Thou art my friend, Admetus;
therefore
bold
And plain I tell my story, and withhold
No secret hurt.
And plain I tell my story, and withhold
No secret hurt.
Euripides - Alcestis
Thy noise of weeping
Shall raise no lost one from the ground.
Nay, even the Sons of God are parted
At last from joy, and pine in death. . . .
Oh, dear on earth when all did love her,
Oh, dearer lost beyond recover:
Of women all the bravest-hearted
Hath pressed thy lips and breathed thy breath.
Let not the earth that lies upon her
Be deemed a grave-mound of the dead.
Let honour, as the Gods have honour,
Be hers, till men shall bow the head,
And strangers, climbing from the city
Her slanting path, shall muse and say:
"This woman died to save her lover,
And liveth blest, the stars above her:
Hail, Holy One, and grant thy pity! "
So pass the wondering words away.
LEADER.
But see, it is Alcmena's son once more,
My lord King, cometh striding to thy door.
[_Enter_ HERACLES; _his dress is as in the last scene, but shows
signs of a struggle. Behind come two Attendants, guiding between them a
veiled Woman, who seems like one asleep or unconscious. The Woman remains
in the background while_ HERACLES _comes forward. _]
HERACLES.
Thou art my friend, Admetus; therefore bold
And plain I tell my story, and withhold
No secret hurt. --Was I not worthy, friend,
To stand beside thee; yea, and to the end
Be proven in sorrow if I was true to thee?
And thou didst tell me not a word, while she
Lay dead within; but bid me feast, as though
Naught but the draping of some stranger's woe
Was on thee. So I garlanded my brow
And poured the gods drink-offering, and but now
Filled thy death-stricken house with wine and song.
Thou hast done me wrong, my brother; a great wrong
Thou hast done me. But I will not add more pain
In thine affliction.
Why I am here again,
Returning, thou must hear. I pray thee, take
And keep yon woman for me till I make
My homeward way from Thrace, when I have ta'en
Those four steeds and their bloody master slain.
And if--which heaven avert! --I ne'er should see
Hellas again, I leave her here, to be
An handmaid in thy house. No labour small
Was it that brought her to my hand at all.
I fell upon a contest certain Kings
Had set for all mankind, sore buffetings
And meet for strong men, where I staked my life
And won this woman. For the easier strife
Black steeds were prizes; herds of kine were cast
For heavier issues, fists and wrestling; last,
This woman. . . .
Shall raise no lost one from the ground.
Nay, even the Sons of God are parted
At last from joy, and pine in death. . . .
Oh, dear on earth when all did love her,
Oh, dearer lost beyond recover:
Of women all the bravest-hearted
Hath pressed thy lips and breathed thy breath.
Let not the earth that lies upon her
Be deemed a grave-mound of the dead.
Let honour, as the Gods have honour,
Be hers, till men shall bow the head,
And strangers, climbing from the city
Her slanting path, shall muse and say:
"This woman died to save her lover,
And liveth blest, the stars above her:
Hail, Holy One, and grant thy pity! "
So pass the wondering words away.
LEADER.
But see, it is Alcmena's son once more,
My lord King, cometh striding to thy door.
[_Enter_ HERACLES; _his dress is as in the last scene, but shows
signs of a struggle. Behind come two Attendants, guiding between them a
veiled Woman, who seems like one asleep or unconscious. The Woman remains
in the background while_ HERACLES _comes forward. _]
HERACLES.
Thou art my friend, Admetus; therefore bold
And plain I tell my story, and withhold
No secret hurt. --Was I not worthy, friend,
To stand beside thee; yea, and to the end
Be proven in sorrow if I was true to thee?
And thou didst tell me not a word, while she
Lay dead within; but bid me feast, as though
Naught but the draping of some stranger's woe
Was on thee. So I garlanded my brow
And poured the gods drink-offering, and but now
Filled thy death-stricken house with wine and song.
Thou hast done me wrong, my brother; a great wrong
Thou hast done me. But I will not add more pain
In thine affliction.
Why I am here again,
Returning, thou must hear. I pray thee, take
And keep yon woman for me till I make
My homeward way from Thrace, when I have ta'en
Those four steeds and their bloody master slain.
And if--which heaven avert! --I ne'er should see
Hellas again, I leave her here, to be
An handmaid in thy house. No labour small
Was it that brought her to my hand at all.
I fell upon a contest certain Kings
Had set for all mankind, sore buffetings
And meet for strong men, where I staked my life
And won this woman. For the easier strife
Black steeds were prizes; herds of kine were cast
For heavier issues, fists and wrestling; last,
This woman. . . .
