The Seven Plays in English Verse Part 76

Nay, touch me not, but leave me of myself To find the holy sepulchre, wherein This form must rest beneath Athenian soil.

Come this way! Come! This way are leading me Guide Hermes and the Queen of realms below.

O Light, all dark to me! In former time Bright seemed thy shining! Now thy latest ray Sheds vital influence o'er this frame. I go To hide the close of my disastrous life With Hades. Kind Athenian friend, farewell!

May'st thou, thy followers, and this glorious land Be happy, and in your endless happiness Remember him who blessed you in his death. [_Exeunt_

CHORUS.

Prince of the Powers Unseen, 1 Durst we with prayers adore Thee and thy viewless Queen, Your aid, Aidoneus, would our lips implore!

By no harsh-sounding doom Let him we love descend, With calm and cloudless end, In deep Plutonian dwelling evermore To abide among the people of the tomb!

Long worn with many an undeserved woe, Just G.o.ds will give thee glory there below.

Dread Forms, who haunt this floor, 2 And thou, the Unconquered Beast, That hugely liest at rest By the dim shining adamantine door, --Still from thy cavernous lair Gnarling, so legends tell, A tameless guard of h.e.l.l,-- Mayest thou this once thy vigilance forbear, And leave large room for him now entering there.

Hear us, great Son of Darkness and the Deep; On thee we call, G.o.d of the dreamless sleep!

_Enter_ Messenger.

MESS. Athenian citizens, my briefest tale Were to say singly, Oedipus is gone; But to describe the scene enacted yonder Craves no brief speech, nor was the action brief.

CH. Then he is gone! Poor man!

MESS. Know it once for all, He hath left eternally the light of day.

CH. Poor soul! What? Ended he with peace divine?

MESS. Ay, there is the main marvel. How he moved From hence, thou knowest, for thou too wert here, And saw'st that of his friends none guided him, But he they loved was leader to them all.

Now, when he came to the steep pavement, rooted With adamant foundation deep in Earth, On one of many paths he took his stand Near the stone basin, where Peirithous And Theseus graved their everlasting league.

There, opposite the ma.s.s of Laurian ore, Turned from the hollow pear-tree and the tomb Of marble, he sate down, and straight undid His travel-soiled attire, then called aloud On both his children, and bade some one fetch Pure water from a running stream. And they, Hasting together to the neighbouring hill Of green Demeter, G.o.ddess of the Spring, Brought back their sire's commission speedily, And bathed, and clothed him with the sacred robe.

When he was satisfied, and nothing now Remained undone of all he bade them do, The G.o.d of darkness thundered, and the maids Stood horror-stricken on hearing; then together Fell at their father's knees and wept and wailed Loudly and long with beating of the breast.

He, when that sound of sorrow pierced his ear, Caressed them in his arms and said:--'My daughters, From this day forth you have no more a father.

All that was mine is ended, and no longer Shall ye continue your hard ministry Of labour for my life.--And yet, though hard, Not unendurable, since all the toil Was rendered light through love, which ye can never Receive on earth so richly, as from him Bereaved of whom ye now shall live forlorn.'

Such was the talk, mingled with sobs and crying, As each clung fast to each. But when they came To an end of weeping and those sounds were stilled, First all was silent; then a sudden voice Hurried him onward, making each man's hair Bristle on end with force of instant fear.

Now here, now there, not once but oftentimes, A G.o.d called loudly, 'Oedipus, Oedipus!

Why thus delay our going? This long while We are stayed for and thou tarriest. Come away!'

He, when he knew the summons of the G.o.d, Gave word for royal Theseus to go near; And when he came, said: 'Friend for ever kind, Reach thy right hand, I pray thee (that first pledge) To these my children:--daughters, yours to him!-- And give thy sacred word that thou wilt never Betray these willingly: but still perform All that thou mayest with true thought for their good.'

He, with grand calmness like his n.o.ble self, Promised on oath to keep this friendly bond.

And when he had done so, Oedipus forthwith Stroking his children with his helpless hands Spake thus:--'My daughters, you must steel your hearts To n.o.ble firmness, and depart from hence, Nor ask to see or hear forbidden things.

Go, go at once! Theseus alone must stay Sole rightful witness of these mysteries.'

Those accents were the last we all might hear.

Then, following the two maids, with checkless tears And groans we took our way. But by and by, At distance looking round, we saw,--not him, Who was not there,--but Theseus all alone Holding his hand before his eyes, as if Some apparition unendurable Had dazed his vision. In a little while, We marked him making reverence in one prayer To the Earth, and to the home of G.o.ds on high.

But by what fate He perished, mortal man, Save Theseus, none can say. No lightning-flash From heaven, no tempest rising from the deep, Caused his departure in that hour, but either Some messenger from heaven, or, from beneath, The lower part of Earth, where comes no pain, Opening kindly to receive him in.

Not to be mourned, nor with a tearful end Of sickness was he taken from the Earth, But wondrously, beyond recorded fate.

If any deem my words unwise, I care not In that man's judgement to be counted wise.

CH. Where are those maidens and their escort? Say.

MESS. They are not far off, but here. The voice of weeping Betokens all too plainly their approach.

ANT. Alas!

How manifold, the inheritance of woe Drawn from the troubled fountain of our birth!

Indelible, ineradicable grief!

For him erewhile We had labour infinite and unrelieved, And now in his last hour we have to tell Of sights and sorrows beyond thought.

CH. How then?

ANT. Friends, ye might understand.

CH. Speak. Is he gone?

ANT. Gone! Even as heart could wish, had wishes power.

How else, when neither war, nor the wide sea Encountered him, but viewless realms enwrapt him, Wafted away to some mysterious doom?

Whence on our hearts a horror of night is fallen.

Woe 's me! For whither wandering shall we find Hard livelihood, by land or over sea?

ISM. I know not. Let dark Hades take me off To lie in death with mine age honoured sire!

Death were far better than my life to be.

CH. n.o.blest of maidens, ye must learn to bear Meekly the sending of the G.o.ds. Be not On fire with grief. Your state is well a.s.sured.

ANT. If to be thus is well, then may one long For evil to return. Things nowise dear Were dear to me, whiles I had him to embrace.

O father! loved one! that art wearing now The eternal robe of darkness underground, Old as thou wert, think not this maid and I Will cease from loving thee!

CH. He met his doom.

ANT. He met the doom he longed for.

CH. How was that?

ANT. In the strange land where he desired to die He died. He rests in shadow undisturbed; Nor hath he left a tearless funeral.

For these mine eyes, father, unceasingly Mourn thee with weeping, nor can I subdue This ever-mounting sorrow for thy loss.

Ah me! Would thou hadst not desired to die Here among strangers, but alone with thee There, in the desert, I had seen thee die!

ISM. Unhappy me! What destiny, dear girl, Awaits us both, bereaved and fatherless?

CH. His end was fortunate. He rests in peace.

Dear maidens, then desist from your complaint.

Sorrow is swift to overtake us all.

ANT. Thither again, dear girl, let us go speedily!

ISM. Say, for what end?

ANT. Desire possesses me--

ISM. Whereof?

ANT. To see the darksome dwelling-place--

ISM. Of whom?

ANT. Woe is me! Of him, our sire!