By dreams of yesterday!
Each vanish’d hour shall be forgot,
Fresh phantasies hold sway.
No lowlier crown the linden weaves
Of tassel’d verdure now
Because the old year’s scatter’d leaves
Return not to the bough.
CIRCE
[_While an interlude is played_] Our Thrattis echoes thy
thought, Ulysses; and indeed I find a certain sort of wisdom in
the ditty.
ULYSSES
Yet methinks it carries somewhat of a different effect from the
open intention of it.
CIRCE
Wait, listen!
THRATTIS
[_Sings_] Forget, forget! In love’s demesnes
No faded chaplet wear;
Nor conjure phantoms from lost scenes,
To sit unbidden there.
Round heaven her sign swift Iris sets,
Flings forth her jewel’d zone:
O, who beholds it but forgets
The frowning storm-cloud flown?
[_The singer bends her head to hide her face as she sweeps the strings
again._]
CIRCE
Good Thrattis, thou art tired standing. Sit and sip of the
wine. Thou need’st sing no farther now.
PHILINNA
She weeps, my lady.
[_As THRATTIS, declining the offered refreshment, turns and goes within._]
CIRCE
Poor soul! truly I pity her.
PHILEMON
But why does the girl weep, sweet Philinna? Has she some
express sorrow attending her?
PHILINNA
O yes, Philemon; nor will she put it entirely away. ’Tis three
years agone since she floated to our island, lashed to some
fragment of a vessel from the north which the hurricane had
wrecked; but her father and two brothers who so saved her life
themselves perished in the sea.
PHILEMON
O, sad story; unhappy Thrattis! Yet so I do much wonder at the
song she chose to sing.
PHILINNA
We could do little to assuage her grief. But Circe has been
kind to her and taught her the songs she sings so sweetly to
her lute.
ULYSSES
Perchance some such strains would comfort the child as the
captive Trojan maidens might listen to betimes among us at the
ships when the harp was struck.
CIRCE
Pray what, Ulysses?
ULYSSES
Such as sounded praise
Not for the living and the days we lived
(Which with their moil and megrim did afford
Scant food, I grant, for eulogy); but ever
With vision backward turn’d the bard would seek
Among long-treasured memories one most apt
And draw it forth. Then did we lose all sense
Of aching limbs, sore wounds, and comrades slain,
Whilst in high-swelling measures like great waves
Of Iphitus or Heracles he sang—
Glories of ancient men.
CIRCE
It was fair medicine
To still the pains ye dwelt in. In my isle
Such cordials find not place.—But come, Ulysses,
And see me prove the powers of that rare herb
Whereof I promised.—Philinna, attend us. Of simples
My sampler art thou.
[_CIRCE laughs heartily as she utters the last words and she and ULYSSES
rise from their seats. ULYSSES joins in the laugh. PHILINNA smiles
faintly and seems loth to part from PHILEMON as these two also rise._]
CIRCE
[_Laughing again_] Thy Philemon
Will not forget so soon.
[_CIRCE and ULYSSES go into the palace followed by PHILINNA._]
XENIAS
[_As PHILEMON turns toward him, stepping down from the veranda_]
The commander and our Lady of the Herbs seem to be in a right
merry mood, Philemon.
PHILEMON
That they are indeed, to judge by the colors they fly.
XENIAS
_You_ take it not quite so. And yet methinks you have as good
cause as they to be blithe.
PHILEMON
I take your meaning, Xenias. Nevertheless I’m sheer doubtful
now and then—as though too great happiness should somehow have
a sobering effect, as you might say, upon a fellow.
XENIAS
Then belike when the commander sobers down a bit he will pass
the word for a home start.
PHILEMON
Ay, truly I have thought of it.
XENIAS
[_Laughing and clapping his friend on the shoulder_]
But you’re not in a raking hurry about it; eh, Philemon?
[_Re-enter THERMIA round the Right corner. She comes quickly toward the
men._]
But here’s Thermia again, in a hurry about something or other
surely.
THERMIA
O Xenias! I’ve seen Graea again and have learnt that Eurylochus
has called all the men to a meeting at the shore to-morrow
morning early about that business.
PHILEMON
Ah, what business, Thermia?
THERMIA
You tell him, Xenias.
XENIAS
Philemon and I were just upon the same matter—about the
commander passing the word to cast off.
PHILEMON
Well, it seems the mate hasn’t invited _me_ yet.
XENIAS
No, nor me; he thinks you and I would pull on the wrong
quarter, laddie. But I shall be on hand just the same to see
how the wind does blow. Don’t you go, Philemon; you haven’t the
heart for it.
THERMIA
Ah, thou art sad, Philemon; I feel for thee.
PHILEMON
O, let it come; let it come!
THERMIA
Yes, the day is bound to come, sooner or later. I would I could
belate it. But farewell now. [_She goes out._]
PHILEMON
Xenias, I would not ask thee to hold back
And thine own sentiments belie because
Mine do enchain me so to Circe’s isle
As in its soil the roots of yonder oak
Are wove and knotted. No; it is for you all
Timely and reasonable—nor for Ulysses least—
To set your faces homeward. But to me
That home so dimly beckons now, I know not
If it be there or here!
XENIAS
[_Stepping closer to his friend_] ’Twas not thy wont
To doubt, Philemon, with faint wavering heart,
When we together oft by chilly Troy
Crouch’d with our captain in an ambuscade
Or sprang from the galley’s prow full-arm’d ashore
At Tenedos or Chryse. Be thyself; be bold!
The girl is not to the island rooted fast,
Even though, as they pretend, their mothers be
Fig-trees and fountains. We go: take _her_! Herself,
I’ll wager, nothing loth.
[_While the last words are exchanged between the two men the figure of
GRAEA the swine-maiden, unobserved by them, is seen passing furtively
behind and occasionally halting as if to listen._]
PHILEMON
Ah, Xenias,
Thou knowest not Philinna. She is true
Not to me only.
XENIAS
I know. Untie them!
If need be, cut the knot! Love glories
In shifts and stratagems.
PHILEMON
Ah, ’twere not easy!
XENIAS
Think; ponder! Swear it: _If with Ulysses’ crew_
_Philemon sail, Philinna shall sail too._
[_XENIAS seizes the hand of PHILEMON and they go out together at the
Left._]
II
The Seashore, early in the forenoon of the next day. The scene is the
same as in the First Act, but the signs of a temporary encampment have
disappeared and the hull of the vessel is encumbered with grass and
weeds. The curtain rising discovers both watches of the crew (excepting
GLAUCUS and PHILEMON) disposed in scattered groups; some of the men
sitting or reclining; others standing. All seem pre-occupied and the
faces of most wear an anxious look. The demeanor of EURYLOCHUS, who
stands in a conspicuous position, is more confident and dignified than in
former scenes.
FIRST SAILOR
Well, I suppose the devil knows how long we have got to wait
before they show up.
SECOND SAILOR
We’re lucky if they ever show up at all. Ten to one Glauc’ll
come back without him.
FIRST SAILOR
Ay, ay! It’s a question whether even Glaucus can get the
commander’s ear—leastwise he’ll have to get Madam Circe out of
the way first.
PHORBAS
Mark me; we aren’t safe yet! There’s no knowing what sort of
beasts she might turn us all into even now, just to keep him
with her a year longer!
SECOND SAILOR
I’ve a notion we’d have done better to send a man of the
commander’s own watch—some one that never was a hog.
XENIAS
Bravo! where will you find such a one? Glauc’s all right; it’s
enough to have a man who wasn’t _always_ a hog.
FIRST SAILOR
Ha, ha! Theron, that’s one on you.
THERON
To hell with it! hang the hogs!
ELPENOR
My father _sticks_ his.
FIRST SAILOR
That’s the talk, Elpy; keep the culinary department straight!
SECOND SAILOR
But what if he’s so bewitched he won’t come and talk anyway?
EURYLOCHUS
Peace, peace!
’Tis scarce an hour since we despatch’d our comrade
On no brief errand.
Be patient; have good hope! It hangs, I know,
On the razor’s edge; yet leans the weightier cause
Toward consummation. Witchery there is still;
Else were there little need to prompt Ulysses
To his plain duty. Drugs have their antidotes,
Which to employ are easy when once found:
More subtle—ay, more deadly! than her potions
Are these soft blandishments, cared she to play them
To their full scope. But it has stood forth clear,
Though once I did mistrust the promised convoy:
Not in malevolence the enchantress binds
Ulysses’ will. And when good Glaucus comes,
Fearless and plain of speech and charged with all
The prayerful hot commands we laid upon him;
When he, unheard of Circe, bids his captain
Arise, for old Laertes’ sake; and, backward
With stern reproachful finger pointing, names
The faithful wife who waits, Penelope,
Icarius’ daughter:—then, perhaps, this cord
Of crimson devilment will snap—remembrance,
Conscience awake.
XENIAS
Eurylochus, was it not
Here on this very shore a twelvemonth since,
Launching the half-mann’d pinnace, you would fly,
Your mates left in the lurch?
EURYLOCHUS
But for Ulysses
(This you would add) the doors of their foul prison
Had closed on them forever.
XENIAS
But to-day
They jest and laugh, though ’tis in Circe’s isle.
THERON
Damn me, too, if we’re the only ones that have learnt to
mumble spoon-victuals and dance with tree-toads in the
moonlight!
EURYLOCHUS
Xenias, there is a fear to which all others
Are as soft zephyrs to the tempest: it is
When spirits uncanny mock the paltry arts
Of mortal courage. But for my fear, no tidings,
No warning, no alarm had reach’d you.
FIRST SAILOR
Hi, yi! [_He points upward to the Right_] They’re coming!
There’s old Glauc digging down this way.
SECOND SAILOR
[_Spying through his hand_] Alone! by the living gods!
[_Groans are uttered by some of the men, with gestures of disgust and
disappointment._]
EURYLOCHUS
Hold; wait!
He waves his staff; he smiles; he brings, be sure,
No grievous answer!
[_Enter GLAUCUS bare-headed, carrying a staff with oak-leaves attached,
which he waves to and fro._]
GLAUCUS
All’s well! all’s well, lads! It’s a go; the commander has
struck his colors. We’re off, sure!
[_The men throng about GLAUCUS, some hurrahing and throwing up their
caps._]
SEVERAL VOICES
But where is he? What’d he say? When’s he coming?
GLAUCUS
O, belay there! Everything takes time. He had to go and talk
with madam first, of course—and not take French leave like an
orang-outang. He’ll be here in a jiffy.
PHORBAS
Yes; but what’ll she make him say when he does come? I tell you
we’re not well out of this kettle of fish till we’ve cut loose
into high water!
GLAUCUS
Avast! He’ll say what comes into his head. The lady’s got a
head on her too: she’s not the kind of a craft to capsize at
the first catspaw of wind, don’t you believe it!
FIRST SAILOR
Put on a life-preserver, Phorb! Shin up the mast!
ELPENOR
The mast isn’t shinned up itself yet.
EURYLOCHUS
Glaucus, we owe thee thanks.
GLAUCUS
Not a bit of it! I doubt if we’d have dared to tackle him for
another year if you hadn’t put us up to it, old man. But you
may set me to walk the plank if he doesn’t talk fair now.
XENIAS
Hold on, lads! Seats again! there he comes! Stilly, stilly!
[_Enter ULYSSES at the Right, wearing sword and helmet. His aspect is
gracious as he comes to a stand near the men, who sit in silence. Before
speaking he casts a contemplative glance seaward, then turns toward the
vessel._]
ULYSSES
Our good ship! Ah yes; the seams
Gape in her sun-parch’d sides, and rank weeds twine
Their prickly meshes round her shriveling keel.
Yes, yes, my men; full long we have sat still,
Basking in languorous fancy, rapt, unheeding
This summons to the wave. Nor tarried others
Behind, to follow and seize us: as when those
Who clomb the banks of Lotus-land and straying
Ate of the flowery food, their souls
Steep’d in forgetfulness, we seized and bound,
Stifled their cries and dragg’d them to the shore.—
To-day they are no more: so many
Death’s winged minions snatch’d and in wild sport
Flung them to feed the sea-god’s ravenous brood;
Or, on strange shores their white bones strewing, sign’d
The landmarks of our course.—What wonder, then!
What wonder, O brave comrades, if, so spent,
So spared, beaching beside enchanted bowers
Our single bark, lull’d under lustrous skies,
Encircled by fond arms, we linger’d fondly
And long. But now, welcome the tug and strain
Once more, as ye have will’d it: the bent oar,
The creaking rowlock, Zephyrus’ shrill pipe,
The thundrous pounding surge! Nor now, as then,
Shall we unpiloted and blindly plow
Our swift sea-furrow; but wise Circe’s words
Will be to us as beacons. We shall know
What winds press homeward; on which hand to hold
(When oft to night course our sick yearning prompts)
Orion and the Bear.—If only
Her solemn friendly warnings ye can heed,
Which in good time I shall expressly cite,
All may be well.
EURYLOCHUS
Trust your men, sir, for that—leastwise if past experience
avail them anything in the way of instruction for the future.
ULYSSES
So prove it! On the third morn we start. Meanwhile
Let none stand idle! To-day remains in part;
One other day to-morrow, whilst we urge
The labors needful to our voyage. Draw water;
The wine-jars and the barley-crates replenish;
Refit the tackle.—Now let the old ship drink
And plume herself again!
SEVERAL VOICES
[_As the men, who have already sprung from their seats, gather round the
vessel_]
Hurrah! hurrah!
Off with her! Rush her out!
GLAUCUS
Look lively, lads! Knock away those props! Clear out the ways
there for’ard!
SEVERAL VOICES
Clear it is! Lively, lively!
ULYSSES
Eurylochus, I depute
To you the furtherance of these tasks. My presence
Another foresight claims.
EURYLOCHUS
Very well; very well, sir!—
[_To the men, some of whom have climbed on deck_]
Drop the bow-chains over there, boys! Catch on, half a hundred
of you! There she goes; steady, steady!
[_The curtain falls as ULYSSES goes out at the Right and the ship, pulled
and pushed by many hands, begins to move toward the water._]
III
The back of the palace, in the evening of the same day as Scene II.—As
the curtain rises ULYSSES and CIRCE are discovered in the foreground: the
former occupying a low seat by a tree; the latter reclining near him.
Upon the veranda, forming a group by themselves though not far removed
from the others, PHILEMON, XENIAS, THERMIA, and PHILINNA are seated at a
table, apparently playing at some game by the light of a hanging lamp.
ULYSSES and CIRCE are revealed to view by the rays of the moon, which
near its full is rising above the palace roof.
CIRCE
Those children are making a brave effort to play at their game,
Ulysses. They pretend to-morrow will be soon enough for parting
salutations.
THERMIA
[_Who has overheard the remark_] O Circe! Philinna cannot play
at all; she throws amiss every time.
CIRCE
Well, I doubt if her Philemon does much better.—There are at
least two aching hearts over there, Ulysses.
ULYSSES
Yet I have remarked Philemon seems not exactly depressed by it.
Indeed both he and Xenias surprise me, how cheerily they await
the event.
CIRCE
They are men: new scenes, new labors summon them; thoughts of
their home. But my poor nymphs must rest contented hereafter
with only me and the even sameness of our days.
ULYSSES
Even so ye lived blithe-hearted ere we came.
CIRCE
Hearts _more_ than blithe we knew not ere ye came.
ULYSSES
Counts not the added bliss as gain meanwhile?
CIRCE
True gain or loss the final balance shows.
ULYSSES
Then, till it’s struck, hope for the winning scale.
CIRCE
Such hopes help mortals cheat themselves, Ulysses,
Even of the present profit.
ULYSSES
But I note,
Thy tacit precept, thine own example, leads us
To drain the brimming cup and count as naught
What pangs might follow.
CIRCE
Ulysses, my example
(For in these closing hours I will confess it)
Hath my soul’s truest insight much belied.
Thou didst with moly baffle my magic art:
The _woman’s_ craft to baffle quite, no helper
Could guide thee to a clue. Hate there was none—
As well thou knowest: my bosom’s pride conceal’d
No sinister, vindictive purpose. But
Poor Circe, worsted, won her mastery back
And turn’d to sportive vengeance her defeat,
When with wise incantations wise Ulysses
She sang to sleep.
ULYSSES
There needed those more weary,
If not more wise, to wake him.
CIRCE
But meanwhile
My gentle partners, my sweet nymphs, I so
Imperilling left—that same mischance whereof
With a vague prescience more than once I warn’d them—
In these new toils ensnared, when the spell broke,
To droop as their own clipt flowers.
[_While the last few words are pronounced there has been brisk talking,
not distinctly overheard, on the part of the other group._]
THERMIA
[_Loudly_] O, for shame, Philemon! What a thing to say!
PHILINNA
[_Passionately_] ’Tis _he_; ’tis he himself cares not!
CIRCE
[_Turning toward the veranda, where PHILEMON and XENIAS have just risen
to their feet_]
Ah, now! what coil is this? Philinna, speak!
THERMIA
O Circe! ’tis Philemon—and Xenias too; they say
We are but women’s women: at the last moment
(They tell us) we choose _you_!
CIRCE
O foolish children!
Must your vain quarreling blight such hours as these!—
But whither? Philemon! Xenias! will you leave us?
PHILEMON
’Tis only, my lady, a certain business calls us forth expressly
at this time.
ULYSSES
So, my men? A strange time for business, is it not?
XENIAS
It were so, sir, but for a slight affair of our own, to which
we should properly give our attention by high moonlight only.
CIRCE
[_Laughing_] Holy Diana! Have they, too, turned to magic?
XENIAS
Pray excuse us, all!
[_The two young men go out by the Right corner. PHILINNA, bending over
the table, covers her face with her hands, while THERMIA rising attempts
to soothe her._]
CIRCE
O, mind not, dear Philinna, his hasty words!
Though heartless sounding, they did rather prove
The same concern that draws thine own tears now.
Lead her within; thou canst console her, Thermia:
Thy stronger courage will avail.
[_The two nymphs go into the palace._]
ULYSSES
Circe, I like not this foolery of the high moonlight. Though it
be a trifle ludicrous, the lads seemed right serious about it
nevertheless. ’Tis unlike Philemon. I like it not.
CIRCE
O put the thought aside, Ulysses!
It is some youthful prank, or a mere jest
Fresh-coin’d with sober mouth. Nor falls amiss
Thus on the girl’s untried, too tender spirit
Some jar and crossing ere the final shock,
So to forestall and break it.
And this moon!
Well she deserves, Ulysses, in thy sight.
Have we not sought ourselves her soothing spell?
Masking a farewell colloquy in smiles,
As yonder silver’d wave-tips feign deliverance
From the encircling gloom of envious night.
Ah! if thou didst but know,
Son of Laertes, half the struggles that wait thee
By Neptune’s billowy realm and, rescued thence,
In deadly strife at thy rude island-home,
Then wouldst thou feel, perchance, less haste to leave
Circe, the frail enchantress.—Ay, not all
The signs to guide and perils that impend
Canst thou learn now. Some, long in mystery wrapt
(Nor wouldst thou choose to speed them), time will teach;
Others, from ghostly lips compell’d, when soon,
By Ocean’s stream thy lone bark moor’d, thou standest
At the dark doors of Hades to evoke
Theban Tiresias’ shade, the seer shall utter.
ULYSSES
Dread Circe!
O strange, unpitying prophetess, no mortal
Reaches by sail or oar that awful strand.
CIRCE
Thou shalt be one, Ulysses, who, twice dying,
Twice lives to rue his birth.—But hearken;
And on the mindful tablets of thy soul
Grave these my warnings. Back from the sunless shore
Of pale Persephone the refluent tide
Will bear thy bark unurged: till, facing
The ruddy sources of recover’d day,
Fresh-waken’d breath of quickening winds she feels
Smite on her listless sail. So hold her prow,
Toward Eos striving surely, from my isle
Farther and farther speeding.
ULYSSES
But how soon?
How soon, O Circe, may our glad eyes behold
Some signal of known lands?
CIRCE
So much not yet
May be unveil’d; nor yet, what remnant lingers
Of crew or vessel until that hour.—But hear,
How (lest their doom be hasten’d) on thy helmsman,
When ’twixt unlovely neighbors he must steer,
The crisis hangs. On this side Scylla lurks,
Snarling in her cliff-cavern; on that, Charybdis
Retches, with swirling gorge. Thrice happy he
Who, nor to the right inclining nor the left,
Cleaves straight the midway mark with even keel.
ULYSSES
But why not of the engulfing pest steer wide
And with arm’d hand fend off the other’s onset?
CIRCE
Ah!
Thus do presumptuous mortals vaunt their cunning,
Or vain force, where alone swift vision wins.—
If, then, alternate ruin ye elude,
In some part scatheless, sweep with thankful hearts
The gleaming waters’ wide unbroken waste.
Then soon, Ulysses, as to my lay thou only
Mightst listen and be saved, even so alone
May’st thou, safe sailing, hear the Sirens’ song.
ULYSSES
Breathe any so sweet a strain as that, O Circe,
Which binds the caller at the moaning porch?
CIRCE
Not binds, but draws! No sense-benumbing spell
Boast the sea-maidens, nor themselves are fair.
Their theme, what men call _glory_; and the strain,
Bell-like, o’er the hush’d seas far pealing, calls
With a resistless summons to their shore.
It, with white skulls and rotting wreckage lined.
Thou shalt speed by, yet hear. Lash’d to the mast
By thy men’s hands—themselves with wax-stopt ears—
Bid them, when thou with frantic dumb entreaty
Wouldst sign their stroke toward that melodious lure,
Pull stronger and swerve not, with firmer bonds
Lashing thee still, while yet one echo
Of siren-voices lingers.
ULYSSES
Circe, full long
Thy tale of helps and hazards, though not few
Still on their fixt oracular moment wait.
Be these enough, while courage step by step,
Conning each several danger, learn to face it.
CIRCE
’Tis well.
[_Thus far CIRCE has been reclining, with occasional changes of attitude
due to the earnestness of her discourse. She now rises to a sitting
posture._]
[_Laughing_] But forget not, most prudent captain,
The risks thy moonstruck followers would invite
In these my precincts!
[_She gives her hand to ULYSSES, who assists her to rise._]
It were worth while to note
Their traces. Come; they went this way.
[_She leads out at the Right, ULYSSES following with downward thoughtful
look._]
IV
The grove upon sloping ground, at noon of the day following the previous
scene.—Enter from the Left downward MYRTO leading _Mikkos_. With a glance
toward the path on the Right she seats herself under the tree by which
MERCURY appeared to ULYSSES, while the ape, whose chain MYRTO continues
to hold, swings himself to a low branch above her.
MYRTO
Well, Mikkos, they are not here yet.—But Graea never loiters
and they will soon come. Now I charge thee once again; and be
thou, as a reflecting animal, less slow to curb thy native
animosities, Mikkos! Look not upon Eurylochus as thine enemy,
receiving him with angry and unseemly gestures. Eurylochus
is our friend to-day; and his co-operation in the present
emergency is invaluable.—Hear’st thou, Mikkos? [_The ape grins
and wags his head._] Very well; now conduct thyself like a
rational being! I hear them coming.
[_Enter from the Right upward EURYLOCHUS, followed closely by GRAEA. The
former, after a suspicious glance at_ Mikkos, _who shows his teeth and
tries to shake his chain, turns inquiringly toward MYRTO who remains
seated while the others stand._]
EURYLOCHUS
Graea has by her signs made known to me, Myrto, that you would
have me attend you here at this time; and I have inferred from
the earnestness of her manner that the message is of importance.
MYRTO
Important indeed it is, Eurylochus: I need your assistance;
and not for myself alone—perchance even somewhat for thine own
weal; but especially on behalf of the lady Circe and all of us
her poor companions—whom to be sure thou lovest not.
EURYLOCHUS
One may love not, Myrto, and yet be nowise lacking in
good-will. You would not have called in an unfriendly hand to
aid you.
MYRTO
In the present matter at any rate thou wilt be sure to side
with us.—Wouldst thou choose to take one of us home with thee
in the ship, Eurylochus?
EURYLOCHUS
How? What? Forbid it, mighty Apollo! Is your mind wandering,
Myrto?
MYRTO
It is not I, but a pair of your pretty comrades whose wits are
wandering; for they would carry away Philinna, unbeknown to
Ulysses and the rest of you, hiding her in the vessel.
EURYLOCHUS
Ah! we know of Philemon’s madness—and the girl consents to this?
MYRTO
No indeed! they will put her to sleep with Circe’s drug—
EURYLOCHUS
[_Interrupting_] O Heracles!
MYRTO