MES. What evil tidings do I bring to you,
O aged man, and all my master’s friends!
PEL. By a sad presage which affects my soul
I of th’ impending evil am forewarned.
MES. Know then, O Peleus, that your wretched grandson
Is now no more, with such unnumbered wounds
He by the Delphic citizens transpierced,
And by that stranger from Mycene died.
CHOR. Alas! alas! but what resource is left
For thee, thou hoary veteran? do not fall;
Raise thyself up.
PEL. To very nothing now
Am I reduced, I utterly am ruined:
The power of speech deserts me, and these limbs
Forget their office.
MES. Hear me, and from earth
Arise, if, with th’ assistance of your friends,
You for this murder wish to be revenged.
PEL. How hast thou compassed wretched me, who stand
On the last verge of spiritless old age,
O cruel fate! say how the only son
Of my deceased, my only son, was slain.
These tidings though unwelcome would I hear.
MES. After we reached Apollo’s sacred realm,
While thrice the chariot of the sun performed
Its bright career, we satiated our eyes
With viewing all around. The circumstance
Which raised suspicion first, was this: the people
Who dwell within the temple of the god
Held frequent meetings, and in crowds assembled.
Meanwhile the son of Agamemnon went
Through the whole city, and in every ear
Whispered malignant words like these: “Behold
Him who is visiting the hallowed shrine
Of Phœbus piled with gold, the treasures given
By all mankind; the miscreant comes again
On the same purpose which first drew him hither,
To overthrow the temple of the god.”
Through the whole city hence an evil rumour
Went forth, and all the magistrates, to whom
The holy treasures were consigned, assembled,
In secret councils held, and placed a guard
Behind the massive columns in the fane.
We, unapprized of this, meantime had caught
Some sheep, that fed amid Parnassus’ grove,
And with our Delphic friends and Pythian seers
Approached the altar: some one said: “Young man,
What vows on thy behalf shall we address
To Phœbus? for what purpose art thou come?”
He answered: “To the god I wish to make
A due atonement for my past offence,
Because I erst from him with impious tongue
Claimed satisfaction for my father’s blood.”
Hence did Orestes’ calumnies appear
To have great weight, suggesting that my lord
Spoke an untruth, and that he hither came
With vile designs. Beneath the holy roof,
That to Apollo he might offer up
His prayers in that oracular abode,
He now advanced, and as they blazed, observed
The victims: here a troop with falchions armed
Screened by the branching laurels stood; the son
Of Clytemnestra was the sole contriver
Of all these stratagems. Our lord stood forth,
And, in the sight of this insidious band,
Adored the god: while they with their keen swords,
Ere he discerned them, pierced Achilles’ son
Unsheathed in mail. He instantly retreated;
For he as yet had by no deadly wound
Been smitten; but snatched up in his retreat
Those glittering arms which near the portals hung,
And stood a champion terrible to view,
Close to the blazing altar: with loud voice
He questioned the inhabitants of Delphi:
“Me who a pious votary hither come,
Why, or for what offences, would ye slay!”
Although the number of his foes was great,
None of them answered, but all hands hurled stones:
On every side assaulted by a storm
Thick as the falling snows, he warded off,
Extending the broad margin of his shield,
Each missile weapon: but of no avail
Was this resistance: for the spear, the shaft,
The dart, were thrown at once, and at his feet
Mixed instruments of sacrifice lay scattered.
Th’ agility with which your grandson shunned
The blows they aimed, was wondrous to behold:
They in a circle gathering round, closed in,
Nor gave him space to breathe, till from the altar
Descending with a leap like that which bore
The hapless Grecian chief to Phrygia’s coast,
He rushed among them: like a flock of doves
Who see the hawk appear, they turned and fled:
In heaps on heaps promiscuous, many fell,
Some in the narrow passage wounded lay,
While others o’er them trampled, and their groans
Unholy echoed through the hallowed dome.
But, tranquil as the waters in a calm,
In golden arms my lord resplendent stood,
Till from the inmost sanctuary burst forth
A deep-toned voice of horror, which impelled
The recreant warriors to renew the fight:
Achilles’ son then smitten through the flank
With a keen sword, by one of Delphi fell,
Who slew him, yet ignobly, with the aid
Of multitudes. But after he to earth
Was fallen, what sword transpierced him not, what hand
Threw not a stone to smite him? his whole frame,
So graceful erst, was with unnumbered wounds
Disfigured: till at length his mangled corse,
Which stained the altar’s basis, from the fane
Drenched with the blood of victims they cast forth.
But gathering up with speed, his loved remains
To you we bear, O venerable man,
That o’er them you may shed the plenteous tear,
And grace them with sepulchral rites. Thus Phœbus,
Who prophesies to others, mighty king,
And deals out justice to th’ admiring world,
Hath on Achilles’ son revenged himself,
And, like some worthless human foe, revived
An ancient grudge: how then can he be wise?
[_Exit_ MESSENGER.
CHOR. But lo! our royal master, from the land
Of Delphi borne, approaches these abodes!
Wretched was he, by such untimely doom
O’ertaken: nor art thou, O aged man,
Less wretched than the slaughtered youth: for thou
Into thy doors receiv’st Achilles’ son,
But not as thou couldst wish; thou too art fallen
Into affliction’s snare.
PEL. What piteous object,
Ah me! do I behold, and with these hands
Receive into my house! we are undone,
We are undone, O thou Thessalian city;
I have no children, no descendants left,
To occupy these mansions. On what friend
Shall I a wretched sufferer turn my eyes,
And hope to find relief? O thou dear face,
Ye cheeks, ye hands! thee would to Heaven that fate
In those embattled fields of Troy had slain
Beside the waves of Simois!
CHOR. He in death
Hence would have found renown; thou too, old man,
Wouldst have been happier.
PEL. Thou, O wedlock, wedlock,
These mansions and my city hast o’erthrown.
My grandson, through the inauspicious nuptials
By thee contracted, would to heaven my gates
Had ne’er received that execrable fiend
Hermione, thy bane! O had she first
With thunderbolts been smitten! nor hadst thou,
Presumptuous mortal, charged the Delphic god
With having aimed the shaft which slew thy sire!
CHOR. I will awake the sad funereal dirge,
And wailing pay to my departed lord
Such customary tribute as attends
The shades of mighty chiefs.
PEL. Ah me! at once
With misery and old age bowed down to earth,
I shed th’ incessant tear.
CHOR. Thus hath the god
Ordained, the god’s vindictive arm hath wrought
All these calamities.
PEL. O most beloved,
This house, ah me! a desert hast thou left,
And me a miserable old man made childless.
CHOR. Before thy children, O thou aged man,
Thou shouldst have died.
PEL. Shall I not rend my hair,
And beat with desperate hands this hoary head?
O city! Phœbus hath of both my sons
Deprived me.
CHOR. O thou miserable old man,
What evils hast thou witnessed and endured!
How wilt thou pass the remnant of thy life?
PEL. Childless, forlorn, no period to my woes
Can I discover, but till death must drink
The bitter potion.
CHOR. Sure the gods in vain
Showered blessings on thy nuptials.
PEL. Fled and withered
Is all our ancient pomp.
CHOR. Alone thou mov’st
Around thy lonely house.
PEL. I have no city.
Thee, O my sceptre, to the ground I cast,
And from yon dreary caverns of the main,
Daughter of Nereus, me wilt thou behold
Utterly ruined, grovelling in the dust.
CHOR. Ha! who was it that moved? what form divine
Do I perceive? look there! ye nymphs, attend,
With rapid passage through the fleecy clouds
Borne onward, some divinity arrives
At Phthia’s pastures, famed for generous steeds.