The following sections of this BookRags Literature Study Guide is offprint from Gale's For Students Series: Presenting Analysis, Context, and Criticism on Commonly Studied Works: Introduction, Author Biography, Plot Summary, Characters, Themes, Style, Historical Context, Critical Overview, Criticism and Critical Essays, Media Adaptations, Topics for Further Study, Compare & Contrast, What Do I Read Next?, For Further Study, and Sources.
(c)1998-2002; (c)2002 by Gale. Gale is an imprint of The Gale Group, Inc., a division of Thomson Learning, Inc. Gale and Design and Thomson Learning are trademarks used herein under license.
The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Encyclopedia of Popular Fiction: "Social Concerns", "Thematic Overview", "Techniques", "Literary Precedents", "Key Questions", "Related Titles", "Adaptations", "Related Web Sites". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
All other sections in this Literature Study Guide are owned and copyrighted by BookRags, Inc.
Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR | 1 |
ATALANTA IN CALYDON. | 2 |
THE ARGUMENT. | 2 |
ATALANTA IN CALYDON. | 3 |
I now dedicate, with equal affection, reverence, and
regret, A poem
inscribed to him while yet
alive in words which are now
retained
because they were laid before
him; and to which, rather
than Cancel
them, I have added such others
as were evoked by the news
of his death:
That though losing the pleasure
I may not lose the honour
of inscribing
in front of my work the
highest of contemporary names.
oixeo de Boreethen apotropos’ alla
se Numphai
egagon aspasian edupnooi kath’
ala,
plerousai melitos theothen stoma, me ti
Poseidon
blapsei, en osin exon sen
meligerun opa.
toios aoidos ephus: emeis d’
eti klaiomen, oi sou
deuometh’ oixomenou,
kai se pothoumen aei.
eipe de Pieridon tis anastrephtheisa pros
allen:
elthen, idou, panton philtatos
elthe broton,
stemmata drepsamenos neothelea xersi geraiais,
kai polion daphnais amphekalupse
kara, 10
edu ti Sikelikais epi pektisin, edu ti
xordais,
aisomenos: pollen gar
meteballe luran,
pollaki d’ en bessaisi kathemenon
euren Apollon,
anthesi d’ estepsen,
terpna d’ edoke legein,
Pana t’ aeimneston te Pitun Koruthon
te dusedron,
en t’ ephilese thean
thnetos Amadruada:
pontou d’ en megaroisin ekoimise
Kumodameian,
ten t’ Agamemnonian
paid’ apedoke patri,
pros d’ ierous Delphous theoplekton
epempsen Oresten,
teiromenon stugerais entha
kai entha theais. 20
oixeo de kai aneuthe philon kai aneuthen
aoides,
drepsomenos malakes anthea
Persephones.
oixeo: kouk et’ esei, kouk
au pote soi paredoumai
azomenos, xeiron xersi thigon
osiais:
nun d’ au mnesamenon glukupikros
upeluthen aidos,
oia tuxon oiou pros sethen
oios exo:
oupote sois, geron, omma philois philon
ommasi terpso,
ses, geron, apsamenos, philtate,
dechiteras.
e psaphara konis, e psapharos bios esti:
ti touton
meion ephemerion; ou konis
alla bios. 10
alla moi eduteros ge peleis polu ton et’
eonton,
epleo gar: soi men tauta
thanonti phero,
paura men, all’ apo keros etetuma:
med’ apotrephtheis,
pros de balon eti nun esuxon
omma dexou.
ou gar exo, mega de ti thelon, sethen
achia dounai,
thaptomenou per apon:
ou gar enestin emoi:
oude melikretou parexein ganos :
ei gar eneie
kai se xeroin psausai kai
se pot’ authis idein,
THE PERSONS.
Chief huntsman.
Chorus.
Althaea.
Meleager
Oeneus.
Atalanta.
Toxeus.
Plexippus.
Herald.
Messenger.
Second Messenger.
isto d’ ostis oux upopteros phrontisin daeis, tan a paidolumas talaina THestias mesato purdae tina pronoian, kataithousa paidos daphoinon dalon elik’, epei molon matrothen keladese; summetron te diai biou moirokranton es amar.
Aesch. Cho. 602-612
Althaea, daughter of Thestius and Eurythemis, queen of Calydon, being with child of Meleager her first-born son, dreamed that she brought forth a brand burning; and upon his birth came the three Fates and prophesied of him three things, namely these; that he should have great strength of his hands, and good fortune in this life, and that he should live no longer when the brand then in the fire were consumed: wherefore his mother plucked it forth and kept it by her. And the child being a man grown sailed with Jason after the fleece of gold, and won himself great praise of all men living; and when the tribes of the north and west made war upon Aetolia, he fought against their army and scattered it. But Artemis, having at the first stirred up these tribes to war against Oeneus king of Calydon, because he had offered sacrifice to all the gods saving her alone, but her he had forgotten to honour, was yet more wroth because of the destruction of this army, and sent upon the land of Calydon a wild boar which slew many and wasted all their increase, but him could none slay, and many went against him and perished. Then were all the chief men of Greece gathered together, and among them Atalanta daughter of Iasius the Arcadian, a virgin, for whose sake Artemis let slay the boar, seeing she favoured the maiden greatly; and Meleager having despatched it gave the spoil thereof to Atalanta, as one beyond measure enamoured of her; but the brethren of Althaea his mother, Toxeus and Plexippus, with such others as misliked that she only should bear off the praise whereas many had borne the labour, laid wait for her to take away her spoil; but Meleager fought against them and slew them: whom when Althaea their sister beheld and knew to be slain of her son, she waxed for wrath and sorrow like as one mad, and taking the brand whereby the measure of her son’s life was meted to him, she cast it upon a fire; and with the wasting thereof his life likewise wasted away, that being brought back to his father’s house he died in a brief space, and his mother also endured not long after for very sorrow; and this was his end, and the end of that hunting.
Chief huntsman.
Maiden, and mistress of the months and
stars
Now folded in the flowerless fields of
heaven,
Goddess whom all gods love with threefold
heart,
Being treble in thy divided deity,
A light for dead men and dark hours, a
foot
Swift on the hills as morning, and a hand
To all things fierce and fleet that roar
and range
Mortal, with gentler shafts than snow
or sleep;
Hear now and help and lift no violent
hand,
But favourable and fair as thine eye’s
beam
Hidden and shown in heaven, for I all
night
Amid the king’s hounds and the hunting
men
Have wrought and worshipped toward thee;
nor shall man
See goodlier hounds or deadlier edge of
Chorus.
When the hounds of spring are on winter’s
traces,
The mother of months in meadow
or plain
Fills the shadows and windy places
With lisp of leaves and ripple
of rain;
And the brown bright nightingale amorous
Is half assuaged for Itylus,
For the Thracian ships and the foreign
faces,
The tongueless vigil, and
all the pain.
Come with bows bent and with emptying
of quivers.
Maiden most perfect, lady
of light,
With a noise of winds and many rivers,
With a clamour of waters,
and with might;
Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet,
Over the splendour and speed of thy feet;
For the faint east quickens, the wan west
shivers,
Round the feet of the day
and the feet of the night.
Where shall we find her, how shall we
sing to her,
Fold our hands round her knees,
and cling?
O that man’s heart were as fire
and could spring to her,
Fire, or the strength of the
streams that spring!
For the stars and the winds are unto her
As raiment, as songs of the harp-player;
For the risen stars and the fallen cling
to her,
And the southwest-wind and
the west-wind sing.
For winter’s rains and ruins are
over,
And all the season of snows,
and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the
night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring
begins.
The full streams feed on flower of rushes,
Ripe grasses trammel a travelling
foot,
The faint fresh flame of the young year
flushes
From leaf to flower and flower
to fruit,
And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire,
And the oat is heard above the lyre,
And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushes
The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root.
And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night,
Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot
kid,
Follows with dancing and fills with delight
The Maenad and the Bassarid;
And soft as lips that laugh and hide
The laughing leaves of the trees divide,
And screen from seeing and leave in sight
The god pursuing, the maiden
hid.
The ivy falls with the Bacchanal’s
hair
Over her eyebrows hiding her
eyes;
The wild vine slipping down leaves bare
Her bright breast shortening
into sighs;
The wild vine slips with the weight of
its leaves.
But the berried ivy catches and cleaves
To the limbs that glitter, the feet that
scare
The wolf that follows, the
fawn that flies.
Althaea.
What do ye singing? what is this ye sing?
Chorus.
Flowers bring we, and pure lips that please
the gods,
And raiment meet for service: lest
the day
Turn sharp with all its honey in our lips.
Althaea.
Night, a black hound, follows the white
fawn day,
Swifter than dreams the white flown feet
of sleep;
Will ye pray back the night with any prayers?
And though the spring put back a little
while
Winter, and snows that plague all men
for sin,
And the iron time of cursing, yet I know
Chorus.
Queen, but what is it that hath burnt
thine heart?
For thy speech flickers like a brown-out
flame.
Althaea.
Look, ye say well, and know not what ye
say,
For all my sleep is turned into a fire,
And all my dreams to stuff that kindles
it.
Chorus.
Yet one doth well being patient of the gods.
Althaea.
Yea, lest they smite us with some four-foot plague.
Chorus.
But when time spreads find out some herb for it.
Althaea.
And with their healing herbs infect our blood.
Chorus.
What ails thee to be jealous of their ways?
Althaea.
What if they give us poisonous drinks for wine?
Chorus.
They have their will; much talking mends it not.
Althaea.
And gall for milk, and cursing for a prayer?
Chorus.
Have they not given life, and the end of life?
Althaea.
Lo, where they heal, they help not; thus
they do,
They mock us with a little piteousness,
And we say prayers, and weep; but at the
last,
Sparing awhile, they smite and spare no
whit.
Chorus.
Small praise man gets dispraising the
high gods:
What have they done that thou dishonourest
them?
Althaea.
First Artemis for all this harried land
I praise not; and for wasting of the boar
That mars with tooth and tusk and fiery
feet
Green pasturage and the grace of standing
corn
And meadow and marsh with springs and
unblown leaves,
Flocks and swift herds and all that bite
sweet grass,
I praise her not, what things are these
to praise?
Chorus.
But when the king did sacrifice, and gave
Each god fair dues of wheat and blood
and wine,
Her not with bloodshed nor burnt-offering
Revered he, nor with salt or cloven cake;
Wherefore being wroth she plagued the
land, but now
Takes off from us fate and her heavy things.
Which deed of these twain were not good
to praise?
For a just deed looks always either way
With blameless eyes, and mercy is no fault.
Althaea.
Yea, but a curse she hath sent above all
these
To hurt us where she healed us; and hath
lit
Fire where the old fire went out, and
where the wind
Slackened, hath blown on us with deadlier
air.
Chorus.
What storm is this that tightens all our sail?
Althaea.
Love, a thwart sea-wind full of rain and foam.
Chorus.
Whence blown, and born under what stormier star?
Althaea.
Southward across Euenus from the sea.
Chorus.
Thy speech turns toward Arcadia like blown wind.
Althaea.
Sharp as the north sets when the snows are out.
Chorus.
Nay, for this maiden hath no touch of love.
Althaea.
I would she had sought in some cold gulf
of sea
Love, or in dens where strange beasts
lurk, or fire,
Or snows on the extreme hills, or iron
land
Where no spring is; I would she had sought
therein
And found, or ever love had found her
here.
Chorus.
She is holier than all holy days or things,
The sprinkled water or fume of perfect
fire;
Chaste, dedicated to pure prayers, and
filled
With higher thoughts than heaven; a maiden
clean,
Pure iron, fashioned for a sword, and
man
She loves not; what should one such do
with love?
Althaea.
Look you, I speak not as one light of
wit,
But as a queen speaks, being heart-vexed;
for oft
I hear my brothers wrangling in mid hall,
And am not moved; and my son chiding them,
And these things nowise move me, but I
know
Foolish and wise men must be to the end,
And feed myself with patience; but this
most,
This moves me, that for wise men as for
fools
Love is one thing, an evil thing, and
turns
Choice words and wisdom into fire and
air.
And in the end shall no joy come, but
grief,
Sharp words and soul’s division
and fresh tears
Flower-wise upon the old root of tears
brought forth,
Fruit-wise upon the old flower of tears
sprung up,
Pitiful sighs, and much regrafted pain.
These things are in my presage, and myself
Am part of them and know not; but in dreams
The gods are heavy on me, and all the
fates
Shed fire across my eyelids mixed with
night,
And burn me blind, and disilluminate
My sense of seeing, and my perspicuous
soul
Darken with vision; seeing I see not,
hear
And hearing am not holpen, but mine eyes
Stain many tender broideries in the bed
Drawn up about my face that I may weep
And the king wake not; and my brows and
lips
Tremble and sob in sleeping, like swift
flames
That tremble, or water when it sobs with
heat
Kindled from under; and my tears fill
my breast
And speck the fair dyed pillows round
the king
With barren showers and salter than the
sea,
Such dreams divide me dreaming; for long
since
I dreamed that out of this my womb had
sprung
Fire and a firebrand; this was ere my
son,
Meleager, a goodly flower in fields of
Chorus.
Before the beginning of years
There came to
the making of man
Time, with a gift of tears,
Grief, with a
glass that ran;
Pleasure, with pain for leaven;
Summer, with flowers
that fell;
Remembrance fallen from heaven,
And madness risen
from hell;
Strength without hands to
smite,
Love that endures
for a breath,
Night, the shadow of light,
And life, the
shadow of death.
And the high gods took in
hand
Fire, and the
falling of tears,
And a measure of sliding sand
From under the
feet of the years,
And froth and drift of the
sea;
And dust of the
labouring earth;
And bodies of things to be
In the houses
of death and of birth;
And wrought with weeping and
laughter,
And fashioned
with loathing and love,
With life before and after
And death beneath
and above,
For a day and a night and
a morrow,
That his strength
might endure for a span
With travail and heavy sorrow,
The holy spirit
of man.
From the winds of the north
and the south
They gathered
as unto strife;
They breathed upon his mouth,
They filled his
body with life;
Eyesight and speech they wrought
For the veils
of the soul therein,
A time for labour and thought,
A time to serve
and to sin;
They gave him light in his
ways,
And love, and
a space for delight,
And beauty and length of days,
And night, and
sleep in the night.
His speech is a burning fire;
With his lips
he travaileth,
In his heart is a blind desire,
In his eyes foreknowledge
of death;
He weaves, and is clothed
with derision;
Sows, and he shall
not reap,
His life is a watch or a vision
Between a sleep
and a sleep.
Meleager.
O sweet new heaven and air without a star,
Fair day, be fair and welcome, as to men
With deeds to do and praise to pluck from
thee,
Come forth a child, born with clear sound
and light,
With laughter and swift limbs and prosperous
looks;
That this great hunt with heroes for the
hounds
May leave thee memorable and us well sped.
Althaea.
Son, first I praise thy prayer, then bid
thee speed;
But the gods hear men’s hands before
their lips,
And heed beyond all crying and sacrifice
Light of things done and noise of labouring
men.
But thou, being armed and perfect for
the deed,
Abide; for like rain-flakes in a wind
they grow,
The men thy fellows, and the choice of
the world,
Bound to root out the tusked plague, and
leave
Thanks and safe days and peace in Calydon.
Meleager.
For the whole city and all the low-lying
land
Flames, and the soft air sounds with them
that come;
The gods give all these fruit of all their
works.
Althaea.
Set thine eye thither and fix thy spirit
and say
Whom there thou knowest; for sharp mixed
shadow and wind
Blown up between the morning and the mist,
With steam of steeds and flash of bridle
or wheel,
And fire, and parcels of the broken dawn,
And dust divided by hard light, and spears
That shine and shift as the edge of wild
beasts’ eyes,
Smite upon mine; so fiery their blind
edge
Burns, and bright points break up and
baffle day.
Meleager.
The first, for many I know not, being
far off,
Peleus the Larissaean, couched with whom
Sleeps the white sea-bred wife and silver-shod,
Fair as fled foam, a goddess; and their
son
Most swift and splendid of men’s
children born,
Most like a god, full of the future fame.
Althaea.
Who are these shining like one sundered star?
Meleager.
Thy sister’s sons, a double flower of men.
Althaea.
O sweetest kin to me in all the world,
O twin-born blood of Leda, gracious heads
Like kindled lights in untempestuous heaven,
Fair flower-like stars on the iron foam
of fight,
With what glad heart and kindliness of
soul,
Even to the staining of both eyes with
tears
And kindling of warm eyelids with desire,
A great way off I greet you, and rejoice
Seeing you so fair, and moulded like as
gods.
Far off ye come, and least in years of
these,
But lordliest, but worth love to look
upon.
Meleager.
Even such (for sailing hither I saw far
hence,
And where Eurotas hollows his moist rock
Nigh Sparta with a strenuous-hearted stream)
Even such I saw their sisters; one swan-white,
The little Helen, and less fair than she
Fair Clytaemnestra, grave as pasturing
fawns
Who feed and fear some arrow; but at whiles,
As one smitten with love or wrung with
joy,
She laughs and lightens with her eyes,
and then
Weeps; whereat Helen, having laughed,
weeps too,
And the other chides her, and she being
chid speaks nought,
But cheeks and lips and eyelids kisses
her,
Laughing; so fare they, as in their bloomless
bud
And full of unblown life, the blood of
gods.
Althaea.
Sweet days befall them and good loves
and lords,
And tender and temperate honours of the
hearth,
Peace, and a perfect life and blameless
bed.
But who shows next an eagle wrought in
gold?
That flames and beats broad wings against
the sun
And with void mouth gapes after emptier
prey?
Meleager.
Know by that sign the reign of Telamon
Between the fierce mouths of the encountering
brine
On the strait reefs of twice-washed Salamis.
Althaea.
For like one great of hand he bears himself,
Vine-chapleted, with savours of the sea,
Glittering as wine and moving as a wave.
But who girt round there roughly follows
him?
Meleager.
Ancaeus, great of hand, an iron bulk,
Two-edged for fight as the axe against
his arm,
Who drives against the surge of stormy
spears
Full-sailed; him Cepheus follows, his
twin-born,
Chief name next his of all Arcadian men.
Althaea.
Praise be with men abroad; chaste lives
with us,
Home-keeping days and household reverences.
Meleager.
Next by the left unsandalled foot know
thou
The sail and oar of this Aetolian land,
Thy brethren, Toxeus and the violent-souled
Plexippus, over-swift with hand and tongue;
For hands are fruitful, but the ignorant
mouth
Blows and corrupts their work with barren
breath.
Althaea.
Speech too bears fruit, being worthy;
and air blows down
Things poisonous, and high-seated violences,
And with charmed words and songs have
men put out
Wild evil, and the fire of tyrannies.
Meleager.
Yea, all things have they, save the gods and love.
Althaea.
Love thou the law and cleave to things ordained.
Meleager.
Law lives upon their lips whom these applaud.
Althaea.
How sayest thou these? what god applauds new things?
Meleager.
Zeus, who hath fear and custom under foot.
Althaea.
But loves not laws thrown down and lives awry.
Meleager.
Yet is not less himself than his own law.
Althaea.
Nor shifts and shuffles old things up and down.
Meleager.
But what he will remoulds and discreates.
Althaea.
Much, but not this, that each thing live its life.
Meleager.
Nor only live, but lighten and lift up higher.
Althaea.
Pride breaks itself, and too much gained is gone.
Meleager.
Things gained are gone, but great things done endure.
Althaea.
Child, if a man serve law through all
his life
And with his whole heart worship, him
all gods
Praise; but who loves it only with his
lips,
And not in heart and deed desiring it
Hides a perverse will with obsequious
words,
Him heaven infatuates and his twin-born
fate
Tracks, and gains on him, scenting sins
far off,
And the swift hounds of violent death
devour.
Be man at one with equal-minded gods,
So shall he prosper; not through laws
torn up,
Violated rule and a new face of things.
A woman armed makes war upon herself,
Unwomanlike, and treads down use and wont
And the sweet common honour that she hath,
Love, and the cry of children, and the
hand
Trothplight and mutual mouth of marriages.
This doth she, being unloved, whom if
one love,
Not fire nor iron and the wide-mouthed
wars
Are deadlier than her lips or braided
hair.
For of the one comes poison, and a curse
Falls from the other and burns the lives
of men.
But thou, son, be not filled with evil
dreams,
Nor with desire of these things; for with
time
Blind love burns out; but if one feed
it full
Till some discolouring stain dyes all
his life,
He shall keep nothing praiseworthy, nor
die
The sweet wise death of old men honourable,
Who have lived out all the length of all
their years
Blameless, and seen well-pleased the face
of gods,
And without shame and without fear have
wrought
Things memorable, and while their days
held out
In sight of all men and the sun’s
great light
Have gat them glory and given of their
own praise
To the earth that bare them and the day
that bred,
Home friends and far-off hospitalities,
And filled with gracious and memorial
fame
Lands loved of summer or washed by violent
seas,
Towns populous and many unfooted ways,
And alien lips and native with their own.
But when white age and venerable death
Mow down the strength and life within
their limbs,
Drain out the blood and darken their clear
eyes,
Immortal honour is on them, having past
Through splendid life and death desirable
To the clear seat and remote throne of
souls,
Lands indiscoverable in the unheard-of
west,
Round which the strong stream of a sacred
Chorus.
Meleager, a noble wisdom and fair words
The gods have given this woman, hear thou
these.
Meleager.
O mother, I am not fain to strive in speech
Nor set my mouth against thee, who art
wise
Even as they say and full of sacred words.
But one thing I know surely, and cleave
to this;
That though I be not subtle of wit as
thou
Nor womanlike to weave sweet words, and
melt
Mutable minds of wise men as with fire,
I too, doing justly and reverencing the
gods,
Shall not want wit to see what things
be right.
For whom they love and whom reject, being
gods,
There is no man but seeth, and in good
time
Submits himself, refraining all his heart.
And I too as thou sayest have seen great
things;
Seen otherwhere, but chiefly when the
sail
First caught between stretched ropes the
roaring west,
And all our oars smote eastward, and the
wind
First flung round faces of seafaring men
White splendid snow-flakes of the sundering
foam,
And the first furrow in virginal green
sea
Followed the plunging ploughshare of hewn
pine,
And closed, as when deep sleep subdues
man’s breath
Lips close and heart subsides; and closing,
shone
Sunlike with many a Nereid’s hair,
and moved
Round many a trembling mouth of doubtful
gods,
Risen out of sunless and sonorous gulfs
Through waning water and into shallow
light,
That watched us; and when flying the dove
was snared
As with men’s hands, but we shot
after and sped
Clear through the irremeable Symplegades;
And chiefliest when hoar beach and herbless
cliff
Stood out ahead from Colchis, and we heard
Clefts hoarse with wind, and saw through
narrowing reefs
The lightning of the intolerable wave
Flash, and the white wet flame of breakers
burn
Far under a kindling south-wind, as a
lamp
Burns and bends all its blowing flame
one way;
Wild heights untravelled of the wind,
and vales
Cloven seaward by their violent streams,
and white
With bitter flowers and bright salt scurf
of brine;
Heard sweep their sharp swift gales, and
bowing bird-wise
Shriek with birds’ voices, and with
furious feet
Tread loose the long skirts of a storm;
and saw
The whole white Euxine clash together
and fall
Full-mouthed, and thunderous from a thousand
throats;
Yet we drew thither and won the fleece
and won
Medea, deadlier than the sea; but there
Seeing many a wonder and fearful things
to men
I saw not one thing like this one seen
here,
Most fair and fearful, feminine, a god,
Faultless; whom I that love not, being
unlike,
Fear, and give honour, and choose from
all the gods.
Oeneus.
Lady, the daughter of Thestius, and thou,
son,
Not ignorant of your strife nor light
of wit,
Scared with vain dreams and fluttering
like spent fire,
I come to judge between you, but a king
Full of past days and wise from years
Althaea.
O king, thou art wise, but wisdom halts,
and just,
But the gods love not justice more than
fate,
And smite the righteous and the violent
mouth,
And mix with insolent blood the reverent
man’s,
And bruise the holier as the lying lips.
Enough; for wise words fail me, and my
heart
Takes fire and trembles flamewise, O my
son,
O child, for thine head’s sake;
mine eyes wax thick,
Turning toward thee, so goodly a weaponed
man,
So glorious; and for love of thine own
eyes
They are darkened, and tears burn them,
fierce as fire,
And my lips pause and my soul sinks with
love.
But by thine hand, by thy sweet life and
eyes,
By thy great heart and these clasped knees,
O son,
I pray thee that thou slay me not with
thee.
For there was never a mother woman-born
Loved her sons better; and never a queen
of men
More perfect in her heart toward whom
she loved.
For what lies light on many and they forget,
Small things and transitory as a wind
o’ the sea,
I forget never; I have seen thee all thine
years
A man in arms, strong and a joy to men
Seeing thine head glitter and thine hand
burn its way
Through a heavy and iron furrow of sundering
spears;
But always also a flower of three suns
old,
The small one thing that lying drew down
my life
To lie with thee and feed thee; a child
and weak,
Mine, a delight to no man, sweet to me.
Who then sought to thee? who gat help?
who knew
If thou wert goodly? nay, no man at all.
Or what sea saw thee, or sounded with
thine oar,
Child? or what strange land shone with
war through thee?
But fair for me thou wert, O little life,
Fruitless, the fruit of mine own flesh,
and blind,
More than much gold, ungrown, a foolish
flower.
For silver nor bright snow nor feather
of foam
Was whiter, and no gold yellower than
thine hair,
O child, my child; and now thou art lordlier
grown,
Not lovelier, nor a new thing in mine
eyes,
I charge thee by thy soul and this my
Meleager.
Queen, my whole heart is molten with thy
tears,
And my limbs yearn with pity of thee,
and love
Compels with grief mine eyes and labouring
breath:
For what thou art I know thee, and this
thy breast
And thy fair eyes I worship, and am bound
Toward thee in spirit and love thee in
all my soul.
For there is nothing terribler to men
Than the sweet face of mothers, and the
might
But what shall be let be; for us the day
Once only lives a little, and is not found.
Time and the fruitful hour are more than
we,
And these lay hold upon us; but thou,
God,
Zeus, the sole steersman of the helm of
things,
Father, be swift to see us, and as thou
wilt
Help: or if adverse, as thou wilt,
refrain.
Chorus.
We have seen thee, O Love, thou art fair,
thou art goodly, O Love,
Thy wings make light in the air as the
wings of a dove.
Thy feet are as winds that divide the
stream of the sea;
Earth is thy covering to hide thee, the
garment of thee.
Thou art swift and subtle and blind as
a flame of fire;
Before thee the laughter, behind thee
the tears of desire;
And twain go forth beside thee, a man
with a maid;
Her eyes are the eyes of a bride whom
delight makes afraid;
As the breath in the buds that stir is
her bridal breath:
But Fate is the name of her; and his name
is Death.
For an evil blossom was born
Of sea-foam and
the frothing of blood,
Blood-red
and bitter of fruit,
And
the seed of it laughter and tears,
And the leaves of it madness
and scorn;
A bitter flower
from the bud,
Sprung
of the sea without root,
Sprung
without graft from the years.
The weft of the world was
untorn
That is woven
of the day on the night,
The hair of the
hours was not white
Nor the raiment of time overworn,
When a wonder,
a world’s delight,
A perilous goddess was born,
And the waves
of the sea as she came
Clove, and the foam at her
feet,
Fawning,
rejoiced to bring forth
A fleshly blossom,
a flame
Filling the heavens with heat
To
the cold white ends of the north.
And in air the clamorous birds,
And men upon earth
that hear
Sweet articulate words
Sweetly
divided apart,
And in shallow
and channel and mere
The rapid and footless herds,
Rejoiced,
being foolish of heart.
For all they said upon earth,
She is fair, she
is white like a dove,
And
the life of the world in her breath
Breathes, and is born at her
birth;
For they knew
thee for mother of love,
And
knew thee not mother of death.
What hadst thou to do being
born,
Mother, when winds
were at ease,
As a flower of the springtime
of corn,
A flower of the
foam of the seas?
For bitter thou wast from
thy birth,
Aphrodite, a mother
of strife;
For before thee some rest
was on earth,
A
little respite from tears,
A little pleasure
of life;
For life was not then as thou
art,
But
as one that waxeth in years
Sweet-spoken,
a fruitful wife;
Earth
had no thorn, and desire
No sting, neither death any
dart;
What hadst thou
to do amongst these,
Thou,
clothed with a burning fire,
Thou, girt with sorrow of
heart,
Thou, sprung of
the seed of the seas
As an ear from a seed of corn,
As
a brand plucked forth of a pyre,
As a ray shed forth of the
morn,
For division of
soul and disease,
For a dart and a sting and
a thorn?
What ailed thee then to be
born?
Was there not evil enough,
Mother, and anguish
on earth
Born with a man
at his birth,
Wastes underfoot, and above
Storm out of heaven,
and dearth
Shaken down from the shining
thereof,
Wrecks
from afar overseas
And peril of shallow
and firth,
And
tears that spring and increase
In the barren
places of mirth,
That thou, having wings as
a dove,
Being girt with
desire for a girth,
That
thou must come after these,
That thou must lay on him
love?
Thou shouldst not so have
been born:
But death should
have risen with thee,
Mother,
and visible fear,
Grief,
and the wringing of hands,
And noise of many that mourn;
The smitten bosom,
the knee
Bowed,
All these we know of; but
thee
Who shall discern
or declare?
In the uttermost ends of the
sea
The
light of thine eyelids and hair.
The
light of thy bosom as fire
Between
the wheel of the sun
And the flying
flames of the air?
Wilt
thou turn thee not yet nor have pity,
But abide with despair and
desire
And the crying
of armies undone,
Lamentation
of one with another
And
breaking of city by city;
The dividing of
friend against friend,
The
severing of brother and brother;
Wilt thou utterly
bring to an end?
Have
mercy, mother!
For against all men from of
old
Thou hast set
thine hand as a curse,
And
cast out gods from their places.
These
things are spoken of thee.
Strong kings and goodly with
gold
Thou hast found
out arrows to pierce,
And
made their kingdoms and races
As
dust and surf of the sea.
All these, overburdened with
woes
And with length
of their days waxen weak,
Thou
slewest; and sentest moreover
Upon
Tyro an evil thing,
Rent hair and a fetter and
blows
Making bloody
the flower of the cheek,
Though
she lay by a god as a lover,
Though
fair, and the seed of a king.
For of old, being full of
thy fire,
She endured not
longer to wear
On
her bosom a saffron vest,
On
her shoulder an ashwood quiver;
Being mixed and made one through
desire
With Enipeus,
and all her hair
Made
moist with his mouth, and her breast
Filled
full of the foam of the river.
Atalanta
Sun, and clear light among green hills,
Meleager.
For thy name’s sake and awe toward
thy chaste head,
O holiest Atalanta, no man dares
Praise thee, though fairer than whom all
men praise,
And godlike for thy grace of hallowed
hair
And holy habit of thine eyes, and feet
That make the blown foam neither swift
nor white
Though the wind winnow and whirl it; yet
we praise
Gods, found because of thee adorable
And for thy sake praiseworthiest from
all men:
Thee therefore we praise also, thee as
these,
Pure, and a light lit at the hands of
gods.
Toxeus.
How long will ye whet spears with eloquence,
Fight, and kill beasts dry-handed with
sweet words?
Cease, or talk still and slay thy boars
at home.
Plexippus.
Why, if she ride among us for a man,
Sit thou for her and spin; a man grown
girl
Is worth a woman weaponed; sit thou here.
Meleager.
Peace, and be wise; no gods love idle speech.
Plexippus.
Nor any man a man’s mouth woman-tongued.
Meleager.
For my lips bite not sharper than mine hands.
Plexippus.
Nay, both bite soft, but no whit softly mine.
Meleager.
Keep thine hands clean; they have time enough to stain.
Plexippus.
For thine shall rest and wax not red to-day.
Meleager.
Have all thy will of words; talk out thine heart.
Althaea.
Refrain your lips, O brethren, and my
son,
Lest words turn snakes and bite you uttering
them.
Toxeus.
Except she give her blood before the gods,
What profit shall a maid be among men?
Plexippus.
Let her come crowned and stretch her throat
for a knife,
Bleat out her spirit and die, and so shall
men
Through her too prosper and through prosperous
gods;
But nowise through her living; shall she
live
A flower-bud of the flower-bed, or sweet
fruit
For kisses and the honey-making mouth,
And play the shield for strong men and
the spear?
Then shall the heifer and her mate lock
horns,
And the bride overbear the groom, and
men
Gods, for no less division sunders these;
Since all things made are seasonable in
time,
But if one alter unseasonable are all.
But thou, O Zeus, hear me that I may slay
This beast before thee and no man halve
with me
Nor woman, lest these mock thee, though
a god,
Who hast made men strong, and thou being
wise be held
Foolish; for wise is that thing which
endures.
Atalanta.
Men, and the chosen of all this people,
and thou,
King, I beseech you a little bear with
me.
For if my life be shameful that I live,
Let the gods witness and their wrath;
but these
Cast no such word against me. Thou,
O mine,
O holy, O happy goddess, if I sin
Changing the words of women and the works
For spears and strange men’s faces,
hast not thou
One shaft of all thy sudden seven that
pierced
Seven through the bosom or shining throat
or side,
All couched about one mother’s loosening
knees,
All holy born, engrafted of Tantalus?
But if toward any of you I am overbold
That take thus much upon me, let him think
How I, for all my forest holiness,
Fame, and this armed and iron maidenhood,
Pay thus much also; I shall have no man’s
love
For ever, and no face of children born
Or feeding lips upon me or fastening eyes
For ever, nor being dead shall kings my
sons
Mourn me and bury, and tears on daughters’
cheeks
Burn, but a cold and sacred life, but
strange,
But far from dances and the back-blowing
torch,
Far off from flowers or any bed of man,
Shall my life be for ever: me the
snows
That face the first o’ the morning,
Oeneus.
O flower of Tegea, maiden, fleetest foot
And holiest head of women, have good cheer
Of thy good words: but ye, depart
with her
In peace and reverence, each with blameless
eye
Following his fate; exalt your hands and
hearts,
Strike, cease not, arrow on arrow and
wound on wound,
And go with gods and with the gods return.
Chorus.
Who hath given man speech? or who hath
set therein
A thorn for peril and a snare for sin?
For in the word his life is and his breath,
And in the word his death,
That madness and the infatuate heart may
breed
From the word’s womb
the deed
And life bring one thing forth ere all
pass by,
Even one thing which is ours yet cannot
die—
Death. Hast thou seen him ever anywhere,
Time’s twin-born brother, imperishable
as he
Is perishable and plaintive, clothed with
care
And mutable as sand,
But death is strong and full of blood
and fair
And perdurable and like a lord of land?
Nay, time thou seest not, death thou wilt
not see
Till life’s right hand be loosened
from thine hand
And thy life-days from thee.
For the gods very subtly fashion
Madness with sadness upon
earth:
Not knowing in any wise compassion,
Nor holding pity of any worth;
And many things they have given and taken,
And wrought and ruined many
things;
The firm land have they loosed and shaken,
And sealed the sea with all
her springs;
They have wearied time with heavy burdens
And vexed the lips of life
with breath:
Set men to labour and given them guerdons,
Death, and great darkness
after death:
Put moans into the bridal measure
And on the bridal wools a
stain,
And circled pain about with pleasure,
And girdled pleasure about
with pain;
And strewed one marriage-bed with tears
and fire
For extreme loathing and supreme desire.
What shall be done with all these tears
of ours?
Shall they make watersprings
in the fair heaven
To bathe the brows of morning? or like
flowers
Be shed and shine before the starriest
hours,
Or made the raiment of the
weeping Seven?
Or rather, O our masters, shall they be
Food for the famine of the grievous sea,
A great well-head of lamentation
Satiating the sad gods? or fall and flow
Among the years and seasons to and fro,
And wash their feet with tribulation
And fill them full with grieving ere they
go?
Alas, our lords, and yet alas
again,
Seeing all your iron heaven is gilt as
gold
But all we smite thereat in
vain,
Smite the gates barred with groanings
manifold,
But all the floors are paven
with our pain.
Yea, and with weariness of lips and eyes,
With breaking of the bosom, and with sighs,
We labour, and are clad and
fed with grief
And filled with days we would not fain
behold
And nights we would not hear of, we wax
old,
All we wax old and wither
like a leaf.
We are outcast, strayed between bright
sun and moon;
Our light and darkness are
as leaves of flowers,
Black flowers and white, that perish;
and the noon—
As midnight, and the night
as daylight hours.
A little fruit a little while
is ours,
And the worm finds
it soon.
But up in heaven the high gods one by
one
Lay hands upon the draught
that quickeneth,
Fulfilled with all tears shed and all
things done,
And stir with soft imperishable
breath
The bubbling bitterness of
life and death,
And hold it to our lips and laugh; but
they
Preserve their lips from tasting night
or day,
Lest they too change and sleep,
the fates that spun,
The lips that made us and the hands that
slay;
Lest all these change, and
heaven bow down to none,
Change and be subject to the secular sway
And terrene revolution of
the sun.
Therefore they thrust it from them, putting
time away.
I would the wine of time, made sharp and
sweet
With multitudinous days and
nights and tears
And many mixing savours of
strange years,
Were no more trodden of them under feet,
Cast out and spilt about their
holy places:
That life were given them as a fruit to
eat
And death to drink as water; that the
light
Might ebb, drawn backward from their eyes,
and night
Hide for one hour the imperishable
faces.
That they might rise up sad in heaven,
and know
Sorrow and sleep, one paler than young
snow,
One cold as blight of dew
and ruinous rain,
Rise up and rest and suffer a little,
and be
Awhile as all things born with us and
we,
And grieve as men, and like
slain men be slain.
For now we know not of them; but one saith
The gods are gracious, praising
God; and one,
When hast thou seen? or hast thou felt
his breath
Touch, nor consume thine eyelids
as the sun,
Nor fill thee to the lips with fiery death?
None hath beheld him, none
Seen above other gods and shapes of things,
Swift without feet and flying without
wings,
Intolerable, not clad with death or life,
Insatiable, not known of night
or day,
The lord of love and loathing and of strife
Who gives a star and takes
a sun away;
Who shapes the soul, and makes her a barren
wife
To the earthly body and grievous
growth of clay;
Who turns the large limbs to a little
flame
And binds the great sea with
a little sand;
Who makes desire, and slays desire with
shame;
Who shakes the heaven as ashes
in his hand;
Who, seeing the light and shadow for the
same,
Bids day waste night as fire
devours a brand,
Smites without sword, and scourges without
rod;
The supreme evil, God.
Yea, with thine hate, O God, thou hast
covered us,
One saith, and hidden our
eyes away from sight,
And made us transitory and hazardous,
Light things and slight;
Yet have men praised thee, saying, He
hath made man thus,
And he doeth right.
Thou hast kissed us, and hast smitten;
thou hast laid
Upon us with thy left hand life, and said,
Live: and again thou hast said, Yield
Althaea.
I heard within the house a cry of news
And came forth eastward hither, where
the dawn,
Cheers first these warder gods that face
the sun
And next our eyes unrisen; for unaware
Came clashes of swift hoofs and trampling
feet
And through the windy pillared corridor
Light sharper than the frequent flames
of day
That daily fill it from the fiery dawn;
Gleams, and a thunder of people that cried
out,
And dust and hurrying horsemen; lo their
chief,
That rode with Oeneus rein by rein, returned.
What cheer, O herald of my lord the king?
Herald.
Lady, good cheer and great; the boar is
slain.
Chorus.
Praised be all gods that look toward Calydon.
Althaea.
Good news and brief; but by whose happier hand?
Herald.
A maiden’s and a prophet’s and thy son’s.
Althaea.
Well fare the spear that severed him and life.
Herald.
Thine own, and not an alien, hast thou blest
Althaea.
Twice be thou too for my sake blest and his.
Herald.
At the king’s word I rode afoam for thine.
Althaea.
Thou sayest he tarrieth till they bring the spoil?
Herald.
Hard by the quarry, where they breathe, O queen.
Althaea.
Speak thou their chance; but some bring
flowers and crown
These gods and all the lintel, and shed
wine,
Fetch sacrifice and slay, for heaven is
good.
Herald.
Some furlongs northward where the brakes
begin
West of that narrowing range of warrior
hills
Whose brooks have bled with battle when
thy son
Smote Acarnania, there all they made halt,
And with keen eye took note of spear and
hound,
Royally ranked; Laertes island-born,
The young Gerenian Nestor, Panopeus,
And Cepheus and Ancaeus, mightiest thewed,
Arcadians; next, and evil-eyed of these,
Arcadian Atalanta, with twain hounds
Lengthening the leash, and under nose
and brow
Glittering with lipless tooth and fire-swift
eye;
But from her white braced shoulder the
plumed shafts
Rang, and the bow shone from her side;
next her
Meleager, like a sun in spring that strikes
Branch into leaf and bloom into the world,
A glory among men meaner; Iphicles,
And following him that slew the biform
bull
Pirithous, and divine Eurytion,
And, bride-bound to the gods, Aeacides.
Then Telamon his brother, and Argive-born
The seer and sayer of visions and of truth,
Amphiaraus; and a four-fold strength,
Thine, even thy mother’s and thy
sister’s sons.
And recent from the roar of foreign foam
Jason, and Dryas twin-begot with war,
A blossom of bright battle, sword and
man
Shining; and Idas, and the keenest eye
Of Lynceus, and Admetus twice-espoused,
And Hippasus and Hyleus, great in heart.
These having halted bade blow horns, and
rode
Through woods and waste lands cleft by
stormy streams,
Past yew-trees and the heavy hair of pines,
And where the dew is thickest under oaks,
This way and that; but questing up and
down
They saw no trail nor scented; and one
said,
Plexippus, Help, or help not, Artemis,
And we will flay thy boarskin with male
hands;
But saying, he ceased and said not that
he would,
Seeing where the green ooze of a sun-struck
marsh
Shook with a thousand reeds untunable,
And in their moist and multitudinous flower
Althaea.
Laud ye the gods; for this they have given
is good,
And what shall be they hide until their
time.
Much good and somewhat grievous hast thou
said,
And either well; but let all sad things
be,
Till all have made before the prosperous
gods
Burnt-offering, and poured out the floral
wine.
Look fair, O gods, and favourable; for
we
Praise you with no false heart or flattering
mouth,
Being merciful, but with pure souls and
prayer.
Herald.
Thou hast prayed well; for whoso fears
not these,
But once being prosperous waxes huge of
heart,
Him shall some new thing unaware destroy.
Chorus.
O that I now, I too were
By deep wells and water-floods,
Streams of ancient hills; and where
All the wan green places bear
Blossoms cleaving to the sod,
Fruitless fruit, and grasses fair,
Or such darkest ivy-buds
As divide thy yellow hair,
Bacchus, and their leaves that nod
Round thy fawnskin brush the bare
Snow-soft shoulders of a god;
There the year is sweet, and there
Earth is full of secret springs,
And the fervent rose-cheeked hours,
Those that marry dawn and noon,
There are sunless, there look pale
Messenger.
Maidens, if ye will sing now, shift your
song,
Bow down, cry, wail for pity; is this
a time
For singing? nay, for strewing of dust
and ash,
Rent raiment, and for bruising of the
breast.
Chorus.
What new thing wolf-like lurks behind
thy words?
What snake’s tongue in thy lips?
what fire in the eyes?
Messenger.
Bring me before the queen and I will speak.
Chorus.
Lo, she comes forth as from thank-offering made.
Messenger.
A barren offering for a bitter gift.
Althaea.
What are these borne on branches, and
the face
Covered? no mean men living, but now slain
Such honour have they, if any dwell with
death.
Messenger.
Queen, thy twain brethren and thy mother’s sons.
Althaea.
Lay down your dead till I behold their
blood
If it be mine indeed, and I will weep.
Messenger,
Weep if thou wilt, for these men shall no more.
Althaea.
O brethren, O my father’s sons,
of me
Well loved and well reputed, I should
weep
Tears dearer than the dear blood drawn
from you
But that I know you not uncomforted,
Sleeping no shameful sleep, however slain,
For my son surely hath avenged you dead.
Messenger.
Nay, should thine own seed slay himself, O queen?
Althaea.
Thy double word brings forth a double death.
Messenger.
Know this then singly, by one hand they fell.
Althaea.
What mutterest thou with thine ambiguous mouth?
Messenger.
Slain by thy son’s hand; is that saying so hard?
Althaea.
Our time is come upon us: it is here.
Chorus.
O miserable, and spoiled at thine own hand.
Althaea.
Wert thou not called Meleager from this womb?
Chorus.
A grievous huntsman hath it bred to thee.
Althaea.
Wert thou born fire, and shalt thou not devour?
Chorus.
The fire thou madest, will it consume even thee?
Althaea.
My dreams are fallen upon me; burn thou too.
Chorus.
Not without God are visions born and die.
Althaea.
The gods are many about me; I am one.
Chorus
She groans as men wrestling with heavier gods.
Althaea.
They rend me, they divide me, they destroy.
Chorus.
Or one labouring in travail of strange births.
Althaea.
They are strong, they are strong; I am broken, and these prevail.
Chorus.
The god is great against her; she will die.
Althaea.
Yea, but not now; for my heart too is
great.
I would I were not here in sight of the
sun.
But thou, speak all thou sawest, and I
will die.
I would I were not here in sight of the
sun.
Messenger.
O queen, for queenlike hast thou borne
thyself,
A little word may hold so great mischance.
For in division of the sanguine spoil
These men thy brethren wrangling bade
yield up
The boar’s head and the horror of
the hide
That this might stand a wonder in Calydon,
Hallowed; and some drew toward them; but
thy son
With great hands grasping all that weight
of hair
Cast down the dead heap clanging and collapsed
At female feet, saying This thy spoil
not mine,
Maiden, thine own hand for thyself hath
reaped,
And all this praise God gives thee:
she thereat
Laughed, as when dawn touches the sacred
night
The sky sees laugh and redden and divide
Dim lips and eyelids virgin of the sun,
Hers, and the warm slow breasts of morning
heave,
Fruitful, and flushed with flame from
lamp-lit hours,
And maiden undulation of clear hair
Colour the clouds; so laughed she from
pure heart
Lit with a low blush to the braided hair,
And rose-coloured and cold like very dawn,
Golden and godlike, chastely with chaste
lips,
A faint grave laugh; and all they held
their peace,
And she passed by them. Then one
cried Lo now,
Shall not the Arcadian shoot out lips
at us,
Saying all we were despoiled by this one
girl?
And all they rode against her violently
And cast the fresh crown from her hair,
and now
They had rent her spoil away, dishonouring
her,
Save that Meleager, as a tame lion chafed,
Bore on them, broke them, and as fire
cleaves wood
So clove and drove them, smitten in twain;
but she
Smote not nor heaved up hand; and this
man first,
Plexippus, crying out This for love’s
sake, sweet,
Drove at Meleager, who with spear straightening
Pierced his cheek through; then Toxeus
made for him,
Dumb, but his spear spake; vain and violent
words,
Fruitless; for him too stricken through
both sides
The earth felt falling, and his horse’s
foam
Blanched thy son’s face, his slayer;
and these being slain,
None moved nor spake; but Oeneus bade
bear hence
These made of heaven infatuate in their
deaths,
Foolish; for these would baffle fate,
and fell.
And they passed on, and all men honoured
her,
Being honourable, as one revered of heaven.
Althaea.
What say you, women? is all this not well done?
Chorus.
No man doth well but God hath part in him.
Althaea.
But no part here; for these my brethren
born
Ye have no part in, these ye know not
of
As I that was their sister, a sacrifice
Slain in their slaying. I would
I had died for these,
For this man dead walked with me, child
by child,
And made a weak staff for my feebler feet
With his own tender wrist and hand, and
held
And led me softly and shewed me gold and
Chorus.
O queen, thou hast yet with thee love-worthy
things,
Thine husband, and the great strength
of thy son.
Althaea.
Who shall get brothers for me while I
live?
Who bear them? who bring forth in lieu
of these?
Are not our fathers and our brethren one,
And no man like them? are not mine here
slain?
Have we not hung together, he and I,
Flowerwise feeding as the feeding bees,
With mother-milk for honey? and this man
too,
Dead, with my son’s spear thrust
between his sides,
Hath he not seen us, later born than he,
Laugh with lips filled, and laughed again
for love?
There were no sons then in the world,
nor spears,
Nor deadly births of women; but the gods
Allowed us, and our days were clear of
these.
I would I had died unwedded, and brought
forth
No swords to vex the world; for these
that spake
Sweet words long since and loved me will
not speak
Nor love nor look upon me; and all my
life
I shall not hear nor see them living men.
But I too living, how shall I now live?
What life shall this be with my son, to
know
What hath been and desire what will not
be,
Look for dead eyes and listen for dead
lips,
And kill mine own heart with remembering
them,
And with those eyes that see their slayer
alive
Weep, and wring hands that clasp him by
the hand?
How shall I bear my dreams of them, to
hear
False voices, feel the kisses of false
mouths
And footless sound of perished feet, and
then
Wake and hear only it may be their own
hounds
Whine masterless in miserable sleep,
And see their boar-spears and their beds
and seats
And all the gear and housings of their
lives
And not the men? shall hounds and horses
mourn,
Pine with strange eyes, and prick up hungry
ears,
Famish and fail at heart for their dear
lords,
And I not heed at all? and those blind
Chorus.
Nay, for the son lies close about thine
heart,
Full of thy milk, warm from thy womb,
and drains
Life and the blood of life and all thy
fruit,
Eats thee and drinks thee as who breaks
bread and eats,
Treads wine and drinks, thyself, a sect
of thee;
And if he feed not, shall not thy flesh
faint?
Or drink not, are not thy lips dead for
Althaea.
But these the gods too gave me, and these
my son,
Not reverencing his gods nor mine own
heart
Nor the old sweet years nor all venerable
things,
But cruel, and in his ravin like a beast,
Hath taken away to slay them: yea,
and she,
She the strange woman, she the flower,
the sword,
Red from spilt blood, a mortal flower
to men,
Adorable, detestable—even she
Saw with strange eyes and with strange
lips rejoiced,
Seeing these mine own slain of mine own,
and me
Made miserable above all miseries made,
A grief among all women in the world,
A name to be washed out with all men’s
tears.
Chorus.
Strengthen thy spirit; is this not also
a god,
Chance, and the wheel of all necessities?
Hard things have fallen upon us from harsh
gods,
Whom lest worse hap rebuke we not for
these.
Althaea.
My spirit is strong against itself, and
I
For these things’ sake cry out on
mine own soul
That it endures outrage, and dolorous
days,
And life, and this inexpiable impotence.
Weak am I, weak and shameful; my breath
drawn
Shames me, and monstrous things and violent
gods.
What shall atone? what heal me? what bring
back
Strength to the foot, light to the face?
what herb
Assuage me? what restore me? what release?
What strange thing eaten or drunken, O
great gods.
Make me as you or as the beasts that feed,
Slay and divide and cherish their own
hearts?
For these ye show us; and we less than
these
Have not wherewith to live as all these
things
Which all their lives fare after their
own kind
As who doth well rejoicing; but we ill,
Weeping or laughing, we whom eyesight
fails,
Knowledge and light efface and perfect
heart,
And hands we lack, and wit; and all our
days
Sin, and have hunger, and die infatuated.
For madness have ye given us and not health,
And sins whereof we know not; and for
these
Death, and sudden destruction unaware.
What shall we say now? what thing comes
of us?
Chorus.
Alas, for all this all men undergo.
Althaea.
Wherefore I will not that these twain,
O gods,
Die as a dog dies, eaten of creeping things,
Abominable, a loathing; but though dead
Shall they have honour and such funereal
flame
As strews men’s ashes in their enemies’
face
And blinds their eyes who hate them:
lest men say,
’Lo how they lie, and living had
great kin,
And none of these hath pity of them, and
none
Regards them lying, and none is wrung
at heart,
Chorus.
Terrible words she communes with, and
turns
Swift fiery eyes in doubt against herself,
And murmurs as who talks in dreams with
death.
Althaea.
For the unjust also dieth, and him all
men
Hate, and himself abhors the unrighteousness,
And seeth his own dishonour intolerable.
But I being just, doing right upon myself,
Slay mine own soul, and no man born shames
me.
For none constrains nor shall rebuke,
being done,
What none compelled me doing, thus these
things fare.
Ah, ah, that such things should so fare,
ah me,
That I am found to do them and endure,
Chosen and constrained to choose, and
bear myself
Mine own wound through mine own flesh
to the heart
Violently stricken, a spoiler and a spoil,
A ruin ruinous, fallen on mine own son.
Ah, ah, for me too as for these; alas,
For that is done that shall be, and mine
hand
Full of the deed, and full of blood mine
eyes,
That shall see never nor touch anything
Save blood unstanched and fire unquenchable.
Chorus.
What wilt thou do? what ails thee? for
the house
Shakes ruinously; wilt thou bring fire
for it?
Althaea.
Fire in the roofs, and on the lintels
fire.
Lo ye, who stand and weave, between the
doors,
There; and blood drips from hand and thread,
and stains
Threshold and raiment and me passing in
Flecked with the sudden sanguine drops
of death.
Chorus.
Alas that time is stronger than strong
men,
Fate than all gods: and these are
fallen on us.
Althaea.
A little since and I was glad; and now
I never shall be glad or sad again.
Chorus.
Between two joys a grief grows unaware.
Althaea.
A little while and I shall laugh; and
then
I shall weep never and laugh not any more.
Chorus.
What shall be said? for words are thorns
to grief.
Withhold thyself a little and fear the
gods.
Althaea.
Fear died when these were slain; and I
am as dead,
And fear is of the living; these fear
none.
Chorus.
Have pity upon all people for their sake.
Althaea.
It is done now, shall I put back my day?
Chorus.
An end is come, an end; this is of God.
Althaea.
I am fire, and burn myself, keep clear of fire.
Chorus.
The house is broken, is broken; it shall not stand.
Althaea.
Woe, woe for him that breaketh; and a
rod
Smote it of old, and now the axe is here.
Chorus.
Not as with sundering of the
earth
Nor as with cleaving
of the sea
Nor fierce foreshadowings
of a birth
Nor flying dreams
of death to be
Nor loosening of the large
world’s girth
And quickening of the body
of night,
And sound of thunder
in men’s ears
And fire of lightning in men’s
sight,
Fate, mother of
desires and fears,
Bore unto men
the law of tears;
But sudden, an unfathered
flame,
And broken out
of night, she shone,
She, without body, without
name,
In days forgotten
and foregone;
And heaven rang round her
as she came
Like smitten cymbals, and
lay bare,
Clouds and great
stars, thunders and snows,
The blue sad fields and folds
of air,
The life that
breathes, the life that grows,
All wind, all
fire, that burns or blows,
Even all these knew her:
for she is great;
The daughter of
doom, the mother of death,
The sister of sorrow; a lifelong
weight
That no man’s
finger lighteneth,
Nor any god can lighten fate,
A landmark seen across the
way
Where one race
treads as the other trod;
An evil sceptre, an evil stay,
Wrought for a
staff, wrought for a rod,
The bitter jealousy
of God.
For death is deep as the sea,
And fate as the
waves thereof.
Shall the waves take pity
on thee
Or the southwind
offer thee love?
Wilt thou take the night for
thy day
Or the darkness
for light on thy way,
Till thou say in thine heart
Enough?
Behold, thou art over fair, thou art over
wise;
The sweetness of spring in thine hair,
and the light in thine eyes.
The light of the spring in thine eyes,
Althaea.
Ho, ye that wail, and ye that sing, make
way
Till I be come among you. Hide your
tears,
Ye little weepers, and your laughing lips,
Ye laughers for a little; lo mine eyes
That outweep heaven at rainiest, and my
mouth
That laughs as gods laugh at us.
Fate’s are we,
Yet fate is ours a breathing-space; yea,
mine,
Fate is made mine for ever; he is my son,
My bedfellow, my brother. You strong
gods,
Give place unto me; I am as any of you,
To give life and to take life. Thou,
old earth,
That hast made man and unmade; thou whose
mouth
Looks red from the eaten fruits of thine
own womb;
Behold me with what lips upon what food
I feed and fill my body; even with flesh
Made of my body. Lo, the fire I
lit
I burn with fire to quench it; yea, with
flame
I burn up even the dust and ash thereof.
Chorus.
Woman, what fire is this thou burnest with?
Althaea.
Yea to the bone, yea to the blood and all.
Chorus.
For this thy face and hair are as one fire.
Althaea.
A tongue that licks and beats upon the dust.
Chorus.
And in thine eyes are hollow light and heat.
Althaea.
Of flame not fed with hand or frankincense.
Chorus.
I fear thee for the trembling of thine eyes.
Althaea.
Neither with love they tremble nor for fear.
Chorus.
And thy mouth shuddering like a shot bird.
Althaea.
Not as the bride’s mouth when man kisses it.
Chorus.
Nay, but what thing is this thing thou hast done?
Althaea.
Look, I am silent, speak your eyes for me.
Chorus.
I see a faint fire lightening from the hall.
Althaea.
Gaze, stretch your eyes, strain till the lids drop off.
Chorus.
Flushed pillars down the flickering vestibule.
Althaea.
Stretch with your necks like birds: cry, chirp as they.
Chorus.
And a long brand that blackens: and white dust
Althaea.
O children, what is this ye see? your
eyes
Are blinder than night’s face at
fall of moon.
That is my son, my flesh, my fruit of
life,
My travail, and the year’s weight
of my womb,
Meleager, a fire enkindled of mine hands
And of mine hands extinguished, this is
he.
Chorus.
O gods, what word has flown out at thy mouth?
Althaea.
I did this and I say this and I die.
Chorus.
Death stands upon the doorway of thy lips,
And in thy mouth has death set up his
house.
Althaea.
O death, a little, a little while, sweet
death,
Until I see the brand burnt down and die.
Chorus.
She reels as any reed under the wind,
And cleaves unto the ground with staggering
feet.
Althaea.
Girls, one thing will I say and hold my
peace.
I that did this will weep not nor cry
out,
Cry ye and weep: I will not call
on gods,
Call ye on them; I will not pity man,
Shew ye your pity. I know not if
I live;
Save that I feel the fire upon my face
And on my cheek the burning of a brand.
Yea the smoke bites me, yea I drink the
steam
With nostril and with eyelid and with
lip
Insatiate and intolerant; and mine hands
Burn, and fire feeds upon mine eyes; I
reel
As one made drunk with living, whence
he draws
Drunken delight; yet I, though mad for
joy,
Loathe my long living and am waxen red
As with the shadow of shed blood; behold,
I am kindled with the flames that fade
in him,
I am swollen with subsiding of his veins,
I am flooded with his ebbing; my lit eyes
Flame with the falling fire that leaves
his lids
Bloodless, my cheek is luminous with blood
Because his face is ashen. Yet, O
child,
Son, first-born, fairest—O
sweet mouth, sweet eyes,
That drew my life out through my suckling
breast,
That shone and clove mine heart through—O
soft knees
Clinging, O tender treadings of soft feet,
Cheeks warm with little kissings—O
child, child,
What have we made each other? Lo,
I felt
Thy weight cleave to me, a burden of beauty,
O son,
Thy cradled brows and loveliest loving
lips,
The floral hair, the little lightening
eyes,
And all thy goodly glory; with mine hands
Delicately I fed thee, with my tongue
Tenderly spake, saying, Verily in God’s
time,
For all the little likeness of thy limbs,
Son, I shall make thee a kingly man to
fight,
A lordly leader; and hear before I die,
‘She bore the goodliest sword of
all the world.’
Oh! oh! For all my life turns round
on me;
I am severed from myself, my name is gone,
My name that was a healing, it is changed,
My name is a consuming. From this
time,
Though mine eyes reach to the end of all
these things,
My lips shall not unfasten till I die.
SEMICHORUS.
She has filled with sighing
the city,
And the ways thereof
with tears;
She arose, she girdled her
sides,
She set her face as a bride’s;
She wept, and she had no pity,
Trembled, and
felt no fears.
SEMICHORUS.
Her eyes were clear as the
sun,
Her brows were
fresh as the day;
She girdled herself with gold,
Her robes were manifold;
But the days of her worship
are done,
Her praise is
taken away.
SEMICHORUS.
For she set her hand to the
fire,
With her mouth
she kindled the same,
As the mouth of a flute-player,
So was the mouth of her;
With the might of her strong
desire
She blew the breath
of the flame.
SEMICHORUS.
She set her hand to the wood,
She took the fire
in her hand;
As one who is nigh to death,
She panted with strange breath;
She opened her lips unto blood,
She breathed and
kindled the brand.
SEMICHORUS.
As a wood-dove newly shot,
She sobbed and
lifted her breast;
She sighed and covered her
eyes,
Filling her lips with sighs;
She sighed, she withdrew herself
not,
She refrained
not, taking not rest;
SEMICHORUS.
But as the wind which is drouth,
And as the air
which is death,
As storm that severeth ships,
Her breath severing her lips,
The breath came forth of her
mouth
And the fire came
forth of her breath.
Second Messenger.
Queen, and you maidens, there is come
on us
A thing more deadly than the face of death;
Meleager the good lord is as one slain.
SEMICHORUS.
Without sword, without sword
is he stricken;
Slain, and slain
without hand.
Second Messenger.
For as keen ice divided of the sun
His limbs divide, and as thawed snow the
flesh
Thaws from off all his body to the hair.
SEMICHORUS.
He wastes as the embers quicken;
With the brand
he fades as a brand
second Messenger.
Even while they sang and all drew hither
and he
Lifted both hands to crown the Arcadian’s
hair
And fix the looser leaves, both hands
fell down.
SEMICHORUS.
With rending of cheek and
of hair
Lament ye, mourn
for him, weep.
Second Messenger.
Straightway the crown slid off and smote
on earth,
First fallen; and he, grasping his own
hair, groaned
And cast his raiment round his face and
fell.
SEMICHORUS.
Alas for visions that were,
And soothsayings
spoken in sleep.
Second Messenger.
But the king twitched his reins in and
leapt down
And caught him, crying out twice ‘O
child’ and thrice,
So that men’s eyelids thickened
with their tears.
SEMICHORUS.
Lament with a long lamentation,
Cry, for an end
is at hand.
Second Messenger.
O son, he said, son, lift thine eyes,
draw breath,
Pity me; but Meleager with sharp lips
Gasped, and his face waxed like as sunburnt
grass.
SEMICHORUS.
Cry aloud, O thou kingdom,
O nation,
O stricken, a
ruinous land.
Second Messenger.
Whereat king Oeneus, straightening feeble
knees,
With feeble hands heaved up a lessening
weight,
And laid him sadly in strange hands, and
wept.
SEMICHORUS.
Thou art smitten, her lord,
her desire,
Thy dear blood
wasted as rain.
Second Messenger.
And they with tears and rendings of the
beard
Bear hither a breathing body, wept upon
And lightening at each footfall, sick
to death.
SEMICHORUS.
Thou madest thy sword as a
fire,
With fire for
a sword thou art slain.
Second Messenger.
And lo, the feast turned funeral, and the crowns
Fallen; and the huntress and the hunter trapped;
And weeping and changed faces and veiled hair.
Meleager.
Let your hands meet
Round the weight of my head,
Lift ye my feet
As the feet of the dead;
For the flesh of my body is molten,
the limbs of it molten as lead.
Chorus.
O thy luminous face,
Thine imperious eyes!
O the grief, O the grace,
As of day when it dies!
Who is this bending over thee, lord,
with tears and suppression of sighs?
Meleager.
Is a bride so fair?
Is a maid so meek?
With unchapleted hair,
With unfilleted cheek,
Atalanta, the pure among women,
whose name is as blessing to speak.
Atalanta.
I would that with feet
Unsandaled, unshod,
Overbold, overfleet,
I had swum not nor trod
From Arcadia to Calydon northward,
a blast of the envy of God.
Meleager.
Unto each man his fate;
Unto each as he saith
In whose fingers the weight
Of the world is as breath;
Yet I would that in clamour of battle mine hands
had laid hold upon death.
Chorus.
Not with cleaving of shields
And their clash in thine ear,
When the lord of fought fields
Breaketh spearshaft from spear,
Thou art broken, our lord, thou art broken;
with travail and labour and fear,
Meleager.
Would God he had found me
Beneath fresh boughs
Would God he had bound me
Unawares in mine house,
With light in mine eyes, and songs in my lips,
and a crown on my brows!
Chorus.
Whence art thou sent from us?
Whither thy goal?
How art thou rent from us,
Thou that wert whole,
As with severing of eyelids and eyes,
as with sundering of body and soul!
Meleager.
My heart is within me
As an ash in the fire;
Whosoever hath seen me,
Without lute, without lyre,
Shall sing of me grievous things,
even things that were ill to desire.
Chorus.
Who shall raise thee
From the house of the dead?
Or what man praise thee
That thy praise may be said?
Alas thy beauty! alas thy body! alas thine head!
Meleager.
But thou, O mother,
The dreamer of dreams,
Wilt thou bring forth another
To feel the sun’s beams
When I move among shadows a shadow,
and wail by impassable streams?
Oeneus.
What thing wilt thou leave me
Now this thing is done?
A man wilt thou give me,
A son for my son,
For the light of mine eyes, the desire of my life,
the desirable one?
Chorus.
Thou wert glad above others,
Yea, fair beyond word,
Thou wert glad among mothers;
For each man that heard
Of thee, praise there was added unto thee, as wings
to the feet of a bird.
Oeneus.
Who shall give back
Thy face of old years,
With travail made black,
Grown grey among fears,
Mother of sorrow, mother of cursing, mother of tears?
Meleager.
Though thou art as fire
Fed with fuel in vain,
My delight, my desire,
Is more chaste than the rain,
More pure than the dewfall, more holy than stars
are that live without stain.
Atalanta.
I would that as water
My life’s blood had thawn,
Or as winter’s wan daughter
Leaves lowland and lawn
Spring-stricken, or ever mine eyes had beheld thee
made dark in thy dawn.
Chorus.
When thou dravest the men
Of the chosen of Thrace,
None turned him again
Nor endured he thy face
Clothed round with the blush of the battle,
with light from a terrible place.
Oeneus.
Thou shouldst die as he dies
For whom none sheddeth tears;
Filling thine eyes
And fulfilling thine ears
With the brilliance of battle, the bloom and the
beauty,
the splendour of spears.
Chorus.
In the ears of the world
It is sung, it is told,
And the light thereof hurled
And the noise thereof rolled
From the Acroceraunian snow to the ford
of the fleece of gold.
Meleager.
Would God ye could carry me
Forth of all these;
Heap sand and bury me
By the Chersonese
Where the thundering Bosphorus answers
the thunder of Pontic seas.
Oeneus.
Dost thou mock at our praise
And the singing begun
And the men of strange days
Praising my son
In the folds of the hills of home,
high places of Calydon?
Meleager.
For the dead man no home is;
Ah, better to be
What the flower of the foam is
In fields of the sea,
That the sea-waves might be as my raiment,
the gulf-stream a garment for me.
Chorus.
Who shall seek thee and bring
And restore thee thy day,
When the dove dipt her wing
And the oars won their way
Where the narrowing Symplegades whitened the straits
of Propontis with spray?
Meleager.
Will ye crown me my tomb
Or exalt me my name,
Now my spirits consume,
Now my flesh is a flame?
Let the sea slake it once, and men speak of me sleeping
to praise me or shame,
Chorus.
Turn back now, turn thee,
As who turns him to wake;
Though the life in thee burn thee,
Couldst thou bathe it and slake
Where the sea-ridge of Helle hangs heavier,
and east upon west waters break?
Meleager.
Would the winds blow me back
Or the waves hurl me home?
Ah, to touch in the track
Where the pine learnt to roam
Cold girdles and crowns of the sea-gods,
cool blossoms of water and foam!
Chorus.
The gods may release
That they made fast;
Thy soul shall have ease
In thy limbs at the last;
But what shall they give thee for life,
sweet life that is overpast?
Meleager.
Not the life of men’s veins,
Not of flesh that conceives;
But the grace that remains,
The fair beauty that cleaves
To the life of the rains in the grasses,
the life of the dews on the leaves.
Chorus.
Thou wert helmsman and chief,
Wilt thou turn in an hour,
Thy limbs to the leaf,
Thy face to the flower,
Thy blood to the water, thy soul to the gods
who divide and devour?
Meleager.
The years are hungry,
They wail all their days;
The gods wax angry
And weary of praise;
And who shall bridle their lips?
and who shall straiten their ways?
Chorus.
The gods guard over us
With sword and with rod;
Weaving shadow to cover us,
Heaping the sod,
That law may fulfil herself wholly,
to darken man’s face before God.
Meleager.
O holy head of Oeneus, lo thy son
Guiltless, yet red from alien guilt, yet foul
With kinship of contaminated lives,
Lo, for their blood I die; and mine own blood
For bloodshedding of mine is mixed therewith,
That death may not discern me from my kin.
Yet with clean heart I die and faultless hand,
Not shamefully; thou therefore of thy love
Salute me, and bid fare among the dead
Well, as the dead fare; for the best man dead
Fares sadly; nathless I now faring well
Pass without fear where nothing is to fear
Having thy love about me and thy goodwill,
O father, among dark places and men dead.
Oeneus.
Child, I salute thee with sad heart and
tears,
And bid thee comfort, being a perfect
man
In fight, and honourable in the house
of peace.
The gods give thee fair wage and dues
of death,
And me brief days and ways to come at
thee.
Meleager.
Pray thou thy days be long before thy
death,
And full of ease and kingdom; seeing in
death
There is no comfort and none aftergrowth,
Nor shall one thence look up and see day’s
dawn
Nor light upon the land whither I go.
Live thou and take thy fill of days and
die
When thy day comes; and make not much
of death
Lest ere thy day thou reap an evil thing.
Thou too, the bitter mother and mother-plague
Of this my weary body—thou
too, queen,
The source and end, the sower and the
scythe,
The rain that ripens and the drought that
slays,
The sand that swallows and the spring
that feeds,
To make me and unmake me—thou,
I say,
Althaea, since my father’s ploughshare,
drawn
Through fatal seedland of a female field,
Furrowed thy body, whence a wheaten ear
Strong from the sun and fragrant from
the rains
I sprang and cleft the closure of thy
womb,
Mother, I dying with unforgetful tongue
Hail thee as holy and worship thee as
just
Who art unjust and unholy; and with my
knees
Would worship, but thy fire and subtlety,
Dissundering them, devour me; for these
limbs
Are as light dust and crumblings from
mine urn
Before the fire has touched them; and
my face
As a dead leaf or dead foot’s mark
on snow,
And all this body a broken barren tree
That was so strong, and all this flower
of life
Disbranched and desecrated miserably,
And minished all that god-like muscle
and might
And lesser than a man’s: for
all my veins
Fail me, and all mine ashen life burns
down.
I would thou hadst let me live; but gods
averse,
But fortune, and the fiery feet of change,
And time, these would not, these tread
out my life,
These and not thou; me too thou hast loved,
and I
Thee; but this death was mixed with all
my life,
Mine end with my beginning: and this
law,
This only, slays me, and not my mother
at all.
And let no brother or sister grieve too
sore,
Nor melt their hearts out on me with their
tears,
Since extreme love and sorrowing overmuch
Vex the great gods, and overloving men
Slay and are slain for love’s sake;
and this house
Shall bear much better children; why should
these
Weep? but in patience let them live their
lives
And mine pass by forgotten: thou
alone,
Mother, thou sole and only, thou not these,
Keep me in mind a little when I die
Because I was thy first-born; let thy
soul
Pity me, pity even me gone hence and dead,
Though thou wert wroth, and though thou
bear again
Much happier sons, and all men later born
Exceedingly excel me; yet do thou
Forget not, nor think shame; I was thy
son.
Time was I did not shame thee, and time
was
I thought to live and make thee honourable
With deeds as great as these men’s;
but they live,
These, and I die; and what thing should
Atalanta.
Hail thou: but I with heavy face
and feet
Turn homeward and am gone out of thine
eyes.
Chorus.
Who shall contend with his lords
Or cross them or do them wrong?
Who shall bind them as with cords?
Who shall tame them as with song?
Who shall smite them as with swords?
For the hands of their kingdom are strong.