Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ALCESTIS: SCENE 1, by EURIPIDES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ALCESTIS: SCENE 1, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Natheless before these gates mine eyes do mark
Last Line: Down to the lord of hell.
Subject(s): Courts & Courtiers; Death; Family Life; Household Employees; Marriage; Mourning; Mythology - Classical; Royal Court Life; Royalty; Kings; Queens; Dead, The; Relatives; Servants; Domestics; Maids; Weddings; Husbands; Wives; Bereavement


Enter the CHORUS
(Part of Parode)

Chor. Natheless before these gates mine eyes do mark
No holy well-water,
Such as men set by doors that death makes dark;
Nor lie clipt tresses here,
Such as will fall in sorrow for the dead;
Nor do young maidens mourn.
Yet is to-day the day—what's that I've said?—
She sinks beyond return.
But, lo! a hand-maid comes, all bathed in tears,
Forth of the house. What grief shall greet mine ears?
Duly we mourn, if any evil turn
Chance on our lady; now we fain would learn
Whether that lady breathe yet, or be sped.

Enter HAND-MAIDEN

Hand. Ah, you may call her either quick or dead.
Chor. And how can the same frame both live and die?
Hand. She bows in death, her soul is lapsing by.
Chor. Being what thou'rt, of what a priceless being
Art reft, poor wretch!
Hand. Nay, till the day for dreeing
His bitter weird, Admetus knows it not.
Chor. Is there no hope of altering her lot?
Hand. No; for the destin'd day comes storming on!
Chor. Why then not make due preparation?
Hand. Th' adornments are got ready wherewithal
Her lord shall bury her.
Chor. Let her know she shall
Be glorious in her dying, and most bright
Of all the ladies dwelling in the light!
Hand. And how not brightest? Who shall dare demur?
What must she be who hath surpassèd her?
And how can any show a love more true
Towards her lord that when she willeth to
Be her lord's substitute in death? And this
All folk within the city ramparts wis.
But when you hear the telling of the thing
She did indoors, you'll fall a wondering.
For when she knew the destined day had caught her,
She laved her white skin with fair flowing water,
And, taking from their cedarn presses sweet
Trinkets and robes, she bask'd in manner meet,
And standing at the altar, lifted so
The voice of prayer:—'Dear mistress, since I go
Beneath the earth, and now bow down toward
Thy face for the last time, I pray thee guard
Mine orphan children. To the boy afford
A loving wife, and to the girl a lord
Who shall be high of heart; nor let them wane
Untimely like their mother, but remain
Happy in their birth-land, until at last
Life's joyous day be done!' Therewith she pass'd
To all the altars in Admetus' house,
Crown'd them, and pray'd and from the myrtle boughs
Shear'd off the leaves; tearless, without a moan,
Nor marr'd the coming ill her cheek's soft tone.
Then, rushing to the bedside in her room,
She weeping said:—'Oh couch, his couch for whom
I die, farewell! Behold I hate thee not.
'Tis only me thou losest, for I wot
'Twas fear of bringing thee and him to shame
For which I die; and now some other dame
Shall be his lady, scarce a wifelier mate,
But, haply, a less all-unfortunate.'
Then, casting herself down, she kiss'd the bed,
And soak'd it with the tears her sweet eyes shed,
But, when she had enough of tear on tear,
She stoop'd away therefrom in wild career;
Yet oft departing she return'd again,
And cast herself athwart the counterpane.
The weeping babes who clung about their mother
She clasp'd and kiss'd,—first one and then the other,
As dying women will; and all her folk
Wept up and down the house Fate's heavy stroke;
But she gave each her hand, and none so plain
But was bespoken and replied again.
Such sorrows in Admetus' house abide:
For, had he died, why then the man had died,
But now that death's escaped such woes have come
As he shall never win a respite from.
Chor. Surely, if he be robb'd of one so good,
Admetus moans the hap in bitter mood!
Hand. Yes, he makes moan, and will not let her go.
And prays her not to cheat him, seeking so
What cannot be. For she grows waste and wan,
Consumed by a great ill, yet lingering on,
A pitiful burden in his arms. And yet,
Albeit she scarce breathes, her heart is set
On sunlight, just as though it would absorb
Once and for all the sun's shaft and his orb.
Now will I go and tell them you are here.
For 'tis not all who hold their lords so dear
As to stand by them to the bitter end,
But thou of old hast been my lord's good friend.
Chor. O, Zeus, what 'scape is there, what setting-free
From the ills our masters dree?
O, Pæon, for Admetus the heartsick
Contrive some healing trick!
Find it, oh, find it; for in old days thou,
Discoveredst it for him.
Be our deliverer from Death's anger now,
And frustrate Hades grim!
Behold, behold, she comes from forth the house,
And therewithal her spouse.
Cry out! make moan!—O land of Pheres, O
Lady most admirable,
Whom some ill so consumes that she must go
Down to the lord of hell.





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