The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume I Part 23

PYLADES

My very life began when thee I lov'd.

ORESTES

Say, then thy woes began, and thou speak'st truly.

This is the sharpest sorrow of my lot, That, like a plague-infected wretch, I bear Death and destruction hid within my breast; That, where I tread, e'en on the healthiest spot, Ere long the blooming faces round betray The anguish'd features of a ling'ring death.

PYLADES

Were thy breath venom, I had been the first To die, that death, Orestes. Am I not, As ever, full of courage and of joy?

And love and courage are the spirit's wings Wafting to n.o.ble actions.

ORESTES

n.o.ble actions?

Time was, when fancy painted such before us!

When oft, the game pursuing, on we roam'd O'er hill and valley; hoping that ere long, Like our great ancestors in heart and hand, With club and weapon arm'd, we so might track The robber to his den, or monster huge.

And then at twilight, by the boundless sea, Peaceful we sat, reclin'd against each other, The waves came dancing to our very feet, And all before us lay the wide, wide world; Then on a sudden one would seize his sword, And future deeds shone round us like the stars, Which gemm'd in countless throngs the vault of night.

PYLADES

Endless, my friend, the projects which the soul Burns to accomplish. We would every deed At once perform as grandly as it shows After long ages, when from land to land The poet's swelling song hath roll'd it on.

It sounds so lovely what our fathers did, When, in the silent evening shade reclin'd, We drink it in with music's melting tones; And what we do is, as their deeds to them, Toilsome and incomplete!

Thus we pursue what always flies before; We disregard the path in which we tread, Scarce see around the footsteps of our sires, Or heed the trace of their career on earth.

We ever hasten on to chase their shades, Which, G.o.dlike, at a distance far remote, On golden clouds, the mountain summits crown.

The man I prize not who esteems himself Just as the people's breath may chance to raise him.

But thou, Orestes, to the G.o.ds give thanks.

That they through thee have early done so much.

ORESTES

When they ordain a man to n.o.ble deeds, To shield from dire calamity his friends, Extend his empire, or protect its bounds, Or put to flight its ancient enemies, Let him be grateful! For to him a G.o.d Imparts the first, the sweetest joy of life.

Me have they doom'd to be a slaughterer, To be an honor'd mother's murderer, And shamefully a deed of shame avenging, Me through their own decree they have o'erwhelm'd.

Trust me, the race of Tantalus is doom'd; And I, his last descendant, may not perish, Or crown'd with honor or unstain'd by crime.

PYLADES

The G.o.ds avenge not on the son the deeds Done by the father. Each, or good or bad, Of his own actions reaps the due reward.

The parents' blessing, not their curse, descends.

ORESTES

Methinks their blessing did not lead us here.

PYLADES

It was at least the mighty G.o.ds' decree.

ORESTES

Then is it their decree which doth destroy us.

PYLADES

Perform what they command, and wait the event.

Do thou Apollo's sister bear from hence, That they at Delphi may united dwell, There by a n.o.ble-thoughted race revered, Thee, for this deed, the lofty pair will view With gracious eye, and from the hateful grasp Of the infernal Powers will rescue thee.

E'en now none dares intrude within this grove.

ORESTES

So shall I die at least a peaceful death.

PYLADES

Far other are my thoughts, and not unskill'd Have I the future and the past combin'd In quiet meditation. Long, perchance, Hath ripen'd in the counsel of the G.o.ds The great event. Diana yearns to leave The savage coast of these barbarians, Foul with their sacrifice of human blood.

We were selected for the high emprize; To us it is a.s.sign'd, and strangely thus We are conducted to the threshold here.

ORESTES

My friend, with wondrous skill thou link'st thy wish With the predestin'd purpose of the G.o.ds.

PYLADES

Of what avail is prudence, if it fail Heedful to mark the purposes of Heaven!

A n.o.ble man, who much hath sinn'd, some G.o.d Doth summon to a dangerous enterprize, Which to achieve appears impossible.

The hero conquers, and atoning serves Mortals and G.o.ds, who thenceforth honor him.

ORESTES

Am I foredoom'd to action and to life, Would that a G.o.d from my distemper'd brain Might chase this dizzy fever, which impels My restless steps along a slipp'ry path.

Stain'd with a mother's blood, to direful death; And pitying, dry the fountain, whence the blood, For ever spouting from a mother's wounds, Eternally defiles me!

PYLADES

Wait in peace!

Thou dost increase the evil, and dost take The office of the Furies on thyself.

Let me contrive,--be still! And when at length The time for action claims our powers combin'd, Then will I summon thee, and on we'll stride, With cautious boldness to achieve the event.

ORESTES

I hear Ulysses speak.

PYLADES

Nay, mock me not.

Each must select the hero after whom To climb the steep and difficult ascent Of high Olympus. And to me it seems That him nor stratagem nor art defiles Who consecrates himself to n.o.ble deeds.