AMP. Is there on earth, a stranger to the man
Who shared the same auspicious nuptial bed
With Jove, Amphitryon born at Argos, sprung
From Perseus’ son Alcæus, me the sire
Of Hercules? He in these regions dwelt,
Where from the soil a helmed crop arose;
Mars, a small number of that race, preserved,
Whose children’s children people Cadmus’ city.
Hence Creon king of Thebes, Menæceus’ son,
Derives his birth, and Creon is the sire
Of this unhappy Megara, to grace
Whose hymeneal pomp, each Theban erst
Attuned the jocund lute, into my house
When Hercules conducted her. But leaving
This realm where I resided, and his consort
And kindred, my son chose to fix his seat
Within the walls of Argos, of that city
Erected by the Cyclops, whence I fled
Stained with Electryon’s gore: but to alleviate
My woes, and in his native land obtain
A quiet residence, this great reward
He on Eurystheus promised to bestow,
That he would rid the world of every pest:
Harassed by Juno’s stings, or envious fate,
With her conspiring: but, his other labours
Accomplished, he through Tænarus’ jaws at length
Went to the house of Pluto, to drag forth
Into the realms of day hell’s triple hound:
He thence returns not. But an old tradition
Among the race of Cadmus hath prevailed,
That Lycus, Dirce’s husband, erst bore rule
Over this city, till Jove’s sons, Amphion
And Zethus, who on milk-white coursers rode,
Became its sovereigns. Lycus’ son who bears
His father’s name, no Theban, but arriving
From the Eubœan state, slew royal Creon,
And having slain him, seized the throne, invading
The city with tumultuous broils convulsed.
But the affinity which we have formed
With Creon, seems to be my greatest curse:
For while my son stays in the realms beneath,
Lycus th’ egregious monarch of this land
Would with the children of Alcides kill
His consort, by fresh murders to extinguish
The past, and kill me too (if one through age
So useless may be numbered among men),
Lest when the boys attain maturer age,
They should avenge their grandsire Creon’s death.
But I (for my son left me here to tend
His children, and direct the house, since he
Entered the subterraneous realms of night),
With their afflicted mother, lest the race
Of Hercules should bleed, for an asylum
Have chosen this altar of protecting Jove,
Which my illustrious son for a memorial
Of his victorious arms did here erect,
When he in battle had subdued the Minyans.
But we, though destitute of every comfort,
Of food, drink, clothing, though constrained to lie
On the bare pavement, here maintain our seat,
For every hospitable door is barred
Against us, and we have no other hope
Of being saved. Some of our friends I see
Are faithless, and the few who prove sincere,
Too weak to aid us. Such is the effect
Of adverse fortune o’er the race of men;
May he to whom I bear the least attachment,
Never experience that unerring test
Of friendship.
MEG. Thou old man, who erst didst storm
The Taphian ramparts, when thou with renown
Didst lead the host of Thebes; the secret will
Of Heaven, how little can frail mortals know!
For to me too of no avail have proved
The fortunes of my father, who elate
With wealth and regal power (whence at the breasts
Of its possessors spears are hurled by those
Whose souls the lust of mad ambition fires),
And having children, gave me to thy son,
Joining a noble consort in the bonds
Of wedlock with Alcides, through whose death
These blessings are all fled. Now I, and thou,
Old man, are doomed to perish with the sons
Of Hercules, whom, as the bird extends
Her sheltering wings over her callow brood,
I guard. By turns they come and question me:
“O mother, whither is my father gone?
What is he doing? when will he return?”
Though now too young sufficiently to feel
How great their loss, thus ask they for their sire.
I change the theme, and forge a soothing tale,
But am with wonder smitten when the doors
Creak on their massive hinges, and at once
They all start up, that at their father’s knees
They may fall prostrate. But what hope hast thou
Of saving us, or what support, old man?
For I to thee look up. We from the bounds
Of these domains unnoticed cannot ’scape;
Mightier than us, a watchful guard is placed
At every avenue, and in our friends
No longer for protection can we trust.
Explain thyself, if thou hast any scheme,
By which thou from impending death canst save us;
But let us strive to lengthen out the time,
Since we are feeble.
AMP. ’Tis no easy task
In such a situation, O my daughter,
To form a sure and instantaneous judgment.
MEG. What is there wanting to complete thy woes,
Or why art thou so fond of life?
AMP. That blessing
I still enjoy, still cherish pleasing hopes.
MEG. I also hope, old man: but it is folly
To look for what we never can attain.
AMP. We by delaying might avert our fate.
MEG. But I in this sad interval of time
Feel piercing anguish.
AMP. The auspicious gales
Of fortune, O my daughter, yet may waft
Both you and me out of our present troubles,
If e’er my son your valiant lord return.
But O be pacified yourself, and cause
Your children to dry up their streaming tears;
With gentle language and delusive tales
Beguile them, though all fraudful arts are wretched.
For the disasters which afflict mankind
Are wearied out; the stormy winds retain not
Their undiminished force; nor are the blest
Perpetually blest: for all things change,
And widely differ from their former state.
The valiant man is he who still holds fast
His hopes; but to despair bespeaks the coward.