Wherefore, in censure of thy mood, I bring II 2
    Glad, though opposing, counsel.  Let not hope
    Grow weary.  Never hath a painless life
    Been cast on mortals by the power supreme
    Of the All-disposer, Cronos’ son.  But joy
    And sorrow visit in perpetual round
      All mortals, even as circleth still on high
      The constellation of the Northern sky.

    What lasteth in the world?  Not starry night, III
    Nor wealth, nor tribulation; but is gone
    All suddenly, while to another soul
    The joy or the privation passeth on. 
    These hopes I bid thee also, O my Queen! 
    Hold fast continually, for who hath seen
    Zeus so forgetful of his own? 
    How can his providence forsake his son?

DE.  I see you have been told of my distress,
And that hath brought you.  But my inward woe,
Be it evermore unknown to you, as now! 
Such the fair garden of untrammeled ease
Where the young life grows safely.  No fierce heat,
No rain, no wind disturbs it, but unharmed
It rises amid airs of peace and joy,
Till maiden turn to matron, and the night
Inherit her dark share of anxious thought,
Haunted with fears for husband or for child. 
Then, imaged through her own calamity,
Some one may guess the burden of my life. 
  Full many have been the sorrows I have wept,
But one above the rest I tell to-day. 
When my great husband parted last from home,
He left within the house an ancient scroll
Inscribed with characters of mystic note,
Which Heracles had never heretofore,
In former labours, cared to let me see,—­
As bound for bright achievement, not for death. 
But now, as though his life had end, he told
What marriage-portion I must keep, what shares
He left his sons out of their father’s ground: 
And set a time, when fifteen moons were spent,
Counted from his departure, that even then
Or he must die, or if that date were out
And he had run beyond it, he should live
Thenceforth a painless and untroubled life. 
Such by Heaven’s fiat was the promised end
Of Heracles’ long labours, as he said;
So once the ancient oak-tree had proclaimed
In high Dodona through the sacred Doves. 
Of which prediction on this present hour
In destined order of accomplishment
The veritable issue doth depend. 
And I, dear friends, while taking rest, will oft
Start from sweet slumbers with a sudden fear,
Scared by the thought, my life may be bereft
Of the best husband in the world of men.

CH.  Hush!  For I see approaching one in haste,
Garlanded, as if laden with good news.

Enter Messenger.

MESSENGER.  Queen Deanira, mine shall be the tongue
To free thee first from fear.  Alcmena’s child
Is living, be assured, and triumphing,
And bringing to our Gods the fruits of war.