Bright are these virgin currents of the Nile
Which water Egypt’s soil, and are supplied,
Instead of drops from heaven, by molten snow.
But Proteus, while he lived, of these domains
Was lord, he in the isle of Pharos dwelt,
King of all Ægypt; for his wife he gained
One of the nymphs who haunt the briny deep,
Fair Psamathe, after she left the bed
Of Æacus; she in the palace bore
To him two children, one of them a son
Called Theoclymenus, because his life
Is passed in duteous homage to the gods;
A daughter also of majestic mien,
Her mother’s darling, in her infant years
(Eidothea called by her enraptured sire):
But when the blooming maid became mature
For nuptial joys, Theonoe was the name
They gave her; all the counsels of the gods,
The present and the future, well she knew,
Such privilege she from her grandsire Nereus
Inherited. But not to fame unknown
Are Sparta’s realm, whence I derive my birth,
And my sire, Tyndarus. There prevails a rumour
That to my mother Leda Jove was borne
On rapid wings, the figure of a swan
[202]Assuming, and by treachery gained admission
To her embraces, flying from an eagle,
If we may credit such report. My name
Is Helen; but I also will recount
What woes I have endured; three goddesses,
For beauty’s prize contending, in the cave
Of Ida, came to Paris; Juno, Venus,
And Pallas, virgin progeny of Jove,
Requesting him to end their strife, and judge
Whose charms outshone her rivals. But proposing
For a reward, my beauty (if the name
Of beauty suit this inauspicious form)
And promising in marriage to bestow me
On Paris, Venus conquered: for the swain
Of Ida, leaving all his herds behind,
Expecting to receive me for his bride,
To Sparta came. But Juno, whose defeat
Fired with resentment her indignant soul,
Our nuptials frustrated; for to the arms
Of royal Priam’s son, she gave not me,
But in my semblance formed a living image
Composed of ether. Paris falsely deemed
That he possessed me; from that time these ills
Have been increased by the decrees of Jove,
For he with war hath visited the realms
Of Greece, and Phrygia’s miserable sons,
That he might lighten from th’ unrighteous swarms
Of its inhabitants the groaning earth,
And on the bravest of the Grecian chiefs
Confer renown. While in the Phrygian war,
As the reward of their victorious arms,
I to the host of Greece have been displayed,
Though absent, save in likeness and in name.
But Mercury, receiving me in folds
Of air, and covering with a cloud (for Jove
Was not unmindful of me), in this house
Of royal Proteus, who of all mankind
Was in his judgment the most virtuous, placed me,
That undefiled I might preserve the bed
Of Menelaus. I indeed am here;
But with collected troops my hapless lord
Pursues the ravisher to Ilion’s towers.
Beside Scamander’s stream hath many a chief
Died in my cause; but I, who have endured
All these afflictions, am a public curse;
For ’tis supposed, that treacherous to my lord,
I have through Greece blown up the flames of war.
Why then do I prolong my life? these words
I heard from Mercury: “That I again
[203]In Sparta, with my husband shall reside,
When he discovers that I never went
To Troy:” he therefore counselled me to keep
A spotless chastity. While Proteus viewed
The solar beams, I from the nuptial yoke
Still lived exempt; but since the darksome grave
Hath covered his remains, the royal son
Of the deceased solicits me to wed him:
But honouring my first husband, at this tomb
Of Proteus, I a suppliant kneel, to him,
To him I sue, to guard my nuptial couch,
That if through Greece I bear a name assailed
By foul aspersions, no unseemly deed
May cover me with real infamy.
Teu. Who rules this fortress? such a splendid dome
With royal porticos and blazoned roofs
Seems worthy of a Plutus for its lord.
But, O ye gods, what vision! I behold
That hateful woman who hath ruined me,
And all the Greeks. Heaven’s vengeance on thy head!
Such a resemblance bear’st thou to that Helen,
That if I were not in a foreign land,
I with this stone would smite thee; thou shouldst bleed
For being like Jove’s daughter.
Hel. Wretched man,
Whoe’er you are, why do you hate me thus
Because of her misfortunes?
Teu. I have erred
In giving way to such unseemly rage.
All Greece abhors Jove’s daughter. But forgive me,
O woman, for the words which I have uttered.
Hel. Say who you are, and from what land you come?
Teu. One of that miserable race the Greeks.
Hel. No wonder is it then, if you detest
The Spartan Helen. But to me declare,
Who are you, whence, and from what father sprung?
Teu. My name is Teucer, Telamon my sire;
The land which nurtured me is Salamis.
Hel. But wherefore do you wander o’er these meads
Laved by the Nile?
Teu. I from my native land
Am banished.
Hel. You, alas! must needs be wretched.
Who drove you thence?
Teu. My father Telamon.
What friend canst thou hold dearer?
Hel. For what cause
[204]Were you to exile doomed? your situation
Is most calamitous.
Teu. My brother Ajax,
Who died at Troy, was author of my ruin.
Hel. How? by your sword deprived of life?
Teu. He fell,
On his own blade, and perished.
Hel. Was he mad?
Who could act thus whose intellects are sound?
Teu. Know’st thou Achilles, Peleus’ son?
Hel. He erst,
I heard, to Helen as a suitor came.
Teu. He, at his death, his comrades left to strive
Which should obtain his arms.
Hel. But why was this
Hurtful to Ajax?
Teu. When another won
Those arms, he gave up life.
Hel. Do your afflictions
Rise from his fate?
Teu. Because I died not with him.
Hel. O stranger, went you then to Troy’s famed city?
Teu. And having shared in laying waste its bulwarks,
I also perished.
Hel. Have the flames consumed,
And utterly destroyed them?
Teu. Not a trace
Of those proud walls is now to be discerned.
Hel. Through thee, O Helen, do the Phrygians perish.
Teu. The Greeks too: for most grievous are the mischiefs
Which have been wrought.
Hel. What length of time’s elapsed
Since Troy was sacked?
Teu. Seven times the fruitful year
Hath almost turned around her lingering wheel.
Hel. But how much longer did your host remain
Before those bulwarks?
Teu. Many a tedious moon;
There full ten years were spent.
Hel. And have ye taken
That Spartan dame?
Teu. By her dishevelled hair,
Th’ adult’ress, Menelaus dragged away.
Hel. Did you behold that object of distress,
Or speak you from report?
Teu. These eyes as clearly
Witnessed the whole, as I now view thy face.
Hel. Be cautious, lest for her ye should mistake
Some well-formed semblance which the gods have sent.
[205]
Teu. Talk if thou wilt on any other subject;
No more of her.
Hel. Believe you this opinion
To be well-grounded?
Teu. With these eyes I saw her,
And she e’en now is present to my soul.
Hel. Have Menelaus and his consort reached
Their home.
Teu. They are not in the Argive land,
Nor on Eurotas’ banks.
Hel. Alas! alas!
The tale you have recounted, is to her
Who hears you, an event most inauspicious.
Teu. He and his consort, both they say are dead.
Hel. Did not the Greeks in one large squadron sail?
Teu. Yes; but a storm dispersed their shattered fleet.
Hel. Where were they, in what seas?
Teu. They at that time
Through the mid waves of the Ægean deep
Were passing.
Hel. Can none tell if Menelaus
Escaped this tempest?
Teu. No man; but through Greece
’Tis rumoured he is dead.
Hel. I am undone.
Is Thestius’ daughter living?
Teu. Mean’st thou Leda?
She with the dead is numbered.
Hel. Did the shame
Of Helen cause her wretched mother’s death?
Teu. Around her neck, ’tis said the noble dame
Entwined the gliding noose.
Hel. But live the sons
Of Tyndarus, or are they too now no more?
Teu. They are, and are not, dead; for two accounts
Are propagated.
Hel. Which is best confirmed?
O wretched me!
Teu. Some say that they are gods
Under the semblance of two radiant stars.
Hel. Well have you spoken. But what else is rumoured?
Teu. That on account of their lost sister’s guilt
They died by their own swords. But of these themes
Enough: I wish not to renew my sorrows.
But O assist me in the great affairs
On which I to these royal mansions came,
Wishing to see the prophetess Theonoe,
And learn, from Heaven’s oracular response,
How I may steer my vessel with success
[206]To Cyprus’ isle, where Phœbus hath foretold
That I shall dwell, and on the walls I rear
Bestow the name of Salamis, yet mindful
Of that dear country I have left behind.
Hel. This will your voyage of itself explain:
But fly from these inhospitable shores,
Ere Proteus’ son, the ruler of this land,
Behold you: fly, for he is absent now
Pursuing with his hounds the savage prey.
He slays each Grecian stranger who becomes
His captive: ask not why, for I am silent;
And what could it avail you to be told?
Teu. O woman, most discreetly hast thou spoken;
Thy kindness may the righteous gods repay!
For though thy person so resemble Helen,
Thou hast a soul unlike that worthless dame.
Perdition seize her; never may she reach
The current of Eurotas: but mayst thou,
Most generous woman, be for ever blest.
Hel. Plunged as I am ’midst great and piteous woes,
How shall I frame the plaintive strain, what Muse
With tears, or doleful elegies, invoke?
I. 1.
Ye syrens, winged daughters of the earth,
Come and attune the sympathetic string,
Expressive now no more of mirth,
To soothe my griefs, the flute of Libya bring;
Record the tortures which this bosom rend,
And echo back my elegiac strains:
Proserpine next will I invoke, to send
Numbers adapted to her votary’s pains;
So shall her dark abode, while many a tear I shed,
Waft the full dirge to soothe th’ illustrious dead.
I. 2.
Near the cerulean margin of our streams
I stood, and on the tufted herbage spread
My purple vestments in those beams
Which from his noontide orb Hyperion shed,
When on a sudden from the waving reeds
I heard a plaintive and unwelcome sound
Of bitter lamentation; o’er the meads
Groans inarticulate were poured around:
Beneath the rocky cave, dear scene of past delight,
Some Naiad thus bewails Pan’s hasty flight.
[207]
II. 1.
Ye Grecian nymphs, whom those barbarians caught,
And from your native land reluctant bore,
The tidings which yon sailor brought
Call forth these tears; for Ilion is no more,
By him of Ida, that predicted flame
Destroyed; through me, alas! have myriads bled,
If not through me, through my detested name.
By th’ ignominious noose is Leda dead
Who my imaginary guilt deplored;
And doomed by the relentless Fates in vain
To tedious wanderings, my unhappy lord
At length hath perished ’midst the billowy main:
The twin protectors of their native land,
Castor and Pollux, from all human eyes
Are vanished, they have left Eurotas’ strand,
And fields, in playful strife where each young wrestler vies.
II. 2.
My royal mistress, your disastrous fate
With many a groan and fruitless tear I mourn.
I from that hour your sorrows date
When amorous Jove on snowy pinions borne,
In form a swan, by Leda was carest.
Is there an evil you have not endured?
Your mother is no more, through you unblest
Are Jove’s twin sons. Nor have your vows procured
Of your dear country the enchanting sight.
A rumour too through various realms hath spread,
Caught by the envious vulgar with delight,
Assigning you to the barbarian’s bed.
Amid the waves, far from the wished-for shore,
Your husband hath been buried in the main.
You shall behold your native walls no more
Nor under burnished roofs your wonted state maintain.
III.
What Phrygian artist on the top of Ide,
Or vagrant of a Grecian line,
Felled that inauspicious pine,
To frame the bark which Paris o’er the tide
Dared with barbaric oars to guide,
[208]When to my palace, in an evil hour
Caught by beauty’s magic power,
He came to seize me for his bride?
But crafty Venus, authoress of these broils,
Marched thither, leagued with death, t’ annoy
Triumphant Greece and vanquished Troy,
(Wretch that I am, consumed with endless toils!)
And Juno seated on her golden throne,
Consort of thundering Jove,
Sent Hermes from the realms above,
Who found me, when I carelessly had strewn
Leaves plucked from roses in my vest,
As Minerva’s votary drest;
He bore me through the paths of air
To this loathed, this dreary land,
Called Greece, and Priam’s friends the strife to share,
And roused to bloody deeds each rival band;
Where Simois’ current glides, my name
Hence is marked with groundless shame.
Chor. Your woes I know are grievous: but to bear
With tranquil mind the necessary ills
Of life, is most expedient.
Hel. To what ills
Have I been subject, O my dear companions!
Did not my mother, as a prodigy
Which wondering mortals gaze at, bring me forth?
For neither Grecian nor barbaric dame
Till then produced an egg, in which her children
Enveloped lay, as they report, from Jove
Leda engendered. My whole life and all
That hath befallen me, but conspires to form
One series of miraculous events;
To Juno some, and to my beauty some.
Are owing. Would to Heaven, that, like a tablet
Whose picture is effaced, I could exchange
This form for one less comely, since the Greeks
Forgetting those abundant gifts showered down
By prosperous Fortune which I now possess,
Think but of what redounds not to my honour,
And still remember my ideal shame.
Whoever therefore, with one single species
Of misery is afflicted by the gods,
Although the weight of Heaven’s chastising hand
Be grievous, may with fortitude endure
Such visitation: but by many woes
Am I oppressed, and first of all exposed
To slanderous tongues, although I ne’er have erred.
It were a lesser evil e’en to sin
Then be suspected falsely. Then the gods,
[209]’Midst men of barbarous manners, placed me far
From my loved country: torn from every friend,
I languish here, to servitude consigned
Although of free born race: for ’midst barbarians
Are all enslaved but one, their haughty lord.
My fortunes had this single anchor left,
Perchance my husband might at length arrive
To snatch me from my woes; but he, alas!
Is now no more, my mother too is dead,
And I am deemed her murd’ress, though unjustly,
Yet am I branded with this foul reproach;
And she who was the glory of our house,
My daughter in the virgin state grown grey,
Still droops unwedded: my illustrious brothers,
Castor and Pollux, called the sons of Jove,
Are now no more. But I impute my death,
Crushed as I am by all these various woes,
Not to my own misdeeds, but to the power
Of adverse fortune only: this one danger
There yet remains, if at my native land
I should again arrive, they will confine me
In a close dungeon, thinking me that Helen
Who dwelt in Ilion, till she thence was borne
By Menelaus. Were my husband living,
We might have known each other, by producing
Those tokens to which none beside are privy:
But this will never be, nor can he e’er
Return in safety. To what purpose then
Do I still lengthen out this wretched being?
To what new fortunes am I still reserved?
Shall I select a husband, but to vary
My present ills, to dwell beneath the roof
Of a barbarian, at luxurious boards
With wealth abounding, seated? for the dame
Whom wedlock couples with the man she hates
Death is the best expedient. But with glory
How shall I die? the fatal noose appears
To be so base, that e’en in slaves ’tis held
Unseemly thus to perish; in the poniard
There’s somewhat great and generous. But to me
Delays are useless: welcome instant death:
Into such depth of misery am I plunged.
For beauty renders other women blest,
But hath to me the source of ruin proved.
Chor. O Helen, whosoe’er the stranger be
Who hither came, believe not that the whole
Of what he said, is truth.
Hel. But in plain terms
Hath he announced my dearest husband’s death.
[210]
Chor. The false assertions which prevail, are many.
Hel. Clear is the language in which honest Truth
Loves to express herself.
Chor. You are inclined
Rather to credit inauspicious tidings
Than those which are more favourable.
Hel. By fears
Encompassed, am I hurried to despair.
Chor. What hospitable treatment have you found
Beneath these roofs?
Hel. All here, except the man
Who seeks to wed me, are my friends.
Chor. You know
How then to act: leave this sepulchral gloom.
Hel. What are the counsels, or the cheering words
You wish to introduce?
Chor. Go in, and question
The daughter of the Nereid, her who knows
All hidden truths, Theonoe, if your lord
Yet live, or view the solar beams no more:
And when you have learnt this, as suit your fortunes
Indulge your joys, or pour forth all your tears:
But ere you know aught fully, what avail
Your sorrows? therefore listen to my words;
Leaving this tomb, attend the maid: from her
Shall you know all. But why should you look farther
When truth is in these mansions to be found?
With you the doors I’ll enter; we together
The royal virgin’s oracles will hear.
For ’tis a woman’s duty to exert
Her utmost efforts in a woman’s cause.
Hel. My friends, your wholesome counsels I approve:
But enter ye these doors, that ye, within
The palace, my calamities may hear.
Chor. You summon her who your commands obeys
Without reluctance.
Hel. Woeful day! ah me,
What lamentable tidings shall I hear?
Chor. Forbear these plaintive strains, my dearest queen,
Nor with presaging soul anticipate
Evils to come.
Hel. What hath my wretched lord
Endured? Doth he yet view the light, the sun
Borne in his radiant chariot, and the paths
Of all the starry train? Or hath he shared
The common lot of mortals, is he plunged
Among the dead, beneath th’ insatiate grave?
Chor. O construe what time yet may bring to pass
In the most favourable terms.
[211]
Hel. On thee
I call to testify, and thee adjure,
Eurotas, on whose verdant margin grow
The waving reeds: O tell me, if my lord
Be dead, as fame avers.
Chor. Why do you utter
These incoherent ditties?
Hel. Round my neck
The deadly noose will I entwine, or drive
With my own hand a poinard through my breast;
For I was erst the cause of bloody strife;
But now am I a victim, to appease
The wrath of those three goddesses who strove
On Ida’s mount, when ’midst the stalls where fed
His lowing herds, the son of Priam waked
The sylvan reed, to celebrate my beauty.
Chor. Cause these averted ills, ye gods, to light
On other heads; but, O my royal mistress,
May you be happy.
Hel. Thou, O wretched Troy,
To crimes which thou hast ne’er committed, ow’st
Thy ruin, and those horrible disasters
Thou hast endured. For as my nuptial gifts,
Hath Venus caused an intermingled stream
Of blood and tears to flow, she, griefs to griefs
And tears to tears hath added; all these sufferings
Have been the miserable Ilion’s lot.
Of their brave sons the mothers were bereft
The virgin sisters of the mighty dead
Strewed their shorn tresses on Scamander’s banks,
While, by repeated shrieks, victorious Greece
Her woes expressing, smote her laurelled head,
And with her nails deep furrowing tore her cheeks.
Happy Calisto, thou Arcadian nymph
Who didst ascend the couch of Jove, transformed
To a four-footed savage, far more blest
Art thou than she to whom I owe my birth:
For thou beneath the semblance of a beast,
Thy tender limbs with shaggy hide o’erspread,
And glaring with stern visage, by that change
Didst end thy griefs. She too whom Dian drove
Indignant from her choir, that hind whose horns
Were tipped with gold, the bright Titanian maid,
Daughter of Merops, to her beauty owed
That transformation: but my charms have ruined
Both Troy and the unhappy Grecian host.
[Exeunt Helen and Chorus.
[212]
O Pelops, in the strife on Pisa’s field,
Who didst outstrip the fiery steeds that whirled
The chariot of Oenomaus, would to Heaven
That when thy severed limbs before the gods
Were at the banquet placed, thou then thy life
Amidst the blest immortal powers hadst closed,
Ere thou my father Atreus didst beget,
Whose issue by his consort Ærope
Were Agamemnon and myself, two chiefs
Of high renown. No ostentatious words
Are these; but such a numerous host, I deem,
As that which we to Ilion’s shore conveyed,
Ne’er stemmed the tide before; these troops their king
Led not by force to combat, but bore rule
O’er Grecian youths his voluntary subjects,
And among these, some heroes, now no more,
May we enumerate; others from the sea
Who ’scaped with joy, and to their homes returned,
E’en after fame had classed them with the dead.
But I, most wretched, o’er the briny waves
Of ocean wander, since I have o’erthrown
The battlements of Troy, and though I wish
Again to reach my country; by the gods
Am I esteemed unworthy of such bliss.
E’en to the Libyan deserts have I sailed,
And traversed each inhospitable scene
Of brutal outrage; still as I approach
My country, the tempestuous winds repel me,
Nor hath a prosperous breeze from Heaven yet filled
My sails, to waft me to the Spartan coast:
And now a shipwrecked, miserable man,
Reft of my friends, I on these shores am cast,
My vessel hath been shivered ’gainst the rocks
Into a thousand fragments: on the keel,
The only part which yet remains entire
Of all that fabric, scarce could I and Helen,
Whom I from Troy have borne, escape with life
Through fortunes unforeseen: but of this land
And its inhabitants, the name I know not:
For with the crowd I blushed to intermingle
Lest they my squalid garments should observe,
Through shame my wants concealing. For the man
Of an exalted station, when assailed
By adverse fortune, having never learned
How to endure calamity, is plunged
Into a state far worse than he whose woes
Have been of ancient date. But pinching need
[213]Torments me: for I have not either food
Or raiment to protect my shivering frame,
Which may be guessed from these vile rags I wear
Cast up from my wrecked vessel: for the sea
Hath swallowed up my robes, my tissued vests,
And every ensign of my former state.
Within the dark recesses of a cave
Having concealed my wife, that guilty cause
Of all my woes, and my surviving friends
Enjoined to guard her, hither am I come.
Alone, in quest of necessary aid
For my brave comrades whom I there have left,
If by my search I haply can obtain it,
I roam; but when I viewed this house adorned
With gilded pinnacles, and gates that speak
The riches of their owner, I advanced:
For I have hopes that from this wealthy mansion
I, somewhat for my sailors, shall obtain.
But they who want the necessary comforts
Of life, although they are disposed to aid us,
Yet have not wherewithal. Ho! who comes forth
From yonder gate, my doleful tale to bear
Into the house?
Female Servant, Menelaus.
Female Ser. Who at the threshold stands?
Wilt thou not hence depart, lest thy appearance
Before these doors give umbrage to our lords?
Else shalt thou surely die, because thou cam’st
From Greece, whose sons shall never hence return.
Men. Well hast thou spoken, O thou aged dame.
Wilt thou permit me? For to thy behests
Must I submit: but suffer me to speak.
Female Ser. Depart: for ’tis my duty to permit
No Greek to enter this imperial dome.
Men. Lift not thy hand against me, nor attempt
To drive me hence by force.
Female Ser. Thou wilt not yield
To my advice, thou therefore art to blame.
Men. Carry my message to thy lords within.
Female Ser. I fear lest somewhat dreadful might ensue,
Should I repeat your words.
Men. I hither come
A shipwrecked man, a stranger, one of those
Whom all hold sacred.
Female Ser. To some other house,
Instead of this, repair.
Men. I am determined
To enter: but comply with my request.
[214]
Female Ser. Be well assured thou art unwelcome here,
And shalt ere long by force be driven away.
Men. Alas! alas! where are my valiant troops?
Female Ser. Elsewhere, perhaps, thou wert a mighty man;
But here art thou no longer such.
Men. O Fortune!
How am I galled with undeserved reproach!
Female Ser. Why are those eyelids moist with tears, why griev’st thou?
Men. Because I once was happy.
Female Ser. Then depart,
And mingle social tears with those thou lov’st.
Men. But what domain is this, to whom belong
These royal mansions?
Female Ser. Proteus here resides;
This land is Egypt.
Men. Egypt? wretched me!
Ah, whither have I sailed!
Female Ser. But for what cause
Scorn’st thou the race of Nile?
Men. I scorn them not:
My own disastrous fortunes I bewail.
Female Ser. Many are wretched, thou in this respect
Art nothing singular.
Men. Is he, the king
Thou speak’st of, here within?
Female Ser. To him belongs
This tomb; his son is ruler of this land.
Men. But where is he: abroad, or in the palace?
Female Ser. He’s not within; but to the Greeks he bears
The greatest enmity.
Men. Whence rose this hate,
Productive of such bitter fruits to me?
Female Ser. Beneath these roofs Jove’s daughter Helen dwells.
Men. What mean’st thou? Ha! what words with wonder fraught
Are these which thou hast uttered? O repeat them.
Female Ser. The child of Tyndarus, she who in the realm
Of Sparta erst abode.
Men. Whence came she hither?
How can this be?
Female Ser. From Lacedæmon’s realm.
Men. When? Hath my wife been torn from yonder cave?
Female Ser. Before the Greeks, O stranger, went to Troy
Retreat then from these mansions, for within
Hath happened a calamitous event,
By which the palace is disturbed. Thou com’st
Unseasonably, and if the king surprise thee,
[215]Instead of hospitable treatment, death
Must be thy portion. To befriend the Greeks
Though well inclined, yet thee have I received
With these harsh words, because I fear the monarch.
Men. What shall I say? For I, alas! am told
Of present sorrows added to the past.
Come I not hither, after having borne
From vanquished Troy my consort, whom I left
Within yon cave well guarded? Yet here dwells
Another Helen, whom that woman called
Jove’s daughter. Lives there on the banks of Nile
A man who bears the sacred name of Jove?
For in the heavens there’s only one. What country,
But that where glides Eurotas’ stream beset
With waving reeds, is Sparta? Tyndarus’ name
Suits him alone. But is there any land
Synonymous with Lacedæmon’s realm,
And that of Troy? I know not how to solve
This doubt; for there are many, it appears,
In various regions of the world, who bear
Like appellations; city corresponds
With city; woman borrows that of woman;
Nor must we therefore wonder. Yet again
Here will I stay, though danger be announced
By yonder aged servant at the door:
For there is no man so devoid of pity
As not to give me food, when he the name
Of Menelaus hears. That dreadful fire
By which the Phrygian bulwarks were consumed
Is memorable, and I who kindled it
Am known in every land. I’ll therefore wait
Until the master of this house return.
But I have two expedients, and will practise
That which my safety shall require; of soul
Obdurate, if he prove, in my wrecked bark
Can I conceal myself, but if the semblance
Which he puts on, be mild, I for relief
From these my present miseries, will apply.
But this of all the woes that I endure
Is the most grievous, that from other kings
I, though a king myself, should be reduced
To beg my food: but thus hath Fate ordained.
Nor is it my assertion, but a maxim
Among the wise established, that there’s nought
More powerful than the dread behests of Fate.
[216]
Chor. I heard what yon prophetic maid foretold,
Who in the palace did unfold
The oracles; that to the shades profound
Of Erebus, beneath the ground
Interred, not yet hath Menelaus ta’en
His passage: on the stormy main
Still tossed, he cannot yet approach the strand,
The haven of the Spartan land:
The chief, who now his vagrant life bewails,
Without a friend, unfurls his sails,
From Ilion’s realm to every distant shore
Borne o’er the deep with luckless oar.
Hel. I to this hallowed tomb again repair,
Now I have heard the grateful tidings uttered
By sage Theonoe, who distinctly knows
All that hath happened? for she says my lord
Is living, and yet views the solar beams:
But after passing o’er unnumbered straits
Of ocean, to a vagrant’s wretched life
Full long inured, on these Ægyptian coasts,
When he his toils hath finished, shall arrive.
Yet there is one thing more, which she hath left
Unmentioned, whether he shall come with safety.
This question I neglected to propose,
O’erjoyed when she informed me he yet lives;
She also adds, that he is near the land,
From his wrecked ship, with his few friends, cast forth,
O mayst thou come at length; for ever dear
To me wilt thou arrive. Ha! who is that?
Am not I caught, through some deceitful scheme
Of Proteus’ impious son, in hidden snares?
Like a swift courser, or the madding priestess
Of Bacchus, shall I not with hasty step
Enter the tomb, because his looks are fierce
Who rushes on, and strives to overtake me?
Men. On thee I call, who to the yawning trench
Around that tomb, and blazing altars hiest
Precipitate. Stay: wherefore dost thou fly?
With what amazement doth thy presence strike
And almost leave me speechless!
Hel. O my friends,
I suffer violence; for from the tomb
I by this man am dragged, who to the king
Will give me, from whose nuptial couch I fled.
Men. We are no pirates, nor the ministers
Of lustful villany.
[217]
Hel. Yet is the vest
You wear unseemly.
Men. Stay thy rapid flight,
Dismiss thy fears.
Hel. I stop, now I have reached
This hallowed spot.
Men. Say, woman, who thou art;
What face do I behold?
Hel. But who are you?
For I by the same reasons am induced
To ask this question.
Men. Never did I see
A greater likeness.
Hel. O ye righteous gods!
For ’tis a privilege the gods alone
Confer, to recognize our long-lost friends.
Men. Art thou a Grecian or a foreign dame?
Hel. Of Greece: but earnestly I wish to know
Whence you derive your origin.
Men. In thee
A wonderful resemblance I discern
Of Helen.
Hel. Menelaus’ very features
These eyes in you behold, still at a loss
Am I for words t’ express my thoughts.
Men. Full clearly
Hast thou discovered a most wretched man.
Hel. O to thy consort’s arms at length restored!
Men. To what a consort? O forbear to touch
My garment!
Hel. E’en the same, whom to your arms,
A noble bride, my father Tyndarus gave.
Men. Send forth, O Hecate, thou orb of light,
Some more benignant spectre.
Hel. You in me
Behold not one of those who minister
At Hecate’s abhorred nocturnal rites.
Men. Nor am I sure the husband of two wives.
Hel. Say, to whom else in wedlock are you joined?
Men. To her who lies concealed in yonder cave,
The prize I hither bring from vanquished Troy.
Hel. You have no wife but me.
Men. If I retain
My reason yet, these eyes are sure deceived.
Hel. Seem you not then, while me you thus behold,
To view your real consort?
Men. Though your person
Resemble hers, no positive decision
Can I presume to form.
[218]
Hel. Observe me well,
And mark wherein we differ. Who can judge
With greater certainty than you?
Men. Thou bear’st
Her semblance, I confess.
Hel. Who can inform you
Better than your own eyes?
Men. What makes me doubt
Is this; because I have another wife.
Hel. To the domains of Troy I never went:
It was my image only.
Men. Who can fashion
Such bodies, with the power of sight endued?
Hel. Composed of ether, you a consort have,
Heaven’s workmanship.
Men. Wrought by what plastic god?
For the events thou speak’st of are most wondrous.
Hel. Lest Paris should obtain me, this exchange
Was made by Juno.
Men. How couldst thou be here,
At the same time, and in the Phrygian realm?
Hel. The name, but not the body, can be present
At once in many places.
Men. O release me;
For I came hither in an evil hour.
Hel. Will you then leave me here, and bear away
That shadow of a wife?
Men. Yet, O farewell,
Because thou art like Helen.
Hel. I’m undone:
For though my husband I again have found,
Yet shall not I possess him.
Men. My conviction,
From all those grievous toils I have endured
At Ilion, I derive, and not from thee.
Hel. Ah, who is there more miserable than I am?
My dearest friends desert me: I, to Greece,
To my dear native land, shall ne’er return.
Messenger, Menelaus, Helen, Chorus.
Mes. After a tedious search, O Menelaus,
At length have I with difficulty found you,
But not till over all the wide extent
Of this barbaric region I had wandered;
Sent by the comrades whom you left behind.
Men. Have ye been plundered then by the barbarians?
Mes. A most miraculous event hath happened,
Yet less astonishing by far in name
Than in reality.
[219]
Men. Speak, for thou bring’st
Important tidings by this breathless haste.
Mes. My words are these: in vain have you endured
Unnumbered toils.
Men. Those thou bewail’st are ills
Of ancient date. But what hast thou to tell me?
Mes. Borne to the skies your consort from our sight
Hath vanished, in the heavens is she concealed,
Leaving the cave in which we guarded her,
When she these words had uttered: “O ye sons
Of hapless Phrygia, and of Greece: for me
Beside Scamander’s conscious stream ye died,
Through Juno’s arts, because ye falsely deemed
Helen by Phrygian Paris was possest:
But after having here remained on earth
My stated time, observing the decrees
Of Fate, I to my sire the liquid ether
Return: but Tyndarus’ miserable daughter,
Though guiltless, hath unjustly been accused.”
Daughter of Leda hail! wert thou then here?
While I as if thou to the starry paths
Hadst mounted, through my ignorance proclaimed
Thou from this world on rapid wings wert borne.
But I no longer will allow thee thus
To sport with the afflictions of thy friends;
For in thy cause thy lord and his brave troops
On Ilion’s coast already have endured
Abundant toils.
Men. These are the very words
She uttered; and by what ye both aver
The truth is ascertained. O happy day
Which gives thee to my arms!
Hel. My dearest lord,
O Menelaus, it is long indeed
Since I have seen you: but joy comes at last.
My friends, transported I receive my lord
Whom I once more with these fond arms enfold,
After the radiant chariot of the sun
Hath oft the world illumined.
Men. I embrace
Thee too: but having now so much to say
I know not with what subject to begin.
Hel. Joy raises my exulting crest, these tears
Are tears of ecstasy, around your neck
My arms I fling with transport, O my husband,
O sight most wished for!
Men. I acquit the Fates,
Since Jove’s and Leda’s daughter I possess,
On whom her brothers borne on milk-white steeds
[220]Erst showered abundant blessings, when the torch
Was kindled at our jocund nuptial rite;
Though from my palace her the gods conveyed.
But evil now converted into good
To me thy husband hath at length restored
My long-lost consort: grant, O bounteous Heaven,
That I these gifts of fortune may enjoy.
Hel. May you enjoy them, for my vows concur
With yours; nor, of us two, can one be wretched
Without the other. O my friends, I groan
No longer, I no longer shed the tear
For my past woes: my husband I possess
Whom I from Troy expected to return
Full many, many years.
Men. I still am thine,
And thee with these fond arms again enfold.
But oft the chariot of the sun revolved
Through his diurnal orbit, ere the frauds
Of Juno I discerned. Yet more from joy
Than from affliction rise the tears I shed.
Hel. What shall I say? what mortal could presume
E’er to have hoped for such a blest event?
An unexpected visitant once more
I clasp you to my bosom.
Men. And I thee
Who didst appear to sail for Ida’s town,
And Ilion’s wretched turrets. By the gods,
Inform me, I conjure thee, by what means
Thou from my palace hither wert conveyed.
Hel. Alas! you to the source of all my woes
Ascend, and search into most bitter tidings.
Men. Speak: for whate’er hath been ordained by Heaven
Ought to be published.
Hel. I abhor the topic
On which I now am entering.
Men. Yet relate
All that thou know’st; for pleasing ’tis to hear
Of labours that are past.
Hel. I never went
To that barbarian youth’s adulterous couch
By the swift oar impelled: but winged love
Those hapless spousals formed.
Men. What god, what fate
Hath torn thee from thy country?
Hel. O my lord,
The son of Jove hath placed me on the banks
Of Nile.
Men. With what amazement do I hear
This wondrous tale of thy celestial guide!
[221]
Hel. Oft have I wept, and still the tear bedews
These eyes: to Juno, wife of Jove, I owe
My ruin.
Men. Wherefore wished she to have heaped
Mischiefs on thee?
Hel. Ye sources of whate’er
To me hath been most dreadful, O ye baths
And fountains, where those goddesses adorned
Their rival beauties, from whose influence rose
That judgment!
Men. Were those curses on thy head
By Juno showered, that judgment to requite?
Hel. To rescue me from Venus.
Men. What thou mean’st
Inform me.
Hel. Who to Paris had engaged——
Hel. Wretched, wretched me!
Thus did she waft me to th’ Egyptian coast.
Men. Then in thy stead to him that image gave,
As thou inform’st me.
Hel. But alas! what woes
Thence visited our wretched house! ah mother!
Ah me!
Hel. Leda is no more.
Around her neck she fixed the deadly noose
On my account, through my unhappy nuptials
O’erwhelmed with foul disgrace.
Men. Alas! But lives
Hermione our daughter?
Hel. Yet unwedded,
Yet childless, O my husband, she bewails
My miserable ’spousals, my disgrace.
Men. O Paris, who hast utterly o’erthrown
All my devoted house, these curst events,
Both thee, and myriads of the Grecian troops
With brazen arms refulgent, have destroyed.
Hel. But from my country in an evil hour,
From my loved native city, and from you,
Me hath the goddess driven, a wretch accursed
In that I left our home, and bridal bed,
Which yet I left not, for those base espousals.
Chor. If ye hereafter meet with happier fortune,
This may atone for all ye have endured
Already.
Mes. To me too, O Menelaus,
Communicate a portion of that joy
Which I perceive, but know not whence it springs.
[222]
Men. Thou too, old man, shalt in our conference share.
Mes. Was not she then the cause of all the woes
Endured at Troy?
Men. Not she: we were deceived
By those immortal Powers, whose plastic hand
Moulded a cloud into that baleful image.
Mes. What words are these you utter? have we toiled
In vain, and only for an empty cloud?
Men. These deeds were wrought by Juno, and the strife
’Twixt the three goddesses.
Mes. But is this woman
Indeed your wife?
Men. E’en she: and thou for this
On my assertion safely mayst depend.
Mes. My daughter, O how variable is Jove,
And how inscrutable! for he with ease
Whirls us around, now here, now there; one suffers
Full many toils; another, who ne’er knew
What sorrow was, is swallowed up at once
In swift perdition, nor in Fortune’s gifts
A firm and lasting tenure doth enjoy.
Thou and thy husband have endured a war,
Of slander thou, but he of pointed spears:
For by the tedious labours he endured
He nothing could obtain, but now obtains
The greatest and the happiest of all boons,
Which comes to him unsought. Thou hast not shamed
Thy aged father, and the sons of Jove,
Nor acted as malignant rumour speaks.
I now renew thy hymeneal rite,
And still am mindful of the torch I bore,
Running before the steeds, when in a car
Thou with this favoured bridegroom wert conveyed
From thy paternal mansion’s happy gates.
For worthless is that servant who neglects
His master’s interests, nor partakes their joys,
Nor feels for their afflictions. I was born
Indeed a slave, yet I with generous slaves
Would still be numbered, for although the name
I bear is abject, yet my soul is free.
Far better this, than if I had at once
Suffered two evils, a corrupted heart,
And vile subjection to another’s will.
Men. Courage, old man: for thou hast borne my shield,
And in my cause endured unnumbered toils,
Sharing my dangers: now partake my joys;
Go tell the friends I left, what thou hast seen,
And our auspicious fortunes: on the shore
[223]Bid them remain, till our expected conflict
Is finished; and observe how we may sail
From this loathed coast; that, with our better fortune
Conspiring, we, if possible, may ’scape
From these barbarians.
Mes. Your commands, O king,
Shall be obeyed. But I perceive how vain
And how replete with falsehood is the voice
Of prophets: no dependence can be placed
Upon the flames that from the altar rise,
Or on the voices of the feathered choir.
It is the height of folly to suppose
That birds are able to instruct mankind.
For Calchas, to the host, nor by his words
Nor signs, declared, “I for a cloud behold
My friends in battle slain.” The seer was mute,
And Troy in vain was taken. But perhaps
You will rejoin, “’Twas not the will of Heaven
That he should speak.” Why then do we consult
These prophets? We by sacrifice should ask
For blessings from the gods, and lay aside
All auguries. This vain delusive bait
Was but invented to beguile mankind.
No sluggard e’er grew rich by divination,
The best of seers are Prudence and Discernment.
Chor. My sentiments on prophets well accord
With those of this old man. He whom the gods
Th’ immortal gods befriend, in his own house
Hath a response that never can mislead.
Hel. So be it. All thus far is well. But how
You came with safety, O unhappy man,
From Troy, ’twill nought avail for me to know;
Yet with the sorrows of their friends, have friends
A wish to be acquainted.
Men. Thou hast asked
A multitude of questions in one short
And blended sentence. Why should I recount
To thee our sufferings on the Ægean deep,
Those treacherous beacons, by the vengeful hand
Of Nauplius kindled on Eubœa’s rocks,
The towns of Crete, or in the Libyan realm,
Which I have visited, and the famed heights
Of Perseus? never could my words assuage
Thy curiosity, and, by repeating
My woes to thee, I should but grieve the more,
And yet a second time those sufferings feel.
Hel. You in your answer have been more discreet
Than I who such a question did propose.
[224]But pass o’er all beside, and only tell me
How long you wandered o’er the briny main.
Men. Year after year, besides the ten at Troy,
Seven tedious revolutions of the sun.
Hel. The time you speak of, O unhappy man,
Is long indeed: but from those dangers saved
You hither come to bleed.
Men. What words are these?
What dost thou mean? O, how hast thou undone me!
Hel. Fly from these regions with your utmost speed:
Or he to whom this house belongs will slay you.
Men. What have I done that merits such a fate?
Hel. You hither come an unexpected guest,
And are a hindrance to my bridal rite.
Men. Is there a man then who presumes to wed
My consort?
Hel. And with arrogance to treat me,
Which I, alas! have hitherto endured.
Men. Of private rank, in his own strength alone
Doth he confide, or rules he o’er the land?
Hel. Lord of this region, royal Proteus’ son.
Men. This is the very riddle which I heard
From yonder female servant.
Hel. At which gate
Of this barbarian palace did you stand?
Men. Here, whence I like a beggar was repelled.
Hel. What, did you beg for food! ah wretched me!
Men. The fact was thus: though I that abject name
Assumed not.
Hel. You then know, it seems, the whole
About my nuptials.
Men. This I know: but whether
Thou has escaped th’ embraces of the king
I still am uninformed.
Hel. That I have kept
Your bed still spotless, may you rest assured.
Men. How canst thou prove the fact? if thou speak truth
To me, it will give pleasure.
Hel. Do you see,
Close to the tomb, my miserable seat?
Men. I on the ground behold a couch: but what
Hast thou to do with that, O wretched woman?
Hel. Here I a suppliant bowed, that I might ’scape
From those espousals.
Men. Couldst thou find no altar,
Or dost thou follow the barbarian mode?
Hel. Equally with the temples of the gods
Will this protect me.
[225]
Men. Is not then my bark
Allowed to waft thee to the Spartan shore?
Hel. Rather the sword than Helen’s bridal bed
Awaits you.
Men. Thus should I of all mankind
Be the most wretched.
Hel. Let not shame prevent
Your ’scaping from this land.
Men. And leaving thee,
For whom I laid the walls of Ilion waste?
Hel. ’Twere better than to perish in the cause
Of me your consort.
Men. Such unmanly deeds
As these thou speak’st of would disgrace the chief
Who conquered Troy.
Hel. You cannot slay the king,
Which is perhaps the project you have formed.
Men. Hath he then such a body as no steel
Can penetrate?
Hel. My reasons you shall know.
But it becomes not a wise man t’ attempt
What cannot be performed.
Men. Shall I submit
My hands in silence to the galling chain?
Hel. You know not how to act in these dire straits
To which we are reduced: but of some plot
Must we avail ourselves.
Men. ’Twere best to die
In some brave action than without a conflict.
Hel. One only hope of safety yet remains.
Men. By gold can it be purchased, or depends it
On dauntless courage, or persuasive words?
Hel. Of your arrival if the monarch hear not.
Men. Who can inform him? he will never sure
Know who I am.
Hel. He hath a sure associate,
Within his palace, equal to the gods.
Men. Some voice which from its inmost chambers sounds?
Hel. No: ’tis his sister, her they call Theonoe.
Men. She bears indeed a most prophetic name;
But say, what mighty deeds can she perform?
Hel. All things she knows, and will inform her brother
That you are here.
Men. We both, alas! must die,
Nor can I possibly conceal myself.
Hel. Could our united supplications move her?
Men. To do what action? Into what vain hope
Wouldst thou mislead me?
[226]
Hel. Not to tell her brother
That you are in the land.
Men. If we prevail
Thus far, can we escape from these domains?
Hel. With ease, if she concur in our design,
But not without her knowledge.
Men. This depends
On thee: for woman best prevails with woman.
Hel. Around her knees these suppliant hands I’ll twine.
Men. Go then; but what if she reject our prayer?
Hel. You certainly must die; and I by force
Shall to the king be wedded.
Men. Thou betray’st me;
That force thou talk’st of is but mere pretence.
Hel. But by your head that sacred oath I swear.
Men. What sayst thou, wilt thou die, and never change
Thy husband?
Hel. By the self-same sword: my corse
Shall lie beside you.
Men. To confirm the words
Which thou hast spoken, take my hand.
Hel. I take
Your hand, and swear that after you are dead
I will not live.
Men. And I will put an end
To my existence, if deprived of thee.
Hel. But how shall we die so as to procure
Immortal glory?
Men. Soon as on the tomb
Thee I have slain, myself will I destroy.
But first a mighty conflict shall decide
Our claims who to thy bridal bed aspire.
Let him who dares, draw near: for the renown
I won at Troy, I never will belie,
Nor yet returning to the Grecian shore
Suffer unnumbered taunts for having reft
Thetis of her Achilles, and beheld
Ajax the Telamonian hero slain,
With Neleus’ grandson, though I dare not bleed
To save my consort. Yet on thy behalf
Without regret, will I surrender up
This fleeting life: for if the gods are wise
They lightly scatter dust upon the tomb.
Of the brave man who by his foes is slain,
But pile whole mountains on the coward’s breast.
Chor. O may the race of Tantalus, ye gods,
At length be prosperous, may their sorrows cease!
Hel. Wretch that I am! for such is my hard fate:
O Menelaus, we are lost for ever.
[227]The prophetess Theonoe, from the palace
Comes forth: I hear the sounding gates unbarred.
Fly from this spot. But whither can you fly?
For your arrival here, full well she knows,
Absent, or present. How, O wretched me,
Am I undone! in safety you return
From Troy, from a barbarian land, to rush
Again upon the swords of fresh barbarians.
Theonoe, Menelaus, Helen, Chorus.
Theon. [to one of her Attendants.]
Lead thou the way, sustaining in thy hand
The kindled torch, and fan the ambient air,
Observing every due and solemn rite,
That we may breathe the purest gales of Heaven.
Meanwhile do thou, if any impious foot
Have marked the path, with lustral flames efface
The taint, and wave the pitchy brand around,
That I may pass; and when we have performed
Our duteous homage to th’ immortal powers,
Into the palace let the flame be borne,
Restore it to the Lares. What opinion
Have you, O Helen, of th’ events foretold
By my prophetic voice? Your husband comes,
Your Menelaus in this land appears,
Reft of his ships, and of your image reft.
’Scaped from what dangers, O unhappy man,
Art thou arrived, although thou know’st not yet
Whether thou e’er shalt to thy home return,
Or here remain. For there is strife in Heaven;
And Jove on thy account this day will hold
A council; Juno who was erst thy foe,
Now grown benignant, with thy consort safe
To Sparta would convey thee, that all Greece
May understand that the fictitious nuptials
Of Paris, were the baleful gift of Venus.
But Venus wants to frustrate thy return,
Lest she should be convicted, or appear
At least the palm of beauty to have purchased
By vending Helen for a wife to Paris.
But this important question to decide,
On me depends; I either can destroy thee,
Which is the wish of Venus, by informing
My brother thou art here; or save thy life
By taking Juno’s side, and thy arrival
Concealing from my brother, who enjoined me
To inform him whensoe’er thou on these shores
Shouldst land. Who bears the tidings to my brother,
[228]That Menelaus’ self is here, to save me
From his resentment?
Hel. At thy knees I fall,
O virgin, as a suppliant, and here take
My miserable seat, both for myself,
And him whom, scarce restored to me, I see
Now on the verge of death. Forbear t’ inform
Thy brother, that to these fond arms my lord
Again is come. O save him, I implore thee;
Nor gratify thy brother, by betraying
The feelings of humanity, to purchase
A wicked and unjust applause: for Jove
Detests all violence, he bids us use
What we possess, but not increase our stores
By rapine. It is better to be poor,
Than gain unrighteous wealth. For all mankind
Enjoy these common blessings, Air and Earth;
Nor ought we our own house with gold to fill,
By keeping fraudfully another’s right,
Or seizing it by violence. For Hermes,
Commissioned by the blest immortal powers,
Hath, at my cost, consigned me to thy sire,
To keep me for this husband, who is here
And claims me back again: but by what means
Can he receive me after he is dead?
Or how can the Ægyptian king restore me
A living consort to my breathless lord?
Consider therefore, both the will of Heaven
And that of thy great father. Would the god,
Would the deceased, surrender up or keep
Another’s right? I deem they would restore it.
Hence to thy foolish brother shouldst not thou
Pay more respect than to thy virtuous sire.
And sure if thou, a prophetess, who utter’st
Th’ oracular responses of the gods,
Break’st through thy father’s justice, to comply
With an unrighteous brother: it were base
In thee to understand each mystic truth
Revealed by the immortal powers, the things
That are, and those that are not; yet o’erlook
The rules of justice. But O stoop to save
Me, miserable me, from all those ills
In which I am involved; this great exertion
Of thy benignant aid, my fortunes claim.
For there is no man who abhors not Helen;
’Tis rumoured through all Greece that I betrayed
My husband, and abode beneath the roofs
Of wealthy Phrygia. But to Greece once more
Should I return, and to the Spartan realm;
[229]When they are told, and see, how to the arts
Of these contending goddesses they owe
Their ruin; but that I have to my friends
Been ever true, they to the rank I held
’Midst chaste and virtuous matrons, will restore me:
My daughter too, whom no man dares to wed,
From me her bridal portion shall receive;
And I, no longer doomed to lead the life
Of an unhappy vagrant, shall enjoy
The treasures that our palaces contain.
Had Menelaus died, and been consumed
In the funereal pyre, I should have wept
For him far distant in a foreign realm;
But now shall I for ever be bereft
Of him who lives, and seem to have escaped
From every danger. Virgin, act not thus;
To thee I kneel a suppliant; O confer
On me this boon, and emulate the justice
Of your great sire. For fair renown attends
The children, from a virtuous father sprung,
Who equal their hereditary worth.
Theon. Most piteous are the words which you have spoken;
You also claim my pity: but I wish
To hear what Menelaus yet can plead
To save his life.
Men. I cannot at your knees
Fall prostrate, or with tears these eyelids stain:
For I should cover all the great exploits
Which I achieved at Ilion with disgrace,
If I became a dastard; though some hold
’Tis not unworthy of the brave to weep
When wretched. But this honourable part
(If such a part can e’er be honourable)
I will not act, because the prosperous fortunes
Which erst were mine, are present to my soul.
If then you haply are disposed to save
A foreigner who justly claims his wife,
Restore her, and protect us: if you spurn
Our suit, I am not now for the first time,
But have been often wretched, and your name
Shall be recorded as an impious woman.
These thoughts, which I hold worthy of myself,
And just, and such as greatly must affect
Your inmost heart, I at your father’s tomb
With energy will utter. Good old man,
Beneath this marble sepulchre who dwell’st,
To thee I sue, restore my wife, whom Jove
Sent hither to thy realm, that thou for me
[230]Might’st guard her. Thou, I know, since thou art dead,
Canst ne’er have power to give her back again:
But she, this holy priestess, will not suffer
Reproach to fall on her illustrious sire,
Whom I invoke amid the shades beneath:
For this depends on her. Thee too I call,
O Pluto, to my aid, who hast received
Full many a corse, which fell in Helen’s cause
Beneath my sword, and still retain’st the prize:
Either restore them now to life, or force
Her who seems mightier than her pious father,
To give me back my wife. But of my consort
If ye resolve to rob me, I will urge
Those arguments which Helen hath omitted.
Know then, O virgin, first I by an oath
Have bound myself, your brother to encounter,
And he, or I, must perish; the plain truth
Is this. But foot to foot in equal combat.
If he refuse to meet me, and attempt
To drive us suppliants from the tomb by famine,
My consort will I slay, and with the sword
Here on this sepulchre my bosom pierce,
That the warm current of our blood may stream
Into the grave. Thus shall our corses lie
Close to each other on this polished marble:
To you eternal sorrow shall they cause,
And foul reproach to your great father’s name.
For neither shall your brother wed my Helen,
Nor any man beside: for I with me
Will bear her; if I cannot bear her home,
Yet will I bear her to the shades beneath.
But why complain? If I shed tears, and act
The woman’s part, I rather shall become
An object of compassion, than deserve
To be esteemed a warrior. If you list,
Slay me, for I can never fall inglorious.
But rather yield due credence to my words,
So will you act with justice, and my wife
Shall I recover.
Chor. To decide the cause
On which we speak, belongs to thee, O virgin:
But so decide as to please all.
Theon. By nature
And inclination am I formed to act
With piety, myself too I revere:
Nor will I e’er pollute my sire’s renown,
Or gratify my brother by such means
As might make me seem base. For from my birth,
Hath justice in this bosom fixed her shrine:
[231]And since from Nereus I inherited
This temper, Menelaus will I strive
To save. But now since Juno is disposed
To be your friend, with her will I accord:
May Venus be propitious, though her rites
I never have partaken, and will strive
For ever to remain a spotless maid.
But I concur with thee, O Menelaus,
In all thou to my father at his tomb
Hast said: for with injustice should I act
If I restored not Helen: had he lived,
My sire on thee again would have bestowed
Thy consort, and her former lord on Helen.
For vengeance, in the shades of Hell beneath,
And among all that breathe the vital air,
Attends on those who break their plighted trust.
The soul of the deceased, although it live
Indeed no longer, yet doth still retain
A consciousness which lasts for ever, lodged
In the eternal scene of its abode,
The liquid ether. To express myself
Concisely, all that you requested me
Will I conceal, nor with my counsels aid
My brother’s folly; I to him shall show
A real friendship, though without the semblance,
If I his vicious manners can reform
And make him more religious. Therefore find
Means to escape yourselves; for I will hence
Depart in silence. First implore the gods;
To Venus sue, that she your safe return
Would suffer; and to Juno, not to change
The scheme which she hath formed, both to preserve
Your lord and you. O my departed sire,
For thee will I exert my utmost might,
That on thy honoured name no foul reproach
May ever rest.
Chor. No impious man e’er prospered:
But fairest hopes attend an honest cause.
Hel. O Menelaus, as to what depends
Upon the royal maid, are we secure:
But next doth it become you to propose
Some means our safety to effect.
Men. Now listen
To me; thou in this palace long hast dwelt,
An inmate with the servants of the king.
Hel. Why speak you thus? for you raise hopes, as though
You could do somewhat for our common good.
Men. Canst thou prevail on any one of those
[232]Who guide the harnessed steeds, to furnish us
With a swift car?
Hel. Perhaps I might succeed
In that attempt. But how shall we escape
Who to these fields and this barbarian land
Are strangers? An impracticable thing
Is this you speak of.
Men. Well, but in the palace
Concealed, if with this sword the king I slay.
Hel. His sister will not suffer this in silence
If you attempt aught ’gainst her brother’s life.
Men. We have no ship in which we can escape;
For that which we brought hither, by the waves
Is swallowed up.
Hel. Now hear what I propose;
From woman’s lips if wisdom ever flow.
Will you permit a rumour of your death
To be dispersed?
Men. This were an evil omen:
But I, if any benefit arise
From such report, consent to be called dead
While I yet live.
Hel. That impious tyrant’s pity
Our female choir shall move, with tresses shorn,
And chaunt funereal strains.
Men. What tendency
Can such a project have to our deliverance?
Hel. I will allege that ’tis an ancient custom;
And of the monarch his permission crave,
That I on you, as if you in the sea
Had perished, may bestow a vacant tomb.
Men. If he consent, how can this feigned interment
Enable us to fly without a ship?
Hel. I will command a bark to be prepared,
From whence into the bosom of the deep
Funereal trappings I may cast.
Men. How well
And wisely hast thou spoken! but the tomb
If he direct thee on the strand to raise,
Nought can this scheme avail.
Hel. But I will say
’Tis not the usage, in a Grecian realm,
With earth to cover the remains of those
Who perished in the waves.
Men. Thou hast again
Removed this obstacle: I then with thee
Will sail, and the funereal trappings place
In the same vessel.
Hel. ’Tis of great importance
[233]That you, and all those mariners who ’scaped
The shipwreck, should be present.
Men. If we find
A bark at anchor, with our falchions armed
In one collected band will we assail
And board it.
Hel. To direct all this, belongs
To you; but may the prosperous breezes fill
Our sails, and guide us o’er the billowy deep.
Men. These vows shall be accomplished; for the gods
At length will cause my toils to cease: but whence
Wilt thou pretend thou heard’st that I was dead?
Hel. Yourself shall be the messenger; relate
How you alone escaped his piteous doom,
A partner of the voyage with the son
Of Atreus, and the witness of his death.
Men. This tattered vest will testify my shipwreck.
Hel. How seasonable was that which seemed at first
To be a grievous loss! but the misfortune
May end perhaps in bliss.
Men. Must I with thee
Enter the palace, or before this tomb
Sit motionless?
Hel. Here stay: for if the king
By force should strive to tear you hence, this tomb
And your drawn sword will save you. But I’ll go
To my apartment, shear my flowing hair,
For sable weeds this snowy vest exchange,
And rend with bloody nails these livid cheeks:
For ’tis a mighty conflict, and I see
These two alternatives: if in my plots
Detected, I must die; or to my country
I shall return, and save your life. O Juno,
Thou sacred queen, who shar’st the couch of Jove,
Relieve two wretches from their toils; to thee
Our suppliant arms uplifting high t’wards Heaven
With glittering stars adorned, thy blest abode,
We sue: and thou, O Venus, who didst gain
The palm of beauty through my promised ’spousals,
Spare me, thou daughter of Dione, spare;
For thou enough hast injured me already;
Exposing not my person, but my name,
To those barbarians; suffer me to die,
If thou wilt slay me, in my native land.
Why art thou still insatiably malignant?
Why dost thou harass me by love, by fraud,
By the invention of these new deceits,
And by thy magic philtres plunge in blood
Our miserable house? If thou hadst ruled
[234]With mildness, thou to man hadst been most grateful
Of all the gods. I speak not this at random.
[Helen and Menelaus retire behind the tomb.
I. 1.
On thee who build’st thy tuneful seat
Protected by the leafy groves, I call,
O nightingale, thy accents ever sweet
Their murmuring melancholy fall
Prolong! O come, and with thy plaintive strain
Aid me to utter my distress,
Thy woes, O Helen, let the song express,
And those of Troy now levelled with the plain
By Grecian might. From hospitable shores,
Relying on barbaric oars,
The spoiler Paris fled,
And o’er the deep to Priam’s realm with pride
Bore his imaginary bride,
Fancying that thou hadst graced his bed,
To nuptials fraught with shame by wanton Venus led.
I. 2.
Unnumbered Greeks, transpierced with spears,
Or crushed beneath the falling ramparts, bled:
Hence with her tresses shorn, immersed in tears
The matron wails her lonely bed,
But Nauplius, kindling near th’ Eubœan deep
Those torches, o’er our host prevailed;
Though with a single bark the traitor sailed,
He wrecked whole fleets against Caphareus’ steep,
And the Ægean coasts, the beacon seemed
A star, and through Heaven’s conclave gleamed,
Placed on the craggy height.
While flushed with conquest, from the Phrygian strand
They hastened to their native land,
Portentous source of bloody fight,
The cloud by Juno formed, beguiled their dazzled sight.
II. 1.
Whether the image was divine,
Drew from terrestrial particles its birth,
Or from the middle region, how define
By curious search, ye sons of earth?
[235]Far from unravelling Heaven’s abstruse intents,
We view the world tost to and fro,
Mark strange vicissitudes of joy and woe,
Discordant and miraculous events.
Thou, Helen, art indeed the child of Jove.
The swan, thy sire, inflamed by love,
To Leda’s bosom flew:
Yet with imputed crimes malignant fame
Through Greece arraigns thy slandered name.
Of men I know not whom to trust,
But what the gods pronounce have I found ever just.
II. 2.
Frantic are ye who seek renown
Amid the horrors of th’ embattled field,
Who masking guilt beneath a laurel crown
With nervous arm the falchion wield,
Not slaughtered thousands can your fury sate.
If still success the judgment guide,
If bloody battle right and wrong decide,
Incessant strife must vex each rival state:
Hence from her home departs each Phrygian wife,
O Helen, when the cruel strife
Which from thy charms arose,
One conference might have closed: now myriads dwell
With Pluto in the shades of Hell,
And flames, as when Jove’s vengeance throws
The bolt, have caught her towers and finished Ilion’s woes.
Theoclymenus, Chorus (Helen and Menelaus
behind the tomb).
Theoc. Hail, O thou tomb of my illustrious sire!
For thee have I interred before my gate,
That with thy shade I might hold frequent conference,
O Proteus; Theoclymenus thy son
Thee, O my father, oft as he goes forth,
Oft as he enters these abodes, accosts.
But to the palace now convey those hounds
And nets, my servants. I full many a time
Have blamed myself, because I never punished
With death such miscreants; now I am informed
That publicly some Greek to these domains
Is come unnoticed by my guards, a spy,
Or one who means to carry Helen off
By stealth: but if I seize him, he shall die.
Methinks I find all over: for the daughter
Of Tyndarus sits no longer at the tomb,
But from these shores hath fled, and now is crossing
[236]The billowy deep. Unbar the gates, bring forth
My coursers from the stalls, and brazen cars;
Lest through my want of vigilance the dame
Whom I would make my consort, should escape me,
Borne from this land. Yet stay; for I behold
Those we pursue still here beneath this roof,
Nor are they fled. Ho! why in sable vest
Hast thou arrayed thyself, why cast aside
Thy robes of white, and from thy graceful head
With ruthless steel thy glowing ringlets shorn,
And wherefore bathed thy cheek with recent tears?
Groan’st thou, by visions of the night apprized
Of some calamity, or hast thou heard
Within, a rumour that afflicts thy soul?
Hel. My lord (for I already by that name
Accost you), I am utterly undone,
My former bliss is vanished, and I now
Am nothing.
Theoc. Art thou plunged into distress
So irretrievable? what cruel fate
Hath overtaken thee?
Hel. My Menelaus,
(Ah, how shall I express myself?) is dead.
Theoc. Although I must not triumph in th’ event
Thou speak’st of, yet to me ’tis most auspicious.
How know’st thou? Did Theonoe tell thee this?
Hel. She and this mariner, who when he perished
Was present, both concur in the same tale.
Theoc. Is there a man arrived, who for the truth
Of that account can vouch?
Hel. He is arrived:
And would to Heaven that such auspicious fortune
As I could wish attended him.
Theoc. Who is he?
Where is he? I would know the real fact.
Hel. ’Tis he who stupefied with sorrow sits
Upon the tomb.
Theoc. In what unseemly garb
Is he arrayed, O Phœbus!
Hel. In that dress,
Ah me! methinks my husband I behold.
Theoc. But in what country was the stranger born,
And whence did he come hither?
Hel. He’s a Greek,
One of those Greeks who with my husband sailed.
Theoc. How doth he say that Menelaus died?
Hel. Most wretchedly, engulfed amid the waves.
Theoc. Where? as he passed o’er the barbarian seas?
[237]
Hel. Dashed on the rocks of Libya, which affords
No haven.
Theoc. But whence happened it, that he
This partner of his voyage did not perish?
Hel. The worthless are more prosperous than the brave.
Theoc. Where left he the wrecked fragments of his ship
When he came hither?
Hel. There, where would to Heaven
Perdition had o’ertaken him, and spared
The life of Menelaus.
Theoc. He, it seems,
Is then no more: but in what bark arrived
This messenger?
Hel. Some sailors, as he says,
By chance passed by, and snatched him from the waves.
Theoc. But where’s that hateful pest which in thy stead
Was sent to Ilion?
Hel. Speak you of a cloud,
Resembling me? it mounted to the skies.
Theoc. O Priam, for how frivolous a cause
Thou with thy Troy didst perish!
Hel. In their woes
I too have been involved.
Theoc. But did he leave
Thy husband’s corse unburied, or strew dust
O’er his remains?
Hel. He left them uninterred,
Ah, wretched me!
Theoc. And didst thou for this cause
Sever the ringlets of thy auburn hair?
Hel. Still is he dear, lodged in this faithful breast
Theoc. Hast thou sufficient reason then to weep
For this calamity?
Hel. Could you bear lightly
Your sister’s death?
Theoc. No surely. But what means
Thy still residing at this marble tomb?
Hel. Why do you harass me with taunting words,
And why disturb the dead?
Theoc. Because, still constant
To thy first husband, from my love thou fliest.
Hel. But I will fly no longer: haste, begin
The nuptial rite.
Theoc. ’Twas long ere thou didst come
To this: but I such conduct must applaud.
Hel. Know you then how to act? let us forget
All that has passed.
Theoc. Upon what terms? with kindness
Should kindness be repaid.
[238]
Hel. Let us conclude
The peace, and O be reconciled.
Theoc. All strife
With thee I to the winds of heaven consign.
Hel. Now, since you are my friend, I by those knees
Conjure you.
Theoc. With what object in thy view,
To me an earnest suppliant dost thou bend?
Hel. I my departed husband would inter.
Theoc. What tomb can be bestowed upon the absent
Wouldst thou inter his shade?
Hel. There is a custom
Among the Greeks established, that the man
Who in the ocean perishes——
Theoc. What is it?
For in such matters Pelops’ race are wise.
Hel. To bury in their stead an empty vest.
Theoc. Perform funereal rites, and heap the tomb
On any ground thou wilt.
Hel. We in this fashion
Bury not the drowned mariner.
Theoc. How then?
I am a stranger to the Grecian customs.
Hel. Each pious gift due to our breathless friends
We cast into the sea.
Theoc. On the deceased
What presents for thy sake can I bestow?
Hel. I know not: for in offices like these
Am I unpractised, having erst been happy.
Theoc. An acceptable message have you brought,
O stranger.
Men. Most ungrateful to myself
And the deceased.
Theoc. What funereal rites on those
Ocean hath swallowed up, do ye bestow?
Men. Such honours as each individual’s wealth
Enables us to pay him.
Theoc. Name the cost,
And for her sake receive whate’er you will.
Men. Blood is our first libation to the dead.
Theoc. What blood? inform me, for with your instructions
I will comply.
Men. Determine that thyself,
For whatsoe’er thou giv’st will be sufficient.
Theoc. The customary victims ’mong barbarians
Are either horse or bull.
Men. Whate’er thou giv’st,
Let it be somewhat princely.
[239]
Theoc. My rich herds
With these are amply furnished.
Men. And the bier
Without the corse is borne in solemn state.
Theoc. It shall: but what is there beside which custom
Requires to grace the funeral.
Men. Brazen arms:
For war was what he loved.
Theoc. We will bestow
Such presents as are worthy of the race
Of mighty Pelops.
Men. And those budding flowers
Th’ exuberant soil produces.
Theoc. But say, how
And in what manner ye these offerings plunge
Into the ocean.
Men. We must have a bark
And mariners to ply the oars.
Theoc. How far
Will they launch forth the vessel from the strand?
Men. So far as from the shore thou scarce wilt see
The keel divide the waves.
Theoc. But why doth Greece
Observe this usage?
Men. ’Lest the rising billows
Cast back to land th’ ablutions.
Theoc. Ye shall have
A swift Phœnician vessel.
Men. This were kind,
And no small favour shown to Menelaus.
Theoc. Without her presence, cannot you perform
These rites alone?
Men. Such task or to a mother,
Or wife, or child, belongs.
Theoc. ’Tis then her duty,
You say, to bury her departed lord?
Men. Sure, piety instructs us not to rob
The dead of their accustomed dues.
Theoc. Enough:
On me it is incumbent to promote
Such virtue in my consort. I will enter
The palace, and from thence for the deceased
Bring forth rich ornaments; with empty hands
You from this region will not I send forth,
That you may execute what she desires.
But having brought me acceptable tidings,
Instead of these vile weeds shall you receive
A decent garb and food, that to your country
You may return: for clearly I perceive
[240]That you are wretched now. But torture not
Thy bosom with unprofitable cares,
O hapless woman, for thy Menelaus
Is now no more, nor can the dead revive.
Men. Thee it behoves, O blooming dame, to love
Thy present husband, and to lay aside
The fond remembrance of thy breathless lord;
For such behaviour suits thy fortunes best.
But if to Greece with safety I return,
That infamy which erst pursued thy name
I’ll cause to cease, if thou acquit thyself
Of these great duties like a virtuous consort.
Hel. I will; nor shall my husband e’er have cause
To blame me: you too, who are here, shall witness
The truth of my assertions. But within
Go lave your wearied limbs, O wretched man,
And change your habit; for without delay
To you will I become a benefactress.
Hence too with greater zeal will you perform
The rites my dearest Menelaus claims,
If all due honours you from me receive.
[Exeunt Theoclymenus, Helen, and Menelaus.
I. 1.
O’er mountains erst with hasty tread
Did the celestial mother stray,
Nor stop where branching thickets spread,
Where rapid torrents crossed her way,
Or on the margin of the billowy deep;
Her daughter whom we dread to name
She wept, while hailing that majestic dame,
Cymbals of Bacchus from the craggy steep
Sent forth their clear and piercing sound,
Her car the harnessed dragons drew;
Following the nymph torn from her virgin crew.
Amidst her maidens swift of foot were found
Diana skilled the bow to wield,
Minerva, who in glittering state
Brandished the spear and raised her Gorgon shield;
But Jove looked down from Heaven t’ award another fate.
I. 2.
Soon as the mother’s toils were o’er,
When she had finished her career,
And sought the ravished maid no more,
To caves where drifted snows appear,
[241]By Ida’s nymphs frequented, did she pass,
And threw herself in sorrow lost,
On rocks and herbage crusted o’er with frost,
Despoiled the wasted champaign of its grass,
Rendered the peasant’s tillage vain,
Consuming a dispeopled land
With meagre famine; Spring at her command
Denied the flocks that sickened on the plain
The leafy tendrils of the vine;
Whole cities died, no victims bled,
No frankincense perfumed Heaven’s vacant shrine;
Nor burst the current from the Spring’s obstructed head.
II. 1.
Then ceased the banquet, wont to charm
Both gods above and men below:
The mother’s anger to disarm,
And mitigate the stings of woe,
Till in these words Jove uttered his behests:
“Let each benignant grace attend
Sweet music’s sympathizing aid to lend,
And drive corrosive grief from Ceres’ breast
Indignant for her ravished child:
Now, O ye Muses, with the lyre
Join the shrill hymns of your assembled choir,
The brazen trumpet fill with accents wild,
And beat the rattling drums amain.”
Then first of the immortal band,
Venus with lovely smile approved the strain,
And raised the deep-toned flute in her enchanting hand.
II. 2.
The laws reproved such foul desire,
Yet ’gainst religion didst thou wed;
Thy uncle caught love’s baleful fire,
And rushed to thy incestuous bed.
Thee shall the mighty mother’s wrath confound,
Because, through thee, before her shrine
No victims slain appease the powers divine.
Great virtue have hinds’ hides, and ivy wound
Upon a consecrated rod;
And youths, with virgins in a ring,
When high from earth with matchless force they spring,
Loose streams their hair, they celebrate that god
The Bacchanalian votaries own,
And waste in dance the sleepless night.
But thou, confiding in thy charms alone,
Forgett’st the moon that shines with more transcendent light.
[242]
Hel. Within the palace, O my friends, we prosper
For Proteus’ royal daughter, in our schemes
Conspiring when her brother questioned her
About my lord, no information gave
Of his arrival: to my interests true
She said, that cold in death he views no longer
The radiant sun. But now my lord hath seized
A vengeful falchion, in that mail designed
To have been plunged beneath the deep arrayed,
With nervous arm he lifts an orbed shield,
In his right hand protended gleams the spear,
As if with me he was prepared to pay
To the deceased due homage. Furnished thus
With brazen arms, he’s ready for the battle,
And numberless barbarians will subdue
Unaided, soon as we the ship ascend.
Exchanging those unseemly weeds which clothe
The shipwrecked mariner, in splendid robes
Have I arrayed him, from transparent springs
The laver filled, and bathed his wearied limbs
But I must now be silent, for the man
Who fancies I am ready to become
His consort, leaves the palace. O my friends,
In your attachment too I place my trust,
Restrain your tongues, for we, when saved ourselves,
If possible will save you from this thraldom.
Theoclymenus, Helen, Menelaus, Chorus.
Theoc. Go forth, in such procession as the stranger
Directs you, O my servants, and convey
These gifts funereal to the briny deep.
But if thou disapprove not what I say,
Do thou, O Helen, yield to my persuasions,
And here remain. For whether thou attend,
Or art not present at the obsequies
Of thy departed husband, thou to him
Wilt show an equal reverence. Much I dread
Lest hurried on by wild desire thou plunge
Into the foaming billows, for the sake
Of him on whom thou doat’st, thy former lord,
Since thou his doom immoderately bewail’st
Though he be lost, and never can return.
Hel. O my illustrious husband, I am bound
To pay due honours to the man whom first
I wedded, of our ancient nuptial joys
A memory still retaining, for so well
I loved my lord that I could even die
[243]With him. But what advantage would result
To the deceased, should I lay down my life?
Yet let me go myself, and to his shade
Perform each solemn rite. But may the gods,
On you, and on the stranger who assists me
In this my pious task, with liberal hand
Confer the gifts I wish. But you in me
Shall such a consort to your palace bear
As you deserve, to recompense your kindness
To me and Menelaus. Such events
In some degree are measured by the will
Of Fortune: but give orders for a ship
To be prepared, these trappings to convey,
So shall your purposed bounty be complete.
Theoc. [to one of his Attendants.]
Go thou, and furnish them a Tyrian bark
Of fifty oars, with skilful sailors manned.
Hel. But may not he who decorates the tomb
Govern the ship?
Theoc. My sailors must to him
Yield an implicit deference.
Hel. This injunction
Repeat, that they may clearly understand it.
Theoc. A second time, will I, and yet a third,
Issue this self-same mandate, if to thee
This can give pleasure.
Hel. May the gods confer
Blessings on you, and prosper my designs!
Theo. Waste not thy bloom with unavailing tears.
Hel. To you this day my gratitude will prove.
Theoc. All these attentions to the dead are nought
But unavailing toil.
Hel. My pious care
Not to those only whom the silent grave
Contains, but to the living too extends.
Theoc. In me thou mayst expect to find a husband
Who yields not to the Spartan Menelaus.
Hel. I censure not your conduct, but bewail
My own harsh destiny.
Theoc. Bestow thy love
On me, and prosperous fortunes shall return.
Hel. It is a lesson I have practised long,
To love my friends.
Theoc. Shall I my navy launch,
To join in these funereal rites?
Hel. Dread lord,
Pay not unseemly homage to your vassals.
Theoc. Well! I each sacred usage will allow
Practised by Pelops’ race, for my abodes
[244]Are undefiled with blood: thy Menelaus
In Ægypt died not. But let some one haste
And bid the nobles bear into my house
The bridal gifts: for the whole earth is bound
To celebrate in one consenting hymn
My blest espousals with the lovely Helen.
But go, embark upon the briny main,
O stranger, and as soon as ye have paid
All decent homage to her former lord
Bring back my consort hither: that with me
When you have feasted at our nuptial rite
You to your native mansion may return,
Or here continue in a happy state.
Men. O Jove, thou mighty father, who art called
A god supreme in wisdom, from thy heaven
Look down, and save us from our woes: delay not
To aid us: for we drag the galling yoke
Of sorrow and mischance: if with thy finger
Thou do but touch us, we shall soon attain
The fortune which we wish for, since the toils
We have endured already are sufficient.
Ye gods, I now invoke you, from my mouth
So shall ye hear full many joyful accents
Mixed with these bitter plaints: for I deserve not
To be for ever wretched; but to tread
At length secure. O grant me this one favour,
And make my future life completely blest.
[Exeunt Menelaus and Helen.
I. 1.
Swift bark of Sidon, by whose dashing oars
Divided oft, the frothy billows rise,
Propitious be thy voyage from these shores:
In thy train the dolphins play,
O’er the deep thou lead’st the way,
While motionless its placid surface lies.
Soon as Serenity the fair,
That azure daughter of the main,
Shall in this animating strain
Have spoken: “To the gentle breeze of air
Expand each undulating sail,
Row briskly on before the gale,
Ye mariners, in Perseus’ ancient seat
Till Helen rest her wearied feet.”
[245]
I. 2.
Those sacred nymphs shall welcome thy return
Who guard the portals of Minerva’s fane
Or speed the current from its murmuring urn:
Choral dances of delight
That prolong the jocund night,
At Hyacinthus’ banquet shalt thou join,
Fair stripling, whom with luckless hand
Unwitting did Apollo slay
At games that crowned the festive day,
Hurling his quoit on the Laconian strand;
To him Jove’s son due honours paid:
At Sparta too, that lovely maid
Shalt thou behold, whom there thou left’st behind,
Still to celibacy consigned.
II. 1.
O might we cleave the air, like Libyan cranes,
Who fly in ranks th’ impending wintry storm;
When their shrill leader bids them quit the plains,
They the veteran’s voice obey,
O’er rich harvests wing their way,
Or where parched wastes th’ unfruitful scene deform.
With lengthened neck, ye feathered race
Who skim the clouds in social band,
Where the seven Pleiades expand
Their radiance, and Orion heaves his mace,
This joyous embassy convey
As near Eurotas’ banks ye stray;
That Menelaus to his subject land
Victorious comes from Phrygia’s strand.
II. 2.
Borne in your chariot down th’ ethereal height,
At length, ye sons of Tyndarus, appear,
While vibrates o’er your heads the starry light:
Habitants of heaven above,
Now exert fraternal love,
If ever Helen to your souls was dear,
A calm o’er th’ azure ocean spread,
Bridle the tempests of the main,
Propitious gales from Jove obtain,
Your sister snatch from the barbarian’s bed:
Commenced on Ida’s hill, that strife,
Embittered with reproach her life,
Although she never viewed proud Ilion’s tower
Reared by Apollo’s matchless power.
[246]
Theoclymenus, Messenger, Chorus.
Mes. O king, I have discovered in the palace,
Events most inauspicious: what fresh woes
Is it my doleful office to relate!
Theoc. Say what hath happened?
Mes. Seek another wife,
For Helen hath departed from this realm.
Theoc. Borne through the air on wings, or with swift foot
Treading the ground?
Mes. Her o’er the briny main
From Ægypt’s shores, hath Menelaus wafted,
Who came in person with a feigned account
Of his own death.
Theoc. O dreadful tale! what ship
From these domains conveys her? thou relat’st
Tidings the most incredible.
Mes. The same
You to that stranger gave, and in one word
To tell you all, he carries off your sailors.
Theoc. How is that possible? I wish to know:
For such an apprehension never entered
My soul, as that one man could have subdued
The numerous band of mariners, with whom
Thou wert sent forth.
Mes. When from the royal mansion
Jove’s daughter to the shore was borne, she trod
With delicate and artful step, pretending
To wail her husband’s loss, though he was present,
And yet alive. But when we reached the haven,
Sidonia’s largest vessel we hauled forth,
Furnished with benches, and with fifty oars;
But a fresh series of incessant toil
Followed this toil; for while one fixed the mast,
Another ranged the oars, and with his hand
The signal gave, the sails were bound together,
Then was the rudder fastened to the stern
With thongs, cast forth: while they observed us busied
In such laborious task, the Grecian comrades
Of Menelaus to the shore advanced,
Clad in their shipwrecked vestments. Though their form
Was graceful, yet their visages were squalid:
But Atreus’ son, beholding their approach,
Under the semblance of a grief that masked
His treacherous purpose, in these words addressed them:
“How, O ye wretched sailors, from what bark
Of Greece that hath been wrecked upon this coast
Are ye come hither? will ye join with us
In the funereal rites of Menelaus,
[247]Whom Tyndarus’s daughter, to an empty tomb
Consigns, though absent?” Simulated tears
They shed, and went aboard the ship, conveying
The presents to be cast into the sea
For Menelaus. But to us these things
Appeared suspicious, and we made remarks
Among ourselves upon the numerous band
Of our intruding passengers; but checked
Our tongues from speaking openly, through deference
To your commands. For when you to that stranger
Trusted the guidance of the ship, you caused
This dire confusion. All beside, with ease
Had we now lodged aboard, but could not force
The sturdy bull t’ advance; he bellowing rolled
His eyes around, bending his back and low’ring
Betwixt his horns, nor dared we to approach
And handle him. But Helen’s husband cried:
“O ye who laid Troy waste, will ye forget
To act like Greeks? why scruple ye to seize
And on your youthful shoulders heave the beast
Up to the rising prow, a welcome victim
To the deceased?” His falchion, as he spoke,
The warrior drew. His summons they obeyed,
Seized the stout bull, and carried him aboard:
But Menelaus stroked the horse’s neck
And face, and with this gentle usage led him
Into the bark. At length when all its freight
The vessel had received, with graceful foot
Helen, the steps ascending, took her seat
On the mid deck; and Menelaus near her,
E’en he who they pretended was no more.
But some on the right side, and on the left
Others in equal numbers, man to man
Opposed, their station took, their swords concealing
Beneath their garments. We distinctly heard
The clamorous sailors animate each other
To undertake the voyage. But from land
When a convenient distance we had steered,
The pilot asked this question: “Shall we sail,
O stranger, any farther from the coast,
Or is this right? for ’tis my task to guide
The vessel.” He replied: “Enough for me.”
Then seized with his right hand the falchion, leaped
Upon the prow, and standing o’er the bull
The victim (without mentioning the name
Of any chief deceased; but as he drove
The weapon through his neck) thus prayed: “O Neptune,
Who in the ocean dwell’st, and ye chaste daughters
Of Nereus, to the Nauplian shore convey
[248]Me and my consort, from this hostile land,
In safety.” But a crimson tide of blood,
Auspicious to the stranger, stained the waves;
And some exclaimed: “There’s treachery in this voyage,
Let us sail homewards, issue thy commands,
And turn the rudder.” But the son of Atreus,
Who had just slain the bull, to his companions
Called loudly: “Why delay, O ye the flower
Of Greece, to smite, to slaughter those barbarians,
And cast them from the ship into the waves?”
But to your sailors our commander spoke
A different language: “Will not some of you
Tear up a plank, or with a shattered bench,
Or ponderous oar, upon the bleeding heads
Of those audacious foreigners our foes,
Impress the ghastly wound?” But on their feet
All now stood up; our hands with nautic poles
Were armed, and theirs with swords: a tide of slaughter
Ran down the ship. But Helen from the poop
The Greeks encouraged; “Where is the renown
Ye gained at Troy? display ’gainst these barbarians
The same undaunted prowess.” In their haste
Full many fell, some rose again, the rest
Might you have seen stretched motionless in death.
But Menelaus, sheathed in glittering mail,
Wherever his confederates he descried
Hard pressed, rushed thither with his lifted sword,
Driving us headlong from the lofty deck
Into the waves, and forced your mariners
To quit their oars. But the victorious king
Now seized the rudder, and to Greece declared
He would convey the ship: they hoisted up
The stately mast: propitious breezes came;
They left the land: but I from death escaping,
Let myself gently down into the waves
Borne on the cordage which sustains the anchor;
My strength began to fail, when some kind hand
Threw forth a rope, and brought me safe ashore,
That I to you these tidings might convey.
There’s nought more beneficial to mankind
Than wise distrust.
Chor. I never could have thought
That Menelaus who was here, O king,
Could have imposed so grossly or on you
Or upon us.
Theoc. Wretch that I am, ensnared
By woman’s treacherous arts! the lovely bride
I hoped for, hath escaped me. If the ship
Could be o’ertaken by our swift pursuit,
[249]My wrongs would urge me with vindictive hand
To seize the strangers. But I now will punish
That sister who betrayed me; in my house
Who when she saw the Spartan Menelaus,
Informed me not: she never shall deceive
Another man by her prophetic voice.
Chor. Ho! whither, O my sovereign, would you go,
And for what bloody purpose?
Theoc. Where the voice
Of rigid justice summons me. Retire,
And stand aloof.
Chor. Yet will not I let loose
Your garment; for you hasten to commit
A deed most mischievous.
Theoc. Wouldst thou, a slave,
Govern thy lord?
Chor. Here reason’s on my side.
Theoc. That shall not I allow, if thou refuse
To quit thy hold.
Chor. I will not then release you.
Theoc. To slay that worst of sisters.
Theoc. Her who betrayed me.
Chor. Glorious was the fraud
That caused so just a deed.
Theoc. When she bestowed
My consort on another.
Chor. On the man
Who had a better claim——
Theoc. But who is lord
Of what belongs to me?
Chor. Who from her sire
Received her.
Theoc. She by Fortune was bestowed
On me.
Chor. But ta’en away again by Fate.
Theoc. Thou hast no right to judge of my affairs.
Chor. If I but speak to give you better counsels.
Theoc. I am thy subject then, and not thy king.
Chor. For having acted piously, your sister
I vindicate.
Theoc. Thou seem’st to wish for death.
Chor. Kill me. Your sister you with my consent
Shall never slay; I rather would yield up
My life on her behalf. It is most glorious
To generous servants for their lords to die.
[250]
Castor and Pollux, Theoclymenus, Chorus.
Cas. and Pol. Restrain that ire that hurries thee away
Beyond the bounds of reason, O thou king
Of Ægypt’s realm; and listen to the voice
Of us twin sons of Jove, whom Leda bore
Together with that Helen who is fled
From thy abodes. Thou rashly hast indulged
Thine anger, for the loss of her whom Fate
Ne’er destined to thy bed. Nor hath thy sister
Theonoe, from th’ immortal Nereid sprung,
To thee done any injury; she reveres
The gods, and her great father’s just behests.
For till the present hour, was it ordained
That Helen in thy palace should reside:
But when Troy’s walls were from their bases torn,
And she had to the rival goddesses
Furnished her name, no longer was it fit
That she should for thy nuptials be detained,
But to her ancient home return, and dwell
With her first husband. In thy sister’s breast
Forbear to plunge the sword, and be convinced
That she in this affair hath acted wisely.
We long ere this our sister had preserved,
Since Jove hath made us gods, but were too weak
At once to combat the behests of Fate,
And the immortal powers, who had ordained
That these events should happen. This to thee,
O Theoclymenus, I speak. These words
Next to my lovely sister, I address;
Sail with your husband, for a prosperous breeze
Your voyage shall attend. We your protectors
And your twin brothers, on our coursers borne
Over the waves, will guide you to your country,
But after you have finished life’s career,
You shall be called a goddess, shall partake
With us the rich oblations, and receive
The gifts of men: for thus hath Jove decreed.
But where the son of Maia placed you first,
When he had borne you from the Spartan realm,
And formed by stealth from the aërial mansions
An image of your person, to prevent
Paris from wedding you, there is an isle
Near the Athenian realm, which men shall call
Helen in future times, because that spot
Received you, when in secrecy conveyed
From Sparta. The Heavens also have ordained
The wanderer Menelaus shall reside
Among the happy islands. For the gods
[251]To those of nobler minds no hatred bear;
At their command though grievous toil await
The countless multitude.
Theoc. Ye sons of Jove
And Leda, I the contest will decline
Which I at first so violently urged,
Hoping your lovely sister to obtain,
And my own sister’s life resolve to spare:
Let Helen to her native shores return,
If ’tis the will of Heaven: but be assured,
The same high blood ye spring from with the best
And chastest sister: hail then, for the sake
Of Helen with a lofty soul endued,
Such as in female bosoms seldom dwells.
Chor. A thousand shapes our varying fates assume
The gods perform what least we could expect,
And oft the things for which we fondly hoped
Come not to pass; but Heaven still finds a clue
To guide our steps through life’s perplexing maze,
And thus doth this important business end.
