friends,
Faithful beyond all hope in tending me!
I never could have dreamed that thou, dear youth,
Couldst thus have borne my sufferings and stood near
So full of pity to relieve my pain.
Not so the worthy generals of the host; --
This princely patience was not theirs to show.
Only thy noble nature, nobly sprung,
Made light of all the trouble, though oppressed
With fetid odours and unceasing cries.
And now, since this my plague would seem to yield
Some pause and brief forgetfulness of pain,
With thine own hand, my son, upraise me here,
And set me on my feet, that, when my strength
After exhaustion shall return again,
We may move shoreward and launch forth with speed.
NEO. I feel unhoped-for gladness when I see
Thy painless gaze, and hear thy living breath,
For thine appearance and surroundings both
Were deathlike. But arise! Or, if thou wilt,
These men shall raise thee. For they will not shrink
From toil which thou and I at once enjoin.
PHI. Right, right, my son! But lift me thine own self,
As I am sure thou meanest. Let these be,
Lest they be burdened with the noisome smell
Before the time. Enough for them to bear
The trouble on board.
NEO. I will; stand up, endure!
PHI. Fear not. Old habit will enable me.
NEO. O me!
What shall I do? Now 'tis my turn to exclaim!
PHI. What canst thou mean? What change is here, my son?
NEO. I know not how to shift the troublous word.
'Tis hopeless.
PHI. What is hopeless? Speak not so,
Dear child!
NEO. But so my wretched lot hath fallen.
PHI. Ah! Can it be, the offence of my disease
Hath moved thee not to take me now on board?
NEO. All is offence to one who hath forced himself
From the true bent to an unbecoming deed.
PHI. Nought misbecoming to thyself or sire
Doest thou or speak'st, befriending a good man.
NEO. My baseness will appear. That wrings my soul.
PHI. Not in thy deeds. But for thy words, I fear me!
NEO. O Heaven! Must double vileness then be mine
Both shameful silence and most shameful speech?
PHI. Or my discernment is at fault, or thou
Mean'st to betray me and make voyage without me.
NEO. Nay, not without thee, there is my distress!
Lest I convey thee to thy bitter grief.
PHI. How? How, dear youth? I do not understand.
NEO. Here I unveil it. Thou art to sail to Troy,
To join the chieftains and the Achaean host.
PHI. What do I hear? Ah!
NEO. Grieve not till you learn.
PHI. Learn what? What wilt thou make of me? What mean'st thou?
NEO. First to release thee from this plague, and then
With thee to go and take the realm of Troy.
PHI. And is this thine intent?
NEO. 'Tis so ordained
Unchangeably. Be not dismayed! 'Tis so.
PHI. Me miserable! I am betrayed, undone!
What guile is here? My bow! give back my bow!
NEO. I may not. Interest, and duty too,
Force me to obey commandment.
PHI. O thou fire,
Thou terror of the world! Dark instrument
Of ever-hateful guile! -- What hast thou done?
How thou hast cheated me! Art not ashamed
To look on him that sued to thee for shelter?
O heart of stone, thou hast stolen my life away
With yonder bow! -- Ah, yet I beg of thee,
Give it me back, my son, I entreat thee, give!
By all thy father worshipped, rob me not
Of life! -- Ah me! Now he will speak no more,
But turns away, obdúrate to retain it.
O ye, my comrades in this wilderness,
Rude creatures of the rocks, O promontories,
Creeks, precipices of the hills, to you
And your familiar presence I complain
Of this foul trespass of Achilles' son.
Sworn to convey me home, to Troy he bears me.
And under pledge of his right hand hath ta'en
And holds from me perforce my wondrous bow,
The sacred gift of Zeus-born Heracles,
Thinking to wave it midst the Achaean host
Triumphantly for his. In conquering me
He vaunts as of some valorous feat, and knows not
He is spoiling a mere corse, an empty dream,
The shadow of a vapour. In my strength
He ne'er had vanquished me. Even as I am,
He could not, but by guile. Now, all forlorn,
I am abused, deceived. What must I do?
Nay, give it me. Nay, yet be thy true self!
Thou art silent. I am lost. O misery!
Rude face of rock, back I return to thee
And thy twin gateway, robbed of arms and food,
To wither in thy cave companionless: --
No more with these mine arrows to destroy
Or flying bird or mountain-roving beast.
But, all unhappy! I myself must be
The feast of those on whom I fed, the chase
Of that I hunted, and shall dearly pay
In bloody quittance for their death, through one
Who seemed all ignorant of sinful guile.
Perish, -- not till I am certain if thy heart
Will change once more, -- if not, my curse on thee!
CH. What shall we do, my lord? We wait thy word
Or to sail now, or yield to his desire.
NEO. My heart is pressed with a strange pity for him,
Not now beginning, but long since begun.
PHI. Ay, pity me, my son! by all above,
Make not thy name a scorn by wronging me!
NEO. O! I am troubled sore. What must I do?
Would I had never left mine island home!
PHI. Thou art not base, but seemest to have learnt
Some baseness from base men. Now, as 'tis meet,
Be better guided -- leave me mine arms, and go.
NEO. (to Chorus).
What shall we do?
Enter Odysseus.
ODYSSEUS. What art thou doing, knave?
Give me that bow, and haste thee back again.
PHI. Alas! What do I hear? Odysseus' voice?
OD. Be sure of that, Odysseus, whom thou seest.
PHI. Oh, I am bought and sold, undone! 'Twas he
That kidnapped me, and robbed me of my bow.
OD. Yea. I deny it not. Be sure, 'twas I.
PHI. Give back, my son, the bow; release it!
OD. That,
Though he desire it, he shall never do.
Thou too shalt march along, or these shall force thee.
PHI. They force me! O thou boldest of bad men!
They force me?
OD. If thou com'st not willingly.
PHI. O Lemnian earth and thou almighty flame,
Hephaestos' workmanship, shall this be borne,
That he by force must drag me from your care?
OD. 'Tis Zeus, I tell thee, monarch of this isle,
Who thus hath willed. I am his minister.
PHI. Wretch, what vile words thy wit hath power to say!
The gods are liars when invoked by thee.
OD. Nay, 'tis their truth compels thee to this voyage.
PHI. I will not have it so.
OD. I will. Thou shalt.
PHI. Woe for my wretchedness! My father, then,
Begat no freeman, but a slave in me.
OD. Nay, but the peer of noblest men, with whom
Thou art to take and ravage Troy with might.
PHI. Never, -- though I must suffer direst woe, --
While this steep Lemnian ground is mine to tread!
OD. What now is thine intent?
PHI. Down from the crag
This head shall plunge and stain the crag beneath.
OD. (to the Attendants.)
Ay, seize and bind him. Baffle him in this.
PHI. Poor hands, for lack of your beloved string,
Caught by this craven! O corrupted soul!
How thou hast undermined me, having taken
To screen thy quest this youth to me unknown,
Far worthier of my friendship than of thine,
Who knew no better than to obey command.
Even now 'tis manifest he burns within
With pain for his own error and my wrong.
But, though unwilling and mapt for ill,
Thy crafty, mean, and cranny spying soul
Too well hath lessoned him in sinful lore.
Now thou hast bound me, O thou wretch, and thinkest
To take me from this coast, where thou didst cast me
Outlawed and desolate, a corpse 'mongst men.
Oh!
I curse thee now, as ofttimes in the past:
But since Heaven yields me nought but bitterness,
Thou livest and art blithe, while 'tis my pain
To live on in my misery, laughed to scorn
By thee and Atreus' sons, those generals twain
Whom thou art serving in this chase. But thou
With strong compulsion and deceit was driven
Troyward, whilst I, poor victim, of free will
Took my seven ships and sailed there, yet was thrown
Far from all honour, -- as thou sayest, by them,
But, as they turn the tale, by thee. -- And now
Why fetch me hence and take me? To what end?
I am nothing, dead to you this many a year.
How, O thou Heaven-abhorred! am I not now
Lame and of evil smell? how shall ye vaunt
Before the gods drink-offering or the fat
Of victims, if I sail among your crew?
For this, as ye professed, was the chief cause
Why ye disowned me. Perish! -- So ye shall,
For the wrong done me, if the Heavens be just.
And that they are, I know. Else had ye ne'er
Sailed on this errand for an outcast wretch,
Had they not pricked your heart with thoughts of me.
Oh, if ye pity me, chastising powers,
And thou, the Genius of my land, revenge,
Revenge this crime on all their heads at once!
My life is pitiable; but if I saw
Their ruin, I would think me well and strong.
CH. How full of bitterness is his resolve,
Wrathfully spoken with unbending will!
OD. I might speak long in answer, did the time
Give scope, but now one thing is mine to say.
I am known to vary with the varying need;
And when 'tis tried, who can be just and good,
My peer will not be found for piety.
But though on all occasions covetous
Of victory, this once I yield to thee,
And willingly. Unhand him there. Let go!
Leave him to stay. What further use of thee,
When we have ta'en these arms? Have we not Teucer,
Skilled in this mystery? Yea, I may boast
Myself thine equal both in strength and aim
To wield them. Fare thee well, then! Thou art free
To roam thy barren isle. We need thee not.
Let us be going! And perchance thy gift
May bring thy destined glory to my brow.
PHI. What shall I do? Alas, shalt thou be seen
Graced with mine arms amongst Achaean men?
OD. No more! I am going.
PHI. O Achilles' child!
Wilt thou, too, vanish? Must I lose thy voice?
OD. Come on, and look not, noble though thou be,
Lest thou undo our fortune.
PHI. Mariners,
Must ye, too, leave me thus disconsolate?
Will ye not pity me?
CH. Our captain's here.
Whate'er he saith to thee, that we too speak.
NEO. My chief will call me weakling, soft of heart;
But go not yet, since our friend bids you stay.
Till we have prayed, and all be ready on board.
Meanwhile, perchance, he may conceive some thought
That favours our design. We two will start;
And ye, be swift to speed forth at our call. [Exit]
MONODY.
PHI. O cavern of the hollow rock,
Frosty and stifling in the seasons' change!
How I seem fated never more to range
From thy sad covert, that hath felt the shock
Of pain on pain, steeped with my wretchedness.
Now thou wilt be my comforter in death!
Grief haunted harbour, choked with my distress!
Tell me, what hope is mine of daily food,
Who will be careful for my good?
I fail. Ye cowering creatures of the sky,
Oh, as ye fly,
Snatch me, borne upward on the blast's sharp breath!
CH. 1. Thou child of misery!
No mightier power hath this decreed,
But thine own will and deed
Hath bound thee thus in grief,
Since, when kind Heaven had sent relief
And shown the path of wisdom firm and sure,
Thou still hast chosen this evil to endure.
PHI. O hapless life, sore bruised with pain!
No more with living mortal may I dwell,
But ever pining in this desert cell
With lonely grief, all famished must remain
And perish; for what food is mine to share,
When this strong arm no longer wields my bow,
Whose fleet shafts flew to smite the birds of air
I was o'erthrown by words, words dark and blind,
Low-creeping from a traitorous mind!
O might I see him, whose unrighteous thought
This ruin wrought,
Plagued for no less a period with like woe!
CH. 2. Not by our craft thou art caught,
But Destiny divine hath wrought
The net that holds thee bound.
Aim not at us the sound
Of thy dread curse with dire disaster fraught.
On others let that light! 'Tis our true care
Thou should'st not scorn our love in thy despair.
PHI. Now, seated by the shore
Of heaving ocean hoar,
He mocks me, waving high
The sole support of my precarious being,
The bow which none e'er held but I.
O treasure of my heart, torn from this hand,
That loved thy touch, -- if thou canst understand,
How sad must be thy look in seeing
Thy master destined now no more,
Like Heracles of yore,
To wield thee with an archer's might!
But in the grasp of an all-scheming wight,
O bitter change! thou art plied;
And swaying ever by his side,
Shalt view his life of dark malignity,
Teeming with guileful shames, like those he wrought on me.
CH. 3. Nobly to speak for the right
Is manly and strong;
But not with an envious blight
To envenom the tongue;
He to serve all his friends of the fleet,
One obeying a many-voiced word,
Through the minist'ring craft of our lord
Hath but done what was meet.
PHI. Come, legions of the wild,
Of aspect fierce or mild,
Fowl from the fields of air,
And beasts that roam with bright untroubled gaze,
No longer bounding from my lair
Fly mine approach! Now freely without fear
Ye may surround my covert and come near,
Treading the savage rock-strewn ways.
The might I had is no more mine,
Stolen with those arms divine.
This fort hath no man to defend.
Come satisfy your vengeful jaws, and rend
These quivering tainted limbs!
Already hovering death bedims
My fainting sense. Who thus can live on air,
Tasting no gift of earth that breathing mortals share?
CH. 4. Ah! do not shrink from thy friend,
If love thou reverest,
But know 'tis for thee to forfend
The fate which thou fearest.
The lot thou hast here to deplore,
Is sad evermore to maintain,
And hardship in sickness is sore,
But sorest in pain.
PHI. Kindest of all that e'er before
Have trod this shore,
Again thou mind'st me of mine ancient woe!
Why wilt thou ruin me? What wouldst thou do?
CH. 5. How mean'st thou?
PHI. If to Troy, of me abhorred
Thou e'er hast hoped to lead me with thy lord.
CH. 6. So I judge best.
PHI. Begone at once, begone!
CH. 7. Sweet is that word, and swiftly shall be done!
Let us be gone, each to his place on board.
[The Chorus make as if they were going]
PHI. Nay, by dear Zeus, to whom all suppliants moan
Leave me not yet!
CH. 8. Keep measure in thy word.
PHI. Stay, by Heaven, stay!
CH. 9. What wilt thou say?
PHI. O misery! O cruel power
That rul'st this hour!
I am destroyed. Ah me!
O poor torn limb, what shall I do with thee
Through all my days to be?
Ah, strangers, come, return, return!
CH. 10. What new command are we to learn
Crossing thy former mind?
PHI. Ah! yet be kind.
Reprove not him, whose tongue, with grief distraught,
Obeys not, in dark storms, the helm of thought!
CH. 11. Come, poor friend, the way we call.
PHI. Never, learn it once for all!
Not though he, whom Heaven obeys,
Blast me with fierce lightning's blaze!
Perish Troy, and all your host,
That have chosen, to their cost,
To despise and cast me forth,
Since my wound obscured my worth!
Ah, but, strangers, if your sense
Hath o'er-mastered this offence,
Yield but one thing to my prayer!
CH. 12. What wouldst thou have?
PHI. Some weapon bare,
Axe or sword or sharpened dart,
Bring it to content my heart.
CH. 13. What is thy new intent?
PHI. To sever point by point
This body, joint from joint.
On bloody death my mind is bent.
CH. 14. Wherefore?
PHI. To see my father's face.
CH. 15. Where upon earth?
PHI. He hath no place
Where sun doth shine, but in the halls of night.
O native country, land of my delight,
Would I were blest one moment with thy sight!
Why did I leave thy sacred dew
And loose my vessels from thy shore,
To join the hateful Danaän crew
And lend them succour? Oh, I am no more!
LEADER OF CH.
Long since thou hadst seen me nearing yonder ship,
Had I not spied Odysseus and the son
Of great Achilles hastening to our side.
OD. Wilt thou not tell me why thou art hurrying
This backward journey with reverted speed?
NEO. To undo what I have wrongly done to-day.
OD. Thy words appal me. What is wrongly done?
NEO. When in obeying thee and all the host --
OD. Thou didst what deed that misbecame thy life?
NEO. I conquered with base stratagem and fraud --
OD. Whom? What new plan is rising in thy mind?
NEO. Not new. But to the child of Poeas here --
OD. What wilt thou do? I quake with strange alarm.
NEO. From whom I took these weapons, back again -- --
OD. O Heaven! thou wilt not give them! Mean'st thou this?
NEO. Yea, for I have them through base sinful means.
OD. I pray thee, speak'st thou thus to anger me?
NEO. If the truth anger thee, the truth is said.
OD. Achilles' son! What word is fallen from thee?
NEO. Must the same syllables be thrice thrown forth?
OD. Once was too much. Would they had ne'er been said!
NEO. Enough. Thou hast heard my purpose clearly told.
OD. I know what power shall thwart thee in the deed.
NEO. Whose will shall hinder me?
OD. The Achaean host
And I among them.
NEO. Thou'rt sharp-witted, sure!
But little wit or wisdom show'st thou here.
OD. Neither thy words nor thy design is wise.
NEO. But if 'tis righteous, that is better far.
OD. How righteous, to release what thou hast ta'en
By my device?
NEO. I sinned a shameful sin,
And I will do mine utmost to retrieve it.
OD. How? Fear'st thou not the Achaeans in this act?
NEO. In doing right I fear not them nor thee.
OD. I call thy power in question.
NEO. Then I'll fight,
Not with Troy's legions, but with thee.
OD. Come on!
Let fortune arbitrate.
NEO. Thou seest my hand
Feeling the hilt.
OD. And me thou soon shalt see
Doing the like and dallying not! -- And yet
I will not touch thee, but will go and tell
The army, that shall wreak this on thy head. [Exit]
NEO. Thou show'st discretion: which if thou preserve,
Thou may'st maintain a path exempt from pain.
Ho! son of Poeas, Philoctetes, come
And leave thy habitation in the rock.
PHI. What noise again is troubling my poor cave?
Why do ye summon me? What crave ye, sirs?
Ha! 'tis some knavery. Are ye come to add
Some monster evil to my mountainous woe?
NEO. Fear not, but hearken to what now I speak.
PHI. I needs must fear thee, whose fair words erewhile
Brought me to bitter fortune.
NEO. May not men
Repent and change?
PHI. Such wast thou in thy talk,
When thou didst rob me of my bow, -- so bright
Without, so black within.
NEO. Ah, but not now,
Assure thee! Only let me hear thy will,
Is 't constant to remain here and endure,
Or to make voyage with us?
PHI. Stop, speak no more!
Idle and vain will all thine utterance be.
NEO. Thou art so resolved?
PHI. More firmly than I say.
NEO. I would I might have brought thee to my mind,
But since my words are out of tune, I have done.
PHI. Thou wert best. No word of thine can touch my soul
Or win me to thy love, who by deceit
Hast reft my life away. And then thou com'st
To school me, -- of noblest father, basest son!
Perish, the Atridae first of all, and then
Laërtes' child, and thou!
NEO. Curse me no more,
But take this hallowed weapon from my hand.
PHI. What words are these? Am I again deceived?
NEO. No, by the holiest name of Zeus on high!
PHI. O voice of gladness, if thy speech be true!
NEO. The deed shall prove it. Only reach thy hand,
And be again sole master of thy bow. [Odysseus appears]
OD. But I make protest, in the sight of Heaven,
For Atreus' sons, and all the Achaean host.
PHI. Dear son, whose voice disturbs us? Do I hear
Odysseus?
OD. Ay, and thou behold'st him nigh,
And he shall force thee to the Trojan plain,
Howe'er Achilles' offspring make or mar.
PHI. This shaft shall bear thee sorrow for that boast.
NEO. Let it not fly, by Heaven!
PHI. Dear child, let go
Mine arm!
NEO. I will not. [Exit Odysseus]
PHI. Ah! Why hast thou robbed
My bow of bringing down mine enemy?
NEO. This were ignoble both for thee and me.
PHI. One thing is manifest, the first o' the host
Lying forerunners of the Achaean band,
Are brave with words, but cowards with the steel.
NEO. Well, now the bow is thine. Thou hast no cause
For blame or anger any more 'gainst me.
PHI. None. Thou hast proved thy birthright, dearest boy.
Not from the loins of Sisyphus thou earnest,
But from Achilles, who in life was held
Noblest of men alive, and now o' the dead.
NEO. It gladdens me that thou shouldst speak in praise
Both of my sire and me. But hear me tell
The boon for which I sue thee. -- Mortal men
Must bear such evils as high Heaven ordains;
But those afflicted by self-chosen ills,
Like thine to-day, receive not from just men
Or kind indulgence or compassionate thought.
And thou art restive grown, and wilt not hearken,
But though one counsel thee with kind'st intent,
Wilt take him for a dark malignant foe.
Yet, calling Zeus to witness for my soul,
Once more I will speak. Know this, and mark it well:
Thou bear'st this sickness by a heavenly doom,
Through coming near to Chrysa's sentinel,
The lurking snake, that guards the sky-roofed fold[7].
And from this plague thou ne'er shall find reprieve
While the same Sun god rears him from the east
And droops to west again, till thou be come
Of thine own willing mind to Troia's plain,
Where our physicians, sons of Phoebus' child[8],
Shall soothe thee from thy sore, and thou with me
And with this bow shalt take Troy's citadel.
How do I know this? I will tell thee straight
We have a Trojan captive, Helenus,
Both prince and prophet, who hath clearly told
This must be so, yea, and ere harvest time
This year, great Troy must fall, else if his words
Be falsified, who will may slay the seer.
Now, since thou know'st of this, yield thy consent;
For glorious is the gain, being singled forth
From all the Greeks as noblest, first to come
To healing hands, and then to win renown
Unrivalled, vanquishing all tearful Troy.
PHI. Oh how I hate my life! Why must it keep
This breathing form from sinking to the shades?
How can I prove a rebel to his mind
Who thus exhorts me with affectionate heart?
And yet, oh misery! must I give way?
Then how could I endure the light of heaven?
With whom could I exchange a word? Ay me!
Eyes that have seen each act of my sad life,
How could ye bear it, to behold the sons
Of Atreus, my destroyers, comrades now
And friends! Laërtes' wicked son, my friend!
And less I feel the grief of former wrong
Than shudder with expectance of fresh harm
They yet may work on me. For when the mind
Hath once been mother of an evil brood,
It nurses nought but evils. Yea, at thee
I marvel. Thou should'st ne'er return to Troy,
Nor suffer me to go, when thou remember'st
What insult they have done thee, ravishing
Thy father's rights from thee. And wilt thou then
Sail to befriend them, pressing me in aid?
Nay, do not, son; but, even as thou hast sworn,
Convey me home, and thou, in Scyros dwelling,
Leave to their evil doom those evil men.
So thou shalt win a twofold gratitude
From me and from my father, and not seem,
Helping vile men, to be as vile as they.
NEO. 'Tis fairly spoken. Yet I would that thou
Relying on my word and on Heaven's aid,
Would'st voyage forth from Lemnos with thy friend.
PHI. Mean'st thou to Troy, and to the hateful sons
Of Atreus, me, with this distressful limb?
NEO. Nay, but to those that will relieve the pain
Of thy torn foot and heal thee of thy plague.
PHI. Thy words are horrible. What mean'st thou, boy?
NEO. The act I deem the noblest for us both.
PHI. Wilt thou speak so? Where is thy fear of Heaven?
NEO. Why should I fear, when I see certain gain?
PHI. Gain for the sons of Atreus, or for me?
NEO. Methinks a friend should give thee friendly counsel.
PHI. Friendly, to hand me over to my foes?
NEO. Ah, be not hardened in thy misery!
PHI. I know thou wilt ruin me by what thou speakest.
NEO. Not I. The case is dark to thee, I see.
PHI. I know the Atreidae cast me on this rock.
NEO. But how, if they should save thee afterward?
PHI. They ne'er shall make me see Troy with my will.
NEO. Hard is my fortune, then, if by no sleight
Of reasoning I can draw thee to my mind.
For me, 'twere easiest to end speech, that thou
Might'st live on as thou livest in hopeless pain.
PHI. Then leave me to my fate! -- But thou hast touched
My right hand with thine own, and given consent
To bear me to my home. Do this, dear son!
And do not linger to take thought of Troy.
Enough that name hath echoed in my groans.
NEO. If thou wilt, let us be going.
PHI. Nobly hast thou said the word.
NEO. Lean thy steps on mine.
PHI. As firmly as my foot will strength afford.
NEO. Ah! but how shall I escape Achaean anger?
PHI. Do not care!
NEO. Ah! but should they spoil my country!
PHI. I to shield thee will be there.
NEO. How to shield me, how to aid me?
PHI. With the shafts of Heracles
I will scare them.
NEO. Give thy blessing to this isle, and come in peace.
HERACLES appears from above.
HERACLES. First, son of Poeas, wait till thou hast heard
The voice of Heracles, and weighed his word.
Him thou beholdest from the Heavenly seat
Come down, for thee leaving the blest retreat,
To tell thee all high Zeus intends, and stay
Thy purpose in the journey of to-day.
Then hear me, first how after my long toils
By strange adventure I have found and won
Immortal glory, which thine eyes perceive;
And the like lot, I tell thee, shall be thine,
After these pains to rise to glorious fame.
Sailing with this thy comrade to Troy-town,
First thou shalt heal thee from thy grievous sore,
And then, being singled forth from all the host
As noblest, thou shalt conquer with that bow
Paris, prime author of these years of harm,
And capture Troy, and bear back to thy hall
The choicest guerdon, for thy valour's meed,
To Oeta's vale and thine own father's home.
But every prize thou tak'st be sure thou bear
Unto my pyre, in memory of my bow.
This word, Achilles' offspring, is for thee
No less. For, as thou could'st not without him,
So, without thee, he cannot conquer Troy.
Then, like twin lions hunting the same hill,
Guard thou him, and he thee! and I will send
Asclepius Troyward to relieve thy pain.
For Ilion now a second time must fall
Before the Herculean bow. But, take good heed,
Midst all your spoil to hold the gods in awe.
For our great Father counteth piety
Far above all. This follows men in death,
And fails them not when they resign their breath.
PHI. Thou whom I have longed to see,
Thy dear voice is law to me.
NEO. I obey with gladdened heart.
HER. Lose no time: at once depart!
Bright occasion and fair wind
Urge your vessel from behind.
PHI. Come, let me bless the region ere I go.
Poor house, sad comrade of my watch, farewell!
Ye nymphs of meadows where soft waters flow
Thou ocean headland, pealing thy deep knell,
Where oft within my cavern as I lay
My hair was moist with dashing south-wind's spray,
And ofttimes came from Hermes' foreland high
Sad replication of my storm-vext cry;
Ye fountains and thou Lycian water sweet, --
I never thought to leave you, yet my feet
Are turning from your paths, -- we part for aye.
Farewell! and waft me kindly on my way,
O Lemnian earth enclosed by circling seas,
To sail, where mighty Fate my course decrees,
And friendly voices point me, and the will
Of that heroic power, who doth this act fulfil.
CH. Come now all in one strong band;
Then, ere loosing from the land,
Pray we to the nymphs of sea
Kind protectresses to be,
Till we touch the Trojan strand.
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