Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ALCESTIS: SCENE 2, by EURIPIDES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ALCESTIS: SCENE 2, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Sun, and thou light of day, and high in heaven
Last Line: That our strange guests should be put out by it.
Subject(s): Charon; Hercules; Mythology - Classical; Styx (river)


Enter ALCESTIS and ADMETUS

Alc. Sun, and thou Light of Day, and high in heaven,
Ye clouds that whirl and throng,—
Adm. The sun sees two poor wretches unforgiven,
Though they have done no wrong.
Alc. O thou my home, Iolcos of my birth,
And thou, O Mother Earth!
Adm. Lift up thyself, dear wretch, desert me not,
But pray to heaven's strong lord
To be a little piteous to our lot.
Alc. I see the boat two-oar'd!
I see the ferryman of each man's soul;
Yea, with mine eyes I see
Old Charon with his hand upon the pole,
And now he's calling me;
'Why make delay? Aboard! Thou stoppest us!'
Ay, thus he bids me haste.
Adm. Alas! an ill voyage thou'rt foretelling thus;
What woes, poor love, we taste!
Alc. He drags me, some one drags me! Dost not see?
Down to the House of Death,
Glaring from underneath swart brows on me,
Wing'd Hades hurrieth!
What wouldst thou? Leave me! What a journey's this!
Most miserable me!
Adm. A grievous mourning to thy friends it is,
And to thy babes and me,
Whom this woe strikes in common.
Alc. Leave me now,
Leave me, for in my feet
Strength lacks, and dark night creeps across my brow.
Children, my children sweet,
You have no mother left; farewell, mine own;
May your sunset be late!
Adm. Alas! I hear a dread and bitter tone,
Sadder than any fate.
Ah, leave me not, 'fore heaven, and for their sake
Whom thou wilt orphans make!
Arise, behold, I should not linger on
Wert thou once dead and gone.
We live and die by thee, dear, evermore,
For thy love we adore!
Alc. Admetus, thou beholdest all my state,
And I will tell thee, ere it be too late
What I would have. I, who so much adore thee
As to have given thee life by dying for thee,
Die, though I need not. For, although I could
Have wed with what Thessalian man I would,
And lived with him the dear tyrannic life,
I could not bear to be another's wife,
Or make my children orphans. So I had
Small care for that whereof I was so glad—
The gracious gift of blooming youth, whilst they
Who gave thee being hasted to betray,
Albeit in their life's late eventide
They could right well have saved their son and died,
Seeing thou wast their only one, and thou
Being dead they could not hope for children now:
Then I and thou our destined time had lived,
And thou wouldst not make moan, being deprived
Of thine own wife, nor nurse the motherless!
Well, this is some god's work! I know it, yes!
Remember the repaying; that's thy task!
But 'tis not quits that ever I shall ask,—
Nor life for life! nought is more precious.
But I'll hold just what thou shalt name to us,
Since thy love for our babes equals my love.
Ah, train them up to be the lords above
Our royal house, nor give them a step-dame
Who shall do worse than I, and so work shame
In envious wise against thy babes and mine.
Nay, do not this, I pray thee; for in fine,
Your second mother, through excess of spite,
Entreats your children as a serpent might!
Lo! I must die the death, and this great sorrow
Comes not about the third day, nor to-morrow,
For now it is I'm number'd with the dead!
Farewell, be prosperous; let it be said,
When you must boast:—"My wife, these children's mother,
Was more adorable than any other!"
Chor. Cheer up; I doubt not he'll make bold to boast
As thou ordain'st, unless his wits be lost.
Adm. Nay, never fear me, love; for all my life,
Whether thou live or die, thou'rt still my wife!
And no Thessalian bride shall take thy place
However noble or divine of face.
The children are enough, and so I pray
I may have joy of them full many a day,
For thee we joy no more in, and no years
Can take away the load of sighs and tears,
But only death, beloved, will bring redress
To one whose birth hath been but bitterness;
For they who gave me life loved with their lips,
Not with their hearts, whilst thou in dear eclipse
Hast saved me with thy life: shall I then cease
Bemoaning such a wife? Nay, I'll have peace
Where erst were feasts, and gatherings to wine,
And crowns, and songs, that made my home divine,
And never more shall my hands touch the lute,
Or my lips company the Libyan flute
When heads are raised in songs; for thou, my wife,
Hast taken with thee all the light of life.
But an I had the music and the tongue
Of Orpheus, so that with a cadence sung
Unto Demeter's daughter and her lord,
I might but rescue thee from hell abhorr'd,
I would go down, and neither Pluto's hound
Nor Charon at his oar could set a bound
Unto my steps till I again had given
Thy life back to the light of upper heaven.
Wait for me then; and when death comes apace
Prepare for us a common biding-place.
For I will bid these folk deposit me
In the same cedarn house of rest with thee,
And lay us side by side, that so at rest
I be not severed from my faithfullest.
Chor. Lo, I will bear this heavy grief for her
As friend for friend, since none is worthier.
Alc. Children, you've heard now what your sire hath said;
How that he will not with another wed,
Who shall be o'er you so that I be shent.
Adm. I say it, and I swear accomplishment!
Alc. Ah, then, take thou these babes upon my arm.
Adm. I take the charming gift from one whose charm
Is deathless.
Alc. Be their mother in my stead!
Adm. Alas, they'll need me, seeing thou wilt be dead.
Alc. O children mine, I sink away beneath
When most I ought to live.
Adm. After thy death
When will become of me?
Alc. Nay, time will soften;
The dead, thou know'st, are not remember'd often.
Adm. Oh, in the god's name, take me too below.
Alc. Nay, I suffice in dying for thee so.
Adm. Of what a wife ye rob me, Destinies!
Alc. Oh, but they're heavy,—these poor darkening eyes.
Adm. And thou wilt leave me, wife, I am undone.
Alc. Ye'll not need mention the poor vanish'd one.
Adm. Lift up thy head, nor leave thy children.
Alc. Nay, it is farewell, dears, though I long to stay.
Adm. Ah, look on them!
Alc. No, I'm a tale you tell!
Adm. What dost thou? Wouldst thou leave us?
Alc. Fare thee well!
Adm. I am undone; woe for a wretched lot!
Chor. Look, she hath gone; Admetus' wife is not.

Chor. Daughter of Pelias, who must sunless dwell
In Hades' house, farewell!
Let yon old ferryman with helm and oars,
Let black-tress'd Hades mind
That she whom now they ferry to their shores
Is best of all her kind.
Oft shall the servants of the Muses sing
To sound of seven-string'd lyres
Among the hill-tops or go sorrowing
In simply-chanting choirs,
What time in Sparta circling seasons win
To bright Carnean days
When the moon shines all night, and likewise in
Rich Athens sweet with praise.
Such is the poem that thy dying hath left
To all who toil in song!
Would that I were not of all power bereft
To waft thy soul along
Out of the house of Hades, o'er death's stream
With the dark oar thereof!
For thou alone wert hardy to redeem
Thy lord with life and love.
Light be the earth upon thee, lady mine!
But an he wed another,
He will be hated by these babes of thine,
Nor shall I spurn their mother.
His dam would not go down into the pit,
His grey old sire withstood.
The hoary-headed wretches dared not flit
To save their flesh and blood;
But thou in the spring-tide of blooming life
Wentest for him a-dying!
Ah, could I meet the twin of such a wife,—
For while old Time's a-flying,
Such gifts are giv'n but rarely,—she would bring
Love without term or sting!

Enter HERCULES

Herc. Tell me, strange sirs, who dwell in Pheres' land,
Is your lord in his palace here at hand?
Chor. The son of Pheres is, O, Hercules,
But say what need compels thee from thine ease
To Pheres' city on Thessalian soil?
Herc. Eurystheus the Tirynthian claims my toil.
Chor. And on what roving venture art thou led?
Herc. 'Tis the four chariot-steeds of Diomed
The Thracian that I'm after.
Chor. Nay, but how
Wilt thou prevail? Knowest thy Thracian now?
Herc. Nay, I've not seen Bistonian land as yet.
Chor. No horse is thine unless thou fight for it,
Herc. Ah, well, I can't say nay to promised pain.
Chor. So, then, thou'lt come back slayer or stay slain.
Herc. Not the first bout this that I shall contest!
Chor. How art advantaged if thou prove the best?
Herc. I'll drive the nags to the Tirynthian.
Chor. Their jaws are hard to bit and bridle, man.
Herc. Not so, unless 'tis flame their nostrils breathe.
Chor. They'll tear men piecemeal with devouring teeth.
Herc. You talk of some poor quarry as it bleeds
Torn by wild mountain creatures, not by steeds.
Chor. Nay, mark the blood-stain'd stall of every nag.
Herc. Now, what descent does this horsekeeper brag?
Chor. On high descent from Ares he'll enlarge,
Lord of the golden-mounted Thracian targe.
Herc. Ah, well! this toil is portion of that fate
Which ever hath a stiff and up-hill gait,
An' I must fight the sons whom Mars begat,—
Lycaon first, then Cyenus; after that
The master and his steeds. But no one must
Behold Alcmena's son afraid to trust
His frame before the foeman's armed hand.
Chor. And here, in sooth, the lord of all the land
From forth his palace hasteneth apace!
Adm. Hail, son of Zeus, and sprung of Perseus' race!
Herc. Hail, too, Admetus, king of Thessaly!
Adm. Would that I might hear thee smilingly:
I know thee well-wisher to me and mine.
Herc. Why show so plain these sad shorn locks of thine?
Adm. To-day I shall be burying my dead.
Herc. May God turn ill from every little head!
Adm. My little ones are living safely here.
Herc. Thy father—an' he's gone—had many a year
Behind him!
Adm. No, he liveth, and she, too,
Who bore me, Hercules.
Herc. Nay, is it true
Thy wife, Alcestis, is no longer here?
Adm. There are two stories can be told of her.
Herc. Is it the quick thou namest, or the dead?
Adm. Living, she yet is gone: I'm tortured.
Herc. I'm in the dark: thou speakest words obscure.
Adm. Know'st not the destiny she should endure?
Herc. I know she took upon herself to give
Her life for thine.
Adm. How then can she yet live
If that she promised this?
Herc. Ah, do not cry
Until this happen, and she surely die.
Adm. Whoso will speed hath sped; he who goes hence
Is now no more!
Herc. Thou makest a difference
Betwixt to be and not to be.
Adm. I wis
Thou judgest that way, Hercules, I this.
Herc. Wherefore, then, weep? What friend of thine is gone?
Adm. A lady, one whose tale we spoke upon.
Herc. A stranger born, or some one of thy kin?
Adm. A stranger, yet beloved by all within
My palace on another count.
Herc. But then,
How did she die within thy palace?
Adm. When
Her sire was gone she lived here fatherless.
Herc. Would that I had not found thee in distress!
Alack, Admetus!
Adm. What wouldest be about,
That thou art speaking thus?
Herc. I shall go out
Unto the hearth of some more kindly host.
Adm. Nay king, let this not be at any cost.
Herc. To mourning folk a guest is troublesome.
Adm. Dead are the dead; but come in hither, come!
Herc. Nay, 'tis ill done to feast with friends in tears,
Adm. The guest-rooms are apart from their compeers:
Thither we lead thee.
Herc. Let me go, and I
Will owe thee thousand thanks eternally.
Adm. Nay, journey not unto another's side!
When thou hast open'd those guest-chambers wide
Which stand apart, lead on, and bid the men
Who are acquainted with the regimen,
Get ready store of meat; then in mid-hall
Close up the gates; no moaning's musical
To ears of them that feast, nor is it fit
That our strange guests should be put out by it.





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