The Portable Roman Reader (Portable Library) (57 page)

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First Tiphys, tamer of the deep, Abandoned to an untrained hand His vessel’s helm. On a foreign shore, Far from his native land he died; And now within a common tomb, ‘Midst unknown ghosts, he lies at rest. In wrathful memory of her king Lost on the sea, did Aulis then Within her sluggish harbor hold The impatient ships.
Then he, the tuneful Muse’s son, At whose sweet strains the streams stood still, The winds were silent, and the birds, Their songs forgotten, flocked to him, The whole wood following after—he, Over the Thracian fields was hurled In scattered fragments; but his head Down Hebrus’ grieving stream was borne. The well-remembered Styx he reached, And Tartarus, whence ne‘er again Would he return.
 
The wingèd sons of Boreas Alcides slew, and Neptune’s son Who in a thousand changing forms Could clothe himself. But after peace On land and sea had been proclaimed, And after savage Pluto’s realm Had been revealed to mortal eyes, Then did Alcides’ self, alive, On burning CEta’s top lie down, And give his body to the flames; For sore distressed was he, consumed By Deianira’s deadly gift, The double blood.
 
A savage boar Ancæus slew;
Thou, Meleager, impiously
Thy mother’s brother in wrath didst slay,
And by that angry mother’s hand
Didst die. All these deserved their death.
But for what crime did Hylas die,
A tender lad whom Hercules
Long time but vainly sought? For he,
‘Mid waters safe was done to death.
Go then, and fearlessly the deep
Plough with your daring ships; but fear
The peaceful pools.
 
Idmon, though well he knew the fates,
A serpent slew on Afric sands;
And Mopsus, to all others true,
False to himself, died far from Thebes.
If he with truth the future sang,
Then Nauplius, who strove to wreck
The Argive ships by lying fires,
Shall headlong fall into the sea.
And for his father’s daring crime
Shall Ajax, that Oïleus’ son,
Make full atonement, perishing
‘Midst flame and flood.
 
And thou, Admetus’ faithful mate,
Shalt for thy husband pay thy life,
Redeeming his from death. But he,
Who bade the first ship sail in quest
Of the golden spoil, King Pelias,
Seethed in a boiling cauldron, swam
‘Mid those restricted waves. Enough,
O gods, have ye avenged the sea:
Spare him, we pray, who did but go
On ordered ways.
ACT IV
NURSE (
alone
): My spirit trembles, for I feel the near approach
Of some unseen disaster. Swiftly grows her grief,
Its own fires kindling; and again her passion’s force
Hath leaped to life. I oft have seen her, with the fit
Of inspiration in her soul, confront the gods
And force the very heavens to her will. But now,
A monstrous deed, of greater moment far than these,
Medea is preparing. For, but now, did she
With step of frenzy hurry off until she reached
Her stricken home. There, in her chamber, all her stores
Of magic wonders are revealed; once more she views
The things herself hath held in fear these many years,
Unloosing one by one her ministers of ill,
Occult, unspeakable, and wrapt in mystery;
And, grasping with her hand the sacred altar-horn,
With prayers, she straightly summons all destructive powers,
The creatures bred in Libya’s sands, and on the peaks
Of frigid Taurus, clad in everlasting snows.
Obedient to her potent charms, the scaly brood
Of serpents leave their darksome lairs and swarm to her;
One savage creature rolls his monstrous length along,
And darts his forkèd tongue with its envenomed sting,
Death-dealing; at the charming sound he stops amazed,
And fold on fold his body writhes in nerveless coils.
“But these are petty ills; unworthy of my hand,”
She cries, “are such weak, earth-born weapons. Potent charms
Are bred in heaven. Now, now ‘tis time to summon powers
Transcending common magic. Down I’ll draw from heaven
That serpent huge whose body lies athwart the sky
Like some great ocean stream, in whose constricting folds
The greater and the lesser Bears are held enthralled,
The greater set as guide for Grecian ships, the less
For Sidon’s mariners! Let Ophiuchus loose
His hand and pour forth venom from his captive thrall!
And let the Python huge, that dared to rear its head
Against the heavenly twins, be present at my prayer!
Let Hydra’s writhing heads, which by Alcides’ hand
Were severed, all return to life and give me aid!
Thou too be near and leave thy ancient Colchian home,
Thou watchful dragon, to whose eyes the first sleep came
In answer to my incantations.“
When she thus
Had summoned all the serpent brood, she cast her store
Of baleful herbs together; all the poisons brewed
Amid the rocky caves of trackless Eryx; plants
That flourish on the snowy peaks of Caucasus,
Whose crags were spattered with Prometheus’ gore; the herbs
Within whose deadly juice the Arab dips his darts,
And the quiver-bearing Mede and fleeing Parthian;
Those potent juices, too, which, near the shivering pole,
The Suabian chieftains gather in Hyrcanian groves.
The seasons, too, have paid their tribute to her stores:
Whatever earth produces in the nesting time,
And when the stiff‘ning hand of winter’s frost has stripped
The glory from the trees and fettered all the land
With icy bonds; whatever flow‘ring plant conceals
Destruction in its bloom, or in its twisted roots
Distils the juice of death, she gathers to her use.
These pestilential herbs Hæmonian Athos gave;
And these on lofty Pindus grew; a bloody knife
Clipped off these slender leaves on Macedonia’s heights;
Still others grew beside the Tigris, whirling on
His flood to meet the sea; the Danube nourished some;
These grew on bright gem-starred Hydaspes’ tepid stream;
And these the Bætis bore, which gave the land its name,
Displacing with its languorous tide, the western sea.
These felt the knife when early dawn begins to break;
The fruit of these was cut in midnight’s gloomy hour;
This fatal crop was reaped with sickle magic-edged.
These deadly, potent herbs she takes and sprinkles o‘er
With serpent venom, mixing all; and in the broth
She mingles unclean birds: a wailing screech-owl’s heart,
A ghastly vampire’s vitals torn from living flesh.
Her magic poisons all she ranges for her use.
The ravening power of hidden fire is held in these,
While deep in others lurks the numbing chill of frost.
Now magic runes she adds more potent far. But lo!
Her voice resounds! and, as with maddened step she comes,
She chants her charms, while heaven and earth convulsive rock.
(Enter Medea, chanting her incantations)
MEDEA: I supplicate the silent throng, and you, the gods
Of death’s sad rites, and groping chaos, and the home
Of gloomy Pluto, and the black abyss of death
Girt by the banks of Tartarus! Ye storied shades,
Your torments leave and haste to grace the festival
At Hymen’s call! Let stop the whirling wheel that holds
Ixion’s limbs and let him tread Corinthian ground;
Let Tantalus unfrighted drink Pirene’s stream.
On Creon’s stock alone let heavier torments fall,
And backward o‘er the rocks let Sisyphus be hurled.
You too, the seed of Danaüs, whose fruitless toil
The ever-empty urns deride, I summon you;
This day requires your helping hands. Thou radiant moon,
Night’s glorious orb, my supplications hear and come
To aid; put on thy sternest guise, thou goddess dread
Of triple form! Full oft have I with flowing locks,
And feet unsandaled, wandered through thy darkling groves
And by thy inspiration summoned forth the rain
From cloudless skies; the heaving seas have I subdued,
And sent the vanquished waves to ocean’s lowest depths.
At my command the sun and stars together shine,
The heavenly law reversed; while in the Arctic sea
The Bears have plunged. The seasons, too, obey my will:
I’ve made the burning summer blossom as the spring,
And hoary winter autumn’s golden harvests bear.
The Phasis sends his swirling waves to seek their source,
And Ister, flowing to the sea with many mouths,
His eager water checks and sluggish rolls along.
The billows roar, the mad sea rages, though the winds
All silent lie. At my command primeval groves
Have lost their shade; the sun, abandoning the day,
Has stood in middle heaven; while falling Hyades
Attest my charms.
But now thy sacred hour is come,
O Phœbe. Thine these bonds with bloody hand entwined
With ninefold serpent coils; these cords I offer thee,
Which on his hybrid limbs Typhœus bore, who shook
The throne of Jove. This vessel holds the dying blood
Of Nessus, faithless porter of Alcides’ bride.
Here are the ashes of the pyre on Œta’s top
Which drank the poisoned blood of dying Hercules;
And here the fatal billet that Althæa burned
In vengeance on her son. These plumes the Harpies left
Within their caverned lair when Zetes drove them forth;
And these the feathers of that vile Stymphalian bird
Which arrows, dipped in Lerna’s deadly poison, pierced.
But lo! mine altar fires resound!
While in the tripod’s answering voice
Behold the present deity!
I see the car of Trivia,
Not full and clear as when she drives
The livelong night to meet the dawn;
But with a baleful, lurid glare,
As, harried by Thessalian cries,
She holds a more restricted course.
Send such uncanny light abroad!
Fill mortals with a dread unknown;
And let our Corinth’s priceless bronze
Resound, Dictynna, for thy aid!
To thee a solemn sacrifice
On bloody altar do we pay!
To thee, snatched from the mournful tomb,
The blazing torch nocturnal burns;
On thee I call with tossing head,
And many a frantic gesture make;
Corpselike upon the bier I lie,
My hair with priestly fillet bound;
Before thy awful shrine is waved
The branch in Stygian waters dipped.
And, calling on thy name, with gleaming shoulders bared,
Like Bacchus’ mad adorers, will I lash my arms
With sacrificial knife. Now let my life-blood flow!
And let my hands be used to draw the deadly sword,
And learn to shed beloved blood!
(She cuts her arm. and lets the blood flow upon the altar.)
Behold, self-stricken have I poured the sacrifice!
But if too oft upon thy name I call,
I pray forgive this importunity!
The cause, 0 Hecate, of all my prayers
Is ever Jason; this my constant care.
(To attendants)
Take now Creüsa’s bridal robe, and steep in these,
My potent drugs; and when she dons the clinging folds,
Let subtle flames go stealing through her inmost heart.
The fire that in this tawny golden circlet lurks
Prometheus gave, who, for his daring heavenly theft
In human aid, endured an ever-living death.
‘Twas Vulcan showed the fires concealed in sulphur’s veins;
While from my brother Phaëthon I gained a flame
That never dies; I have preserved Chimera’s breath,
And that fierce heat that parched the fiery, brazen bull.
Of Colchis. These dread fires commingled with the gall
Of dire Medusa have I bidden keep the power
Of lurking evil. Now, 0 Hecate,
Give added force to these my deadly gifts.
And strictly guard the hidden seeds of flame.
Let them deceive the sight, endure the touch;
But through her veins let burning fever run;
In fervent heat consume her very bones,
And let her fiercely blazing locks outshine
Her marriage torches! Lo, my prayer is heard:
Thrice have replied the hounds of Hecate,
And she has shown her baleful, gleaming fires.
Now all is ready: hither call my sons,
And let them bear these presents to the bride.
(Enter sons)
Go, go, my sons, of hapless mother born,
And win with costly gifts and many prayers
The favor of the queen, your father’s wife.
Begone, but quick your homeward way retrace,
That I may fold you in a last embrace.
(Exeunt sons toward the palace, Medea in opposite direction)
CHORUS: Where hastes this Bacchic fury now,
All passion-swept? what evil deed
Does her unbridled rage prepare?
Her features are congealed with rage,
And with a queenly bearing, grand
But terrible, she sets herself
Against e‘en Creon’s royal power.
An exile who would deem her now?
Her cheeks anon with anger flush,
And now a deadly pallor show;
Each feeling quick succeeds to each,
While all the passions of her heart
Her changing aspect testifies.
She wanders restless here and there,
As a tigress, of her young bereft,
In frantic grief the jungle scours.
Medea knows not how in check
To hold her wrath nor yet her love;
If love and wrath make common cause,
What dire results will come?
When will this scourge of Corinth leave
Our Grecian shores for Colchis’ strand,
And free our kingdom from its fear?
Now, Phoebus, hasten on thy course
With no retarding rein.

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