Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, OEDIPUS, by LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

OEDIPUS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Already night has fled, dim dawns the day
Last Line: With me,—with me! Such guides for me are meet.
Alternate Author Name(s): Seneca
Subject(s): Mythology - Greek; Oedipus; Tragedy


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

ŒDIPUS.
CREON.
TIRESIAS.
PHORBAS.
JOCASTA.
MANTO.
A CORINTHIAN.
MESSENGER.
CHORUS.

SCENE: Thebes.

ACT I

SCENE I

Œdipus, Jocasta.

Œdipus. Already night has fled, dim dawns the day
The morning star looks darkly through the gloom,
The woful light in baleful flame appears
And sees our homes made desolate by plague;
And day will show what havoc night has wrought.
Who would be glad at being made a king?
Deceitful honor, how thy flattering face
Conceals untold misfortune. As the ridge
Of mountain summits by the wind is swept,
As rocky headlands, even when the sea
Is calm, by breakers at their jutting base
Are lashed, so fortune's storms attack the heights
Of kingly power. 'Twas but right to flee
The scepter of my father Polybus.
An exile, free from care and unafraid,
(I call to witness heaven and the gods)
Idly I happened on a kingdom's throne.
I fear an impious crime: lest slain by me
My father die; for so admonished me
The Delphic laurel, and of greater crime
Forewarned me. Could there be a greater crime
Than murder of a father? Woe is me,
It shames me but to give the crime a voice;
For Phœbus threats a marriage infamous,
A parent's bed dishonored by a son,
Incestuous union, and a bridal torch
That fits such wedding feast. This fear it is
Made me an exile from my father's house.
Not as a fugitive I left my home,
But, fearing to myself to trust myself,
Nature, thy holy laws I made secure.
Although thou loath'st the sin, yet none the less
Fear that which seems to be impossible,—
I greatly feared and trusted not myself.
E'en now the fates prepare some grievous ill—
This plague, so hostile to the Cadmean land,
And spreading such disaster, spares but me;
For what worse evil then am I reserved?
Amid the city's ruins, 'mid new deaths,
That ever with new tears must be bewept,
'Mid slaughter of my people, I stand safe—
Apollo's hand is plain. How can I hope,
Destined for crimes like these to hold secure,
A healthful realm? 'Tis I infect the air.
No gentle wind with cool breath cherishes
The hearts that labor under burning suns;
Light Zephyr blows not; Titan, pressing close
The lion of Nemea's flanks, augments
The dog-star's heat; the river beds are dry;
The green deserts the herbage; Dirce's fount
Fails, and Ismenus' stream is but a thread
Whose waters scarce make moist the barren shoals;
Apollo's sister moves obscured through heaven,
And earth is sad and wan with clouded day;
No night serene is lighted by the stars,
But o'er the earth brood black and heavy mists;
Infernal darkness veils the heavenly heights,
The dwelling of the gods; her ripened fruit
Ceres withholds—just as the golden ear
Lifts itself trembling on the thirsty stalk
The grain dies fruitless; nought remains secure
From ruin; every age and sex alike
Is smitten, son with father, youth with age,
In ghastly ruin, and one funeral pyre
Serves wife and husband, so that neither mourns
Nor weeps beside the bier of a dead spouse.
Nay more, the rigor of such heavy woes
Makes dry the eyes, and tears, the wonted gift
Of sorrow, may not fall. Here going forth,
A grieving father carries out his child;
Or there a grief-stunned mother brings her son,
To burn his body on the last dread fire;
Swiftly they go, returning to perform
The same sad office for another child.
New sorrow rises from the sorrow's self,
And they who came to bear the dead away
Fall dead; on strangers' pyres their forms are burned,
And fire made common spoil; woe knows no shame;
No separate tombs enclose the holy dead;
It is enough the bodies should have blazed,
How small a part to ashes really burns!
No space remains for graves, the woods refuse
To furnish funeral pyres for the dead.
When once the plague has smitten, art nor vows
Can save. Physicians fall while minist'ring,
And sickness seizes him who offers help.
Prostrate before the altars here I stretch
My suppliant hands, implore a speedy death;
I would outrun my country's overthrow,
Die ere all perish, live not as the last
Of all my kingdom. O too cruel gods!
O heavy lot! Death, that so swiftly smites
My people, is to me alone denied,
Lay down the scepter from thy fatal hands;
Flee from the tears, the funerals, and the air
So full of pestilence, which thou, a guest
Ill-omened, brought'st with thee; fly swiftly hence,
Although to home and parents thou must flee.
Jocasta. Why add lament to sorrow? knowest thou not
'Tis kingly to endure unflinchingly
Whatever adverse fortune choose to give?
Although prosperity decline, the strength
Of mighty empire totter to its fall,
The king should stand unshaken; it is base
To turn the back to fortune.
Œdipus. Far from me
Be the reproach of sins of cowardice;
My spirit does not know ignoble fear.
If hostile dart, if bristling might of war
Attack me, I would boldly hold my own—
Against the Giants even. When the Sphinx
Proposed her riddle, I was not afraid;
Nor did I fear before the bloody jaws
Of that dread prophetess, though all the ground
Was white with scattered bones; and when she stooped
From the high cliff, and, ready for her prey,
Spread her broad wings, and, lashing with her tail,
Threatened to pounce as a fierce lion does,
I asked her for her riddle; o'er my head
Wildly she sang, impatient ground her teeth,
And tore the rocks with claws that fain would tear
My heart. The twisted riddle of the Sphinx,
The double speech, the baleful prophecy
That fierce bird sang, I solved. Thou foolish one,
Why yearn too late for death? 'Twas possible
Then to have died; this scepter was the meed
Of honor, and Jocasta the reward
Allotted thee for slaying of the Sphinx.
But from the ashes of the monster comes
This curse against me, and that perished plague
Now ruins Thebes. No safety now remains,
If Phœbus does not show us safety's path.

SCENE II

Chorus of Theban women.

O noble sons of Cadmus' race, ye die
With all your city! Wretched Thebes! alas,
Thy homes are left unto thee desolate.
Bacchus, thy soldiery is snatched away
By death—those gallant comrades who dared ride
To farthest India and the distant east,
And plant thy banners on earth's utmost bounds;
They saw the woods of Araby the blest
Fragrant with breath of cinnamon; they saw
The flying Parthian cavalry who shoot
Their treacherous arrows backward as they flee;
They saw that Red Sea's shore, where first the sun
Springs from the waters, bringing up the day,
There where the naked Ethiopian feels
His nearer flame.
Sons of a race unconquered, thus we fall;
We pass snatched hence by cruel destiny;
Each hour new sacrifice is led to death;
The long train of the sad procession hastes
Down to the shades, and all the ways are blocked,
And, for the throngs that seek the place of tombs,
The seven gates of Thebes are not enough;
Corpse upon corpse the bodies of the dead
Are heaped together.
The stolid sheep feel first the touch of death,
The sick lambs scarcely crop the juicy herbs.
The priest stands ready for the sacrifice,
But as his hand is raised to strike the blow,
The bull that waited it with gilded horns
Sinks slowly; as the heavy ax descends,
Relaxed beneath the blow his huge neck falls,
But yet by no red blood the steel is stained,—
A humor black and foul flows from the wound.
The horse, o'erwearied in the course, drops dead
And throws his rider prone; what sheep still live
Lie helpless in the fields; the bull grows weak
Among the herd; the shepherd fails his flock,
Fainting and dying 'mid the wasting young;
The hinds no longer fear the plundering wolf;
No more the angry lion roars; no more
The shaggy bear is fierce; the lurking snake
Loses its sting, shrivels and perishes,
Its venom dried.
The woods no longer from their leafy boughs
Shed dusky shadows on the mountain side;
No more the land grows green with springing grain;
No more the vines' full branches downward bend
With weight of Bacchus' gifts; earth feels our woes.
The Tartarean band of sisters, armed
With fatal torch, have burst apart the gates
Of Erebus profound, the Phlegethon
Has changed its course, and with Sidonian streams
The Styx is mingled. Black Death's eager jaws
Gape for us, wide he spreads his mighty wings.
The hard old ferry-man who guides the boat
That plies between the gloomy river's banks,
Sore taxed with frequent poling to and fro,
Can hardly lift his over-wearied arms,
Too weak to bear the thronging dead across.
'Tis said the dog of hell has burst his chains,
Forged of Tænarian iron, and now haunts
Our country; earth makes moan, and misty forms,
Larger than human, wander through the groves;
The Cadmean woods twice trembled and shook down
Their weight of snow, and twice the troubled fount
Of Dirce welled with blood, Amphion's dogs
Howled on the silent night.
Oh, strange and dreadful kind of death, far worse
Than death itself! A heavy lassitude
Binds fast our listless limbs, the feverish red
Flames in the face, and spots defile the brows;
The body's citadel, the head, is burnt
With scorching heat, the cheeks are swelled with blood,
The eyes are fixed, and on the drooping limbs
A foul corruption feeds, a ringing noise
Sounds in the ears, black blood flows from the nose
And bursts the veins agape; quick, racking groans
Are wrung from quivering hearts; some seek to cool
Their glowing fever on the icy rocks,
And some in empty homes, the watcher gone,
Make haste to seek the fountain, but their thirst
Grows as they drink. Before the altars lie
A prostrate throng and pray for speedy death,
For death alone the gods consent to give.
They crowd the shrines, not with their votive gifts
T' appease the wrathful gods, but with themselves
To glut the greedy anger of the gods.

ACT II

SCENE I

Œdipus, Creon, Chorus.

Œdipus. Who is it hither comes with hasty steps?
Is it not Creon, great in deed and race?
Or does my sick soul view the false as true?
Chorus. 'Tis Creon—he whom all desire to see.
Œdipus. I tremble, for I dread the trend of fate;
My fearful heart is torn by two desires:
Where joy with sorrow mingled lies in doubt
The soul, uncertain, longing still to know,
Still fears to know. Dear brother of my wife,
If any hope thou bringst to wearied hearts,
I pray thee now be swift to tell it me.
Creon. The oracle a doubtful answer gave.
Œdipus. Who gives us doubtful safety, gives us none.
Creon. The Delphic oracle is wont to hide
Her secret meaning in a double sense.
Œdipus. Though it be doubtful, tell it, since to read
Dark sayings is to Œdipus allowed.
Creon. The god commands that murder of the king
Should be atoned by exile, Laius' death
Avenged; not otherwise shall cloudless day
Arise, nor any breathe untainted air.
Œdipus. Who slew the noble king? what man is he
Whom Phœbus names? Speak, that he may atone.
Creon. I pray it may not be unsafe to tell
The horrid tale of what I saw and heard.
A numbness lies upon my limbs, chill fear
Congeals my blood: when I, with suppliant feet,
Within the temple of Apollo came,
And with observance due had lifted up
Pure hands, and made my prayer, Parnassus' peak
Thundered, Apollo's drooping laurel shook,
And swayed its leaves, the holy stream that flows
From the Castalian fountain ceased; the seer,
Moved by the god, shook back her unkempt locks,
Nor had she reached the cave when from its depths
A thundering voice greater than human came:
'The kindly stars will not again return
To Cadmus' city till the stranger guest
Whom even as a child Apollo knew—
The stranger guilty of king Laius' death—
Shall flee from Dirce. Thou may'st not retain
The pleasant fruit of slaughter, long enjoyed;
Thou with thyself shalt war, and shalt bequeath
War to thy sons, so basely hast thou turned
Again to her who bore thee.'
Œdipus. At command
I am prepared to do the god's behests,
For it is meet this man be offered up
To Laius' ashes, that the sanctity
Of kings be not by treachery profaned;
For kings have need to guard the life of kings.
Him who alive was feared none think of dead.
Creon. 'Twas terror drove out thought of him who died.
Œdipus. Can any fear prevent a reverent care?
Creon. The Sphinx, her gloomy song of threatened crime.
Œdipus. This wrong, at heaven's command, shall be avenged.
Ye gods who look with favor on our realm,
Whoe'er ye be, both thou whose laws control
The whirling firmament, thou brightest star
Of heaven, who governest the twice six signs
Diversely, whose swift wheel rolls off slow time;
And thou Diana, wanderer through the dark,
Who still returnest to thy brother's side;
Thou too almighty ruler of the winds,
Who driv'st thy azure car through ocean's plains;
And thou whose dwelling shuns the holy light,
Be present. Grant that he who slew the king
May find no peaceful home, no household gods,
Nor hospitable land; may he lament
A shameful marriage, offspring odious;
Let him commit the crime from which I fled—
What worse could it be possible to wish?
Nor shall a place of grace remain for him.
I swear by this my kingdom, where I dwell
A guest, and by the kingdom that I left,
And by my household gods; by thee I swear,
Great father Neptune, who dost softly bathe
My dear land's double coast with gentle waves;
By thee I swear, who camest to inspire
The Delphic priestess' words of prophecy:
So may my father on his lofty throne
Live out his age secure in length of days,
And Merope no other marriage know
Than that of Polybus, as I will show
The guilty man no favor. Tell me where
The impious crime was done, did Laius fall
In open war or slain by treachery?
Creon. He sought the leafy grove, Castalia's fount,
Treading the way o'ergrown with thorny vines;
From thence three roads stretch forth into the plain;
One leads through Phocis, land to Bacchus dear,
Whence high Parnassus lifts its double peak
And, seeking heaven, rises from the fields
By gentle slopes; another to the land
Of Sisyphus, whose shores two oceans wash;
Into the valley lands of Olenos
The other leads, and, by a sinuous course
Meeting at last the wandering waters, slips
Across the cool ford of th' Elean stream;
Here unexpectedly, when all seemed safe,
Robbers assailing, wrought the hidden crime.
But summoned by Apollo's oracle,
Tiresias comes in haste, with trembling steps,
And Manto, his companion, hither leads
The sightless seer.

SCENE II

Œdipus, Tiresias, Manto, Creon in the background.

Œdipus. Near to Apollo, sacred to the god,
Speak, tell the answer; whom does justice seek?
Tiresias. In truth it hardly fits thee, great-souled one,
To wonder that the tongue is slow to speak,
And asks delay; truth, to the blind, lies hid.
Yet whither Phœbus or my country calls
I follow, and Apollo's oracle
Shall be made known. If youth's hot blood were mine,
I might receive the god within my breast;
But to the altars bring the white-backed bulls
That never on their necks have borne the yoke;
And thou, who to a father reft of light
Art guide, my daughter, tell me what the marks
Of the prophetic sacrifice.
Manto. There stands,
Fronting the altars, an abundant gift.
Tiresias. In hallowed words invoke the gods on high,
Heap up the altars with the fragrant gift
Of eastern incense.
Manto. On the sacred fire
The frankincense has been already cast.
Tiresias. What of the flame? Has it yet seized the gift?
Manto. It shone a moment with a sudden light,
Then fell again as suddenly.
Tiresias. But say
If clear and bright the fire now burns, if shoots
To heaven a straight, pure flame, until its crest,
Upstreaming, melts away in liquid air?
Or does it fluttering creep about the sides
And flicker dark with undulating smoke?
Manto. Th' inconstant flame has not one form alone:
As Iris, the rain-bearer, intertwines
Her various colors, and her bow, stretched forth
Across the heavens, by its painted arc
Announces showers—you may not tell the tints,
Blue mingles with the gold, then disappears
And glows again blood red, then sinks at last
Into the dark. The stubborn flame is split
In two, and one discordant half divides
Again. I shudder, father, at the sight!
To Bacchus the libation has been poured,
And see, it turns to blood; a heavy smoke
O'erhangs the king, is densest round his head,
And hides the murky light with heavy cloud.
Father, what means it? Say.
Tiresias. What can I say?
Amid the tumult of a mind confused
I grope; what shall I say? The ills are dire,
But hidden. By a less uncertain sign
The gods are wont to manifest their wrath;
What is it that they wish yet do not wish
Should be revealed? Why hide they thus their wrath?
Something there surely is that shames the gods.
Bring near the victims, scatter on their necks
The salted meal: do they with placid mien
Suffer the priest's approach and lifted hand?
Manto. Turned toward the east, the bull throws back his head,
Shrinks from the day, and, overcome with fear,
He dreads the sun's face and her radiant beams.
Tiresias. By one blow fall they, to the earth struck down?
Manto. The heifer gave herself to death, o'erthrown
By the first blow; the bull, by two strokes felled
Rolls madly here and there, until at last,
Wearied, his struggling life is forced away.
Tiresias. Springs the blood swiftly from a narrow cut,
Or does it slowly moisten the deep wounds?
Manto. The blood in rivers from the heifer's side
Flows forth, but from the bull's deep wound the stream
Is scant, though from his mouth and eyes there wells
Much blood.
Tiresias. An unpropitious sacrifice
Foretells most terrible events. But say
What signs undoubted do the entrails show?
Manto. My father, what is this? The inward parts
Not with the wonted gentle quivering
Are moved, but shake the hand in which they're held,
And from the veins new blood flows forth; the heart
Is sick and withered, and lies covered up;
The veins are leaden blue, the bowels lack
The greater part, the liver is decayed
And covered up with froth of inky gall,
And, omen ever fraught with ill for kings,
See from the lobe two equal heads arise;
A slender membrane covers either head
Denying lurking place for hidden things;
The hostile side in sturdy strength lifts up
Its seven veins; all these an oblique ridge
Cuts off, preventing them from turning back.
Changed is the natural order, nothing lies
Where it is wont, inverted is the whole:
Not on the right is found the bloody lung,
Breather of air, nor on the left the heart;
Nor does the membrane with its soft embrace
Surround the viscera's rich folds, no law
Is here observed, and nature's ways are changed.
Let us examine whence this order strange.
What shocking prodigy is this I see?
In a new place, an unaccustomed way,
The fœtus of the unwed heifer fills
The parent, moves its members with a moan,
Stirs with a quivering motion its weak limbs;
Black blood pollutes the tissues, the torn trunk
Attempts to move, the lifeless heifer seeks
To rise and with its horns attack the priest;
The entrails fly the hand; that sound you hear
Is not the lowing of the noble herd,
Is not the voice of the affrighted flocks—
The altars shake, the altar-fires resound.
Œdipus. Say freely what these fearful signs presage,
Unfrighted shall my ears drink in thy words.
Tiresias. Those ills for which thou seekest help, thou'lt grudge
Thyself to help.
Œdipus. Tell that high heaven ordains;
What hand destroyed the king, defiled the realm?
Tiresias. Alas, not wandering bird that onlight wing
Cleaves the blue depth of heaven, nor fibre torn
From out the living breast can tell the name.
Another way must needs be found, the king
Must from the region of eternal night
Be called, must be sent forth from Erebus,
That he may name the author of his death;
The earth must open and relentless Dis
Must be invoked, and hither must be brought
The dwellers of the nether Styx. Declare
To whom thou wilt this office delegate;
For as the king 'tis not permitted thee
To see the land of shades.
Œdipus. This task demands,
Creon, thy care, for thou art next myself.
Tiresias. While open wide we lay the Stygian depths,
Ye Thebans, raise a song in Bacchus' praise.

SCENE III

Chorus of Thebans.

Wreathe with the nodding vine your flowing locks,
Take the Nysean thyrsus in your hands.
O Bacchus, light and glory of the skies,
Be present while the noblest in thy Thebes
Raise supplicating hands and prayers to thee;
With favoring glance turn hitherward thy head
So virginal, dispel with starry look
The clouds, the menaces of Erebus
And eager fate. To twine the flowing hair
With vernal flowers well beseemeth thee;
To bind about thy head the Tyrian crown,
Or wreath with berried ivy thy smooth brows;
To let thy loosened hair fall unrestrained,
Or in a careful knot to bind it back.
Thus didst thou grow, fearing a stepdame's wrath,
Under false seeming; wore thy flaxen locks
In virgin fashion, girded up thy robe
And flowing syrma; thus the regions wild
Of eastern lands, of men who drink the streams
Of Ganges, or who break the Araxes' ice,
Saw thee reclining in thy golden car,
Thy lions half concealed beneath thy robe;
On his mean ass Silenus followed thee,
His swollen temples with green vine leaves bound,
And wanton priests thy hidden mysteries held.
Thy company of Bassarids, thy band
Of chosen followers led the Edonian dance
Now on Pangæus, now on Thracian soil
Of Pindus' heights; among the Cadmean dames
The Mænad, Theban Bacchus' comrade, came,
Her body with a sacred fawn skin girt,
The slender thyrsus in her waving hand.
The bacchanals who mangled Pentheus' limbs,
When madness left them and their limbs relaxed,
Gazed on their deed as on an unknown crime.
Surrounded by her train of ocean nymphs,
Cadmean Ino, shining Bacchus' aunt,
Rules o'er the ocean; and the wandering youth,
Divine Palæmon, Bacchus' kin, gives laws
That still the raging of the mighty deep.
Thee, when a child, Etrurian shepherds stole,
But Nereus stilled the raging of the sea—
Plane trees and laurel groves to Phœbus dear
Sprang green with early leaves, a garrulous bird
Sang in the branches, riotous ivy held
The oars, and vines o'erhung the lofty mast;
In the ship's prow the Idæan lion roared,
A tiger from the Ganges held the poop.
The frightened pirate leaped into the sea,
And as he sank a new form covered him—
A sinuous dolphin followed the swift ship.
Pactolus that with rushing waters sweeps
Its golden banks away, has carried thee
On its rich current; the Massagetes,
Who mix with blood their drink of milk, unbent
Their conquered bows and freed their Getan shafts;
Lycurgus' ax-armed people recognize
The sway of Bacchus; the wild Dacian land,
The wandering tribes that feel the north wind's blast,
The nations where the cold Mæotis flows,
And those on whom look down from heaven's heights
The wagons twain and star of Arcady
Have felt his power. The scattered Geloni
He overcame, and took away their arms
From the fierce maiden warriors by his might.
The virgin troops that by Thermodon dwell,
To Mænads turned, cast from them their light shafts
And sank to earth with drooping face. The mount
Of blest Cithæron flowed with Theban blood;
And Prœtus' daughters wandered in the woods;
In Juno's presence Argos honored him;
Naxos, surrounded by the Ægean sea,
Brought him a maid deserted for his bride,
And with a better husband thus replaced
Her loss. The Bacchic river freely flowed
From the dry rock, its bubbling rills divide
The turf, the deep earth drank the honey's stream,
And fountains of white milk and Lesbian wine
Mingled with odorous thyme.
Bacchus led up his bride to heaven's height;
With loose hair, Phœbus sang the bridal song,
Twin Cupids waved aloft the bridal torch;
At Bacchus' coming Jove laid by his dart
Of fire, and loathed the dreaded thunderbolt.
As long as old earth's starry heavens turn,
As long as ocean with its waves surrounds
Th' encircled earth, and while the full-orbed moon
Continues to relight her dying fires,
As long as Lucifer foretells the dawn,
As long as high Arcturus touches not
The azure ocean, we will pay our vows
To fair Lyæus' bright divinity.

ACT III

SCENE I

Œdipus, Creon.

Œdipus. Thy face betrays the signs of tears, but speak,
Whose life must be an offering to the god?
Creon. Thou bid'st me tell what fear would have me hide.
Œdipus. If thou remain'st unmoved by suffering Thebes,
Thy kindred's fallen scepter bids thee speak.
Creon. Thou'lt yearn to know not what thou fain would'st know.
Œdipus. A want of knowledge is an idle balm
For ills. Would'st thou conceal the evidence
That brings us public health?
Creon. When medicine
Is bitter, painful is it to be healed.
Œdipus. Tell what thou heard'st or thou shalt learn to know,
Conquered by heavy punishment, what power
The weapons of an angry king may have.
Creon. Kings hate the words their own commands call forth.
Œdipus. Unless thy voice lay bare the oracle
Thou shalt be sent to dusky Erebus,
A sacrifice for all.
Creon. O grant the boon
Of silence. Can a lesser liberty
Be sought for from a king?
Œdipus. Such liberty
Oft harms both king and kingdom more than words.
Creon. What boon is left when silence is forbid?
Œdipus. He weakens royal power who, told to speak,
Keeps silence.
Creon. Hear unmoved, I pray, the words
Forced from me.
Œdipus. What man, being urged to speak,
Was ever punished for obedience?
Creon. Near the Dircean region of moist vales,
Afar from Thebes, there stands an ilex grove,
The cypress, ever green, lifts up its head
Above the wood, and aged, spreading oaks
Stretch out gnarled, rotten branches; wasting years
Have rent the cypresses, and from their roots
Great oaks have fall'n and lean 'gainst neighboring trunks;
The bitter-berried laurel, the slim lime,
The Paphian myrtle, and the alder tree
Destined to move as oars through the wide deep,
The pine around whose slender bole the winds
Play and whose summit stretches to the sun,
Are here, and in their midst a mighty tree
Spreads o'er the lesser grove its heavy shade,
And darkens all beneath its spreading boughs.
In shadow, knowing neither light nor sun,
And stiff with everlasting frost, there lies
A melancholy pool; an oozy swamp
Surrounds the sluggish spring; here came the priest,
Nor knew delay—the place itself brought night.
The earth was hollowed out and brands were laid,
Brands snatched from funeral pyres; the seer put on
The sombre robe and smote upon his brow,
Even to his feet his unkempt vestments flowed.
With mourning guise the sad old man advanced,
The gloomy yew upon his hoary locks.
Black two-year sheep were brought and jet-black bulls;
The flame destroyed the sacrifice, the sheep
That still were living feared the deadly fire.
Then he invoked the manes, thee invoked,
King of the shades, and him who blocks the gates
Of the Lethean waters; and his song
Rolled magically forth, wild threats he sang,
Compelled and calmed the airy shades, and poured
Offerings of blood, and burned the victims whole—
He saturated all the grot with blood.
Libations too with the left hand he poured
Of snow-white milk and wine, and sang again,
And looking down he called with dreadful voice
The manes. Hecate's train bayed back, the cave
Thrice grimly thundered, all the earth was moved.
'I have been heard,' the prophet said, 'my words
Have proved effectual, the dark abyss
Is broken open and a way is made
For Pluto's people to the upper air.'
The forest shook and lifted up its leaves,
The oaks were split, a shudder shook the grove,
Earth groaned and opened; either not unmoved
Could hell behold her hidden depths assailed,
Or earth, that she might give the dead a path,
Rent wide her surface, thundering, or the dog,
Three-headed Cerberus, in anger shook
His heavy chains. Earth yawned and opened wide
Her mighty breast, I saw the darksome lake
Amid the shades, I saw the pallid gods
And very night. My frozen blood stood still.
The savage band leaped forth, that warlike race
Of brothers sprung from Dirce's dragon's teeth,
Leaped into life full-armed; th' Erinyes shrieked,
Horror, blind Fury, and whatever else
Eternal night creates and keeps concealed,—
Grief tearing out its hair, and dread disease
Propping its weary head, and dull old age,
And shrinking fear, and evil pestilence,
All eager to destroy the Theban land.
My spirit fainted; Manto, who knew well
The ancient ceremonies, stood aghast;
Her fearless father, by his blindness bold,
Called up from cruel Dis the bloodless throng—
Straightway they hover like a fleecy cloud,
And breathe free air beneath the open sky.
More than the falling leaves of Eryx' height,
Or flowers that bloom at Hybla in the spring
When bees swarm round them, more than waves that break
Against the shores of the Ionian sea,
More than the birds that flee the Thracian cold
And, cleaving heaven, change the northern snows
For Nile's warm air, are they the prophet's voice
Evoked. The trembling spirits eagerly
Fly to the coverts of the leafy groves.
First Zethus rises from the earth, he grasps
The horns of a fierce bull in his right hand,
Then comes Amphion, whose left hand supports
The harp that with sweet music drew the rocks;
The haughty child of Tantalus held up
Proudly among her sons her drooping head
And, safely glorying, beheld their shades;
Insane Agave, yet more wretched, came,
The wild Bacchantes, who destroyed the king,
Behind her, and, still uttering horrid threats,
Poor, mangled Pentheus followed the mad train.
Often invoked, Laius last advanced
His shame-crowned head; afar from all the train
He stands and hides himself; the priest renewed
His Stygian prayers, until the shade revealed
To open day the face he fain would hide.
I tremble as I speak—with bloody limbs
Dreadful to look upon he stood, his hair
Unkempt and covered o'er with shameful filth.
With angry lips he spoke; 'Cadmean house,
Savage and ever glad in kindred blood,
Shake the wild thyrsus, with inspired hand
'Twere better thou should'st rend thy sons; the love
A mother bears her child is Thebes' worst crime.
Alas, my country, not by angry gods,
By sin art thou despoiled. No baleful wind
Breathed from the south it is that injures thee,
Nor does the earth, too little wet with showers,
Slay with dry breath; a blood-stained king destroys,
Seizing upon a scepter, prize of crime,
And on his mother's marriage bed. Base son!
But yet more wretched than her son is she
Who twice was bearer of unhallowed seed.
He turned again to her who gave him birth,
And has through her created odious sons,
Has done what beasts scarce do, unto himself
Begotten brothers,—evil intricate,
And prodigy more doubtful than his Sphinx.
O, thou who in thy right hand dost sustain
A bloody scepter, it is thee I seek,
And all thy realm; a father unavenged,
I'll bring for bridesmaids to thy marriage-feast
The dread Erinyes, I will bring the scourge,
Thy home impure will ruin, crush thy house
With impious war. Drive therefore from thy land
In haste the exiled king, and let him bend
Whithersoe'er he will his fatal steps;
The earth will then grow green with flowery spring,
Her herbs revive, the vital air will breathe
Pure winds, and once again the forests know
Their former beauty. Ruin, pestilence,
Disaster, death, corruption, and distress,
His worthy henchmen, will with him depart;
He shall desire with flying feet to leave
Our kingdom, but with wearisome delays
I'll stay his steps so he shall creep along
Uncertain of the road, shall grope his way
With the sad steps of age. Up, drive him forth
From earth—from heaven I will shut him out.
Œdipus. An icy trembling fills my flesh and bones,
Accused am I of doing what I feared;
Merope joined with Polybus disproves
The crime of marriage; Polybus unharmed
Absolves my hand from guilt of parricide;
Father and mother prove me free from sin
Of murder and adultery, what room
Remains for crime? Thebes mourned for Laius' death
Long ere my foot had touched Bœotia's land.
Is the seer mocked, or is the god himself
Faithless to troubled Thebes? Ah, now I know
The shrewd accomplices in guile; the seer
Invents this lie, using the gods as cloak,
And promises my scepter shall be thine. [To Creon.]
Creon. Could I then wish my sister thus dethroned?
If sacred ties of kinship held me not
Within my station, yet would Fortune's self,
Too often tempted, make me fear such deed.
Now may'st thou lay aside the weight of power,
Nor, laying it aside, be crushed. Oh, take
In safety now a place of lower rank.
Œdipus. Thou counselest me freely lay aside
This heavy scepter?
Creon. Those who still might choose
I would advise, but thou must bear thy lot.
Œdipus. For those who wish to rule, the surest way
Is praise of moderate fortunes, ease, and sleep;
The restless often counterfeit such calm.
Creon. Is faith so long maintained so little worth?
Œdipus. Pretended faith has oftentimes made safe
The pathway to perfidious faithlessness.
Creon. Set free from all the burdens of the crown,
I still enjoy the benefits of power;
The citizens come thronging to my door,
And no day rises with alternate change
On which our lares are not overflowed
With gifts from royal kindred: splendid feasts,
Rich clothing, safety by my favor won,
And countless offerings. Could I deem I lacked
Aught in such happy fortunes?
Œdipus. Those thus blessed
Lack ever moderation.
Creon. Shall I then
Fall as if guilty, though my cause unheard?
Œdipus. Has my life's fate been fully told to thee,
Or has Tiresias heard me plead my cause?
Yet seem I guilty. Ye have led the way,
I follow.
Creon. What if I am innocent?
Œdipus. Kings ever fear uncertainty no less
Than certain evils.
Creon. He whom empty fears
Alarm, deserves the true.
Œdipus. Who once has sinned,
When pardoned comes to be an enemy.
Let all that's doubtful fall.
Creon. Thus enmity
Is gendered.
Œdipus. He who fears such hate too much
Has never learned to rule; fear guards the realm.
Creon. The king who holds his throne with cruel sway
Must fear the fearful; on its author's head
Will fear return.
Œdipus. [To his followers.] Shut up the criminal
Within a rocky cave, and guard him well.
I go to seek again my palace walls.

SCENE II

Chorus.

Thou art not author of our many woes,
'Tis not for thee Fate seeks Thebes' royal house;
'Tis the gods' ancient wrath pursues us still,
Castalia's grove to the Sidonian guest
Gave shelter, Tyrian colonists were bathed
By Dirce's fount, when great Agenor's son,
Weary of seeking over all the world
The sister Jove had ravished, stood afraid
Beneath our trees, adoring Jove himself:
At Phœbus' bidding he forsook his flight,
Followed the footsteps of the straying cow
That never yet had felt the ploughshare's weight
Nor bent beneath the great cart's curving yoke;
He from the fatal heifer gave a name
To the new people. Since that time the land
Has ever borne new monsters; the dread snake,
Born in deep valley, o'er the aged oaks
Hisses, and rears above the pines its head,
While on the ground its greater length is spread;
Or earth by birth unnatural brings forth
That armored host: from winding horn there went
The signal, from the trumpet's twisted brass
The strident note, but not before the band
Had tried their ready lips with warlike noise
Of unknown speech. The field by kindred hosts
Was held, fit offspring of the scattered seed;
They measured out their life in one short day—
After the day-star paled were born, and fell
Ere Hesperus had risen. Horror seized
The stranger at such marvels, and he feared
The new-born nations' war, until they died
And earth, their mother, saw the sons she bore
Returned within her lap. Let civil war
Rise thence, and let the Thebes of Hercules
From them learn bitter fratricidal wars.
Why tell the lot that Cadmus' grandson bore,
When with the antlers of the longlived stag
His brow was hidden, and the hounds pursued
Their master? Swift Actæon headlong fled
Through woods and mountains, and, 'mid fields and rocks
Roaming with nimble feet, he feared to see
A feather moved by Zephyr, feared the toils
Himself had placed; and, mirrored in the waves
Of the untroubled fountain where had bathed
The virgin goddess bitterly ashamed,
He saw reflected bestial form and horns.

ACT IV

SCENE I

Œdipus, Jocasta.

Œdipus. My mind is full of cares which fear recalls.
The gods of heaven and hell deem Laius slain
By crime of mine, but still my guiltless soul,
Known better to myself than to the gods,
Denies the charge; yet memory recalls
Faintly how with my lifted staff I felled
And gave to Dis that proud old man whose car
Hindered my path; but far from Thebes he fell
Where in Phocæa's plain three pathways meet.
I pray thee solve the riddle, dear-loved wife:
Dying, how many years had Laius lived?
Fell he in bloom of youth, or weak with age?
Jocasta. 'Twixt youth and age, but somewhat nearer age.
Œdipus. Were many in the train that followed him?
Jocasta. Uncertain of the way, the greater part
Were lost, a faithful few alone remained
Beside his car.
Œdipus. Did any others fall,
Partakers of the royal fate?
Jocasta. Alas!
One brave and faithful follower shared his lot.
Œdipus. Still I seem guilty. Number, place, agree.
But when—
Jocasta. Since then ten harvests have been reaped.

SCENE II

Œdipus, An Old Citizen of Corinth.

Corinthian. [To Œdipus.] King Polybus has found eternal rest,
And Corinth calls thee to thy father's throne.
Œdipus. How fortune buffets me on every side!
Tell me, I pray thee, by what fate he fell.
Corinthian. A quiet sleep set free the old man's soul.
Œdipus. Not murdered and yet dead my father lies.
Bear witness: fearless now of any crime,
As fits a son, I may lift up pure hands
To heaven.—But of the destiny foretold
That which I most have need to fear remains.
Corinthian. Thy father's throne will banish every fear.
Œdipus. My father's throne I willingly would take,
But fear my mother.
Corinthian. Canst thou be afraid
Of her who anxiously for thy return
Is waiting?
Œdipus. Filial love has made me flee.
Corinthian. And wouldst thou leave her widowed?
Œdipus. Thou hast named
The thing I dread.
Corinthian. Reveal the hidden fear
That weighs upon thy mind, for I am wont
To guard the secrets of my lords.
Œdipus. Alas!
Warned by the Delphic oracle, I fear
A mother's marriage bed.
Corinthian. Thy empty fears
Put by, no longer tremble, Merope
Was not thy mother.
Œdipus. In a spurious son
What gain was hoped for?
Corinthian. Children make more firm
A kingdom's proud security.
Œdipus. What means
Hadst thou to learn the secrets of the bed?
Corinthian. A child, I gave thee to thy mother's arms.
Œdipus. Thou gavest me to her; who gave me thee?
Corinthian. A shepherd from Cithæron's snowy top.
Œdipus. What fortune took thee to those wooded heights?
Corinthian. I followed on the hills my horned flock.
Œdipus. Show some undoubted marks upon my flesh.
Corinthian. Thou borest deep-cut scars of iron bonds,
And from thy bruised and swollen feet arose
Thy name.
Œdipus. Again I ask, what man was he
Who gave my body to thee for a gift?
Corinthian. He fed the royal flocks and under him
Was placed a company of humbler men.
Œdipus. His name?
Corinthian. Our earliest recollections fail
With age, and, wearied, slip away with years.
Œdipus. Shouldst thou be able by his face and form
To know again the man?
Corinthian. Perchance I might;
A trifle oft calls back a thing forgot.
Œdipus. Assemble all the herdsmen and their flocks
Before the altars; slaves, go, hither call
Swiftly the men who shepherd all the flock.
Corinthian. Permit the thing so long a time unknown
Still to lie hid, for often fraught with ill
Is truth for him who drags her to the light.
Œdipus. What greater ill than this is possible?
Corinthian. That must be great which is with great toil sought.
Here meet the public safety and thy own,
The two are equal, take a middle path;
Seek nothing, let the fates unfold themselves.
Œdipus. He who disturbs auspicious fate does ill,
But when affairs are at their last extreme
One acts with safety.
Corinthian. Seekest thou a race
Nobler than that of kings? Look lest thou loathe
When thou hast found thy parents.
Œdipus. I will know
My birth, although it prove of little worth.
But Phorbas, keeper of the royal flocks,
Comes; dost thou know the old man's name or face?
Corinthian. His form awakes a memory, but his face
Is yet not clearly known, though not unknown.

SCENE III

Œdipus, Corinthian, Phorbas.

Corinthian. Didst thou upon Cithæron's summits herd
The fruitful flock when Laius ruled in Thebes?
Phorbas. Cithæron gave each summer to our flocks
Her fertile meadows and rich pasturage.
Corinthian. Dost thou not know me?
Phorbas. Dimly I recall—
Œdipus. Speak, didst thou ever give to him a child?
Thy cheeks change color, dost thou hesitate?
What answer seekest thou? Truth shuns delay.
Phorbas. Thou stirrest memories that time had dimmed.
Œdipus. Speak out, lest pain compel thee to the truth.
Phorbas. I gave this man the child—a useless gift,
The boy could not enjoy the light of heaven.
Corinthian. Far be the omen! Still he lives and still
Long may he live!
Œdipus. Why sayest thou the child
No longer lives?
Phorbas. His tender limbs were bound
By iron bonds that pierced through both his feet,
The wound had caused a swelling, and the flesh
Was even then by foul corruption touched.
Œdipus. [Aside.] What wouldst thou further? Do the fates
draw
near?
[To Phorbas.] Who was the child?
Phorbas. A promise seals my lips.
Œdipus. What, ho! bring fire; let flames draw forth the truth.
Phorbas. Through such inhuman ways shall truth be sought?
I pray thee, be content with ignorance.
Œdipus. If fierce I seem to thee, and uncontrolled,
Thou hast a ready vengeance. Speak the truth,
Who was the child? What mother gave him birth?
His father, who?
Phorbas. His mother is thy wife.
Œdipus. Earth, open! Prince of darkness, king of shades,
Take back to shades Tartarean the fate
That overthrows the laws of lineage!
Cast stones at this base head, ye men of Thebes;
Slay me with darts; let sons and fathers come
With lifted sword; ye brothers, husbands, wives,
Take arms against me; and ye, plague-sick men,
Snatch from the pyres the brands to hurl at me.
A shame to men and hated of the gods
I wander, overthrowing holy laws,
Already worthy death when breathing first
The unfamiliar air. Give back at last
Thy baneful life; dare now to do some deed
Worthy thy crimes; haste with swift steps to seek
The royal palace, wish thy mother joy
Of home and children.

SCENE IV

Chorus.

If I could govern at my will my lot,
Soft Zephyr only on my sails should blow,
Nor should my trembling sailyards feel the gale;
A light and soft-breathed air should gently waft
My fearless boat; my path of life should lie
Along the safe mid course. The foolish youth
Who feared the Cretan king, to untried ways
Trusted himself, sought like true bird to guide
Through air his flight, but with unnatural wings:
He gave the waters where he fell a name.
Old Dædalus more shrewdly winged his way
Through middle air, and, stooping 'neath the clouds,
Waited his nursling (as the bird collects
Its scattered young that fly the hawk in fear)
Until the boy, in ocean struggling, moved
Hands he had shackled for his daring flight.
Whoever dares just limits to exceed
Hangs poised in place unsure. But what is this?
The door creaks, see, the palace servant comes;
He sadly shakes his head. [To the servant.] What word dost bring?

ACT V

SCENE I

Chorus, Messenger.

Messenger. When overtaken by his fate foretold,
He recognized his loathsome origin,
And stood convicted of his crime, the king
Condemned himself and sought with hasty steps
The hated house. So rages through the land
The Lybian lion that with threatening front
Shakes back its tawny mane. His eyes were wild,
His face with anger stern; he sighed and groaned
And over all his limbs a cold sweat ran;
His foaming lips gave forth mad threatenings,
His anguish overflowed, and in its depths
O'erwhelmed him; raging, with himself he planned
Some evil monstrous as his monstrous fate.
'Why hinder punishment,' he cried, 'the sword
Should pierce this cursed breast; with scorching flame
Or stones let one subdue it; what fierce bird,
What tiger will upon my vitals feed?
Thou that hast been a harbor wide of crime,
Sacred Cithæron, from thy forests send
Wild beasts or rabid dogs to do me ill.
Give back Agave. Soul, why fear'st thou death?
'Tis death alone can snatch me from my fate
Guiltless.' He spoke and on his sword-hilt leaned
His impious hand, and drew the sword;—'To die,—
Canst thou with such brief punishment atone
Crimes such as thine; with one blow pay for all?
Die! For thy father, surely 'tis enough.—
But for thy mother, for the loathsome sons
Thou causedst to see light, thy mourning land
Which suffers for thy crime with widespread death;
What wilt thou give for these? Thou canst not pay;
Thou art a bankrupt. Nature's very self,
Who, Œdipus, for thee alone reversed
Her changeless laws of birth, for thee must find
New punishment. Oh, could I live again,
And die again, and ever be reborn,
And offered ever to new punishment!
Poor wretch, thy subtlest wit is needful here,
The punishment that only once can fall
Must be enduring; slow death must be sought.
Find out a place where mingled with the dead
Yet far from those who live, thou mayest roam.
Die, but not with thy father's death! My soul,
Delayest thou?' A sudden rain of tears
O'erflowed his face, his cheeks were wet with grief.
'Is it enough to weep? Enough that thus
My eyes should flow with tears? The eyes themselves
Shall follow, from their sockets shall be torn;
Ye gods of marriage, is not this enough?'
His threat'ning face with savage fire glowed red,
His eyeballs hardly seemed to hold their place
Within their sockets; furious, desperate,
Enraged of mien and wild, he cried aloud,
And turned his vengeful hand against himself;
His eyes expectant stood, and willingly
Followed his fingers, rushed to meet the wound.
With eagerness his crook'd hands sought his eyes,
Digged out the eyeballs by their deepest roots,
Then, lingering still within the vacant space,
Tore with their nails the empty sockets' folds
And hollow corners, raging overmuch
And vainly. Then he raised his head to seek
The day, and scanning heaven with sightless eyes
Found night; whatever from his mangled brow
Still hung he rent away, and conquering cried
To all the gods: 'Behold, I pray thee, spare
My country, I have paid the debt was due,
Have borne the penalty was merited;
A night that fits my marriage has been found.'
Foul drops bedewed his face, his mangled head
Poured from the broken veins a stream of blood.
Chorus. The sport of fate are we, yield then to fate.
Unquiet cares ne'er changed that distaff's thread,
Whatever we, the race of men, endure,
Whatever we may do, comes from above;
Lachesis, with a hand that turns not back
Her distaff, spinneth out the thread of life;
All walk a path prepared, and man's first day
Foretells his last; not Jupiter himself
May make the spindle of the fates turn back;
The order of her turning, fixed for all,
No prayers can change. Fear oftentimes has proved
To many fatal, many meet their fate
When most they fear and shun it. Hark, the gates
Open, the sightless king comes sadly forth
Without a leader.

SCENE II

Œdipus, Chorus.

Œdipus. 'Tis well; 'tis finished; I have paid in full
All that was due my father. Welcome night!
What god appeased has scattered on my head
Black darkness? Who forgives the criminal?
I have escaped the day's all-seeing eye.
The murderer of thy father to thy hand
Owes nothing. Light has fled thee; such a face
Is meet for Œdipus.
Chorus. Behold! Behold!
Jocasta rushes forth, with rapid steps,
Frantic and wild; thus wild and frantic once
A Theban mother rent her son and learned,
Too late, her crime. She fears and hesitates,
Yet longs to speak to the afflicted king.
Her shame gives place to sorrow, but her words
Come hesitating from her lips.

SCENE III

Œdipus, Focasta, Chorus.

Jocasta. What shall I call thee? Son? Why hesitate?
Thou art my son, why blush to hear the name?
Speak to me, son, although unwillingly;—
Why turn away thy head, thy sightless eyes?
Œdipus. Who is it who forbids me to enjoy
My darkness, gives me back again my sight?
A mother's voice! Alas, my work is lost!
It is no longer lawful we should meet;
Vast seas shall separate the criminals,
And unknown lands shall part them; and if one
Stay here, the other under alien stars
And distant suns must dwell.
Jocasta. The fault was Fate's,
None sins in living out his destiny.
Œdipus. O mother, spare thy words, and spare my ears;
By what remains of this my mangled form,
By all the fatal tokens of our race,
By all the good and evil of our name,
I do beseech thee.
Jocasta. What, my soul, dost sleep?
Why to the sharer of his crime refuse
Due punishment? Incestuous one, through thee
The beauty of the laws of human kind,
Confused, hath perished; die, and let the sword
Cut short thy sinful life. If, shaking heaven,
The father of the gods himself should hurl
With savage hand his flashing thunderbolt,
A mother infamous, I could not still
Endure sufficient penalty for crime.
I long to die, let but a way be found;
If thou hast slain thy father, lend thy hand
No less to me thy mother. This last deed
Remains; draw now thy sword, by that sword fell
My husband. Why not freely speak his name?
He is my husband's father,—shall I thrust
Within my breast the sword, or plunge it deep
Into my ready throat? Ah, knowest thou not
To choose the place where thou shalt strike the blow?
Seek out, my hand, the fruitful womb that bore
Husband and sons.
Chorus. She falls, struck down by death;
Her hand still lingers in the wound, the blood
Drives out the sword.
Œdipus. Foreteller of the truth,
And god of truth, I make my prayer to thee:
Only a father's murder was foretold,
But twice a parricide, beyond my fear
Guilty, I've slain my mother; she lies dead
Through this my guilt. O Phœbus, lying god,
I have exceeded all the ills foretold
With fearful steps tread now thy gloomy way;
Through nights obscure, with hesitating feet,
Advance and with thy trembling hand feel out
Thy pathway; hasten on with trembling steps;
Fly hence!—Yet stay, lest o'er thy mother's corpse
Thou fall. Ye weary ones, with fell disease
Burdened, behold I go; draw breath again,
Lift up your heads: a milder sky will shine
When I am gone; whoever still retains
His life, though weak and prostrate, still shall draw
Lightly the breath of life. Hence, end thy work!
The earth's death-dealing poison I will take;
Harsh fates, the black and haggard plague, the chill
Of dreadful sickness, and wild grief shall come
With me,—with me! Such guides for me are meet.






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