No More Learning

I entrusted him to you at a tender age.
But why the tears I see you shed today? 1490
What of my son?

Theramenes

O useless tenderness!
Tardy, and idle care! Hippolytus is dead.

Theseus

You gods!

Theramenes

I have seen the best of mortals die,
And I dare say as well, my Lord, the least guilty.

Theseus

My son no more? What! As I held out my arms 1495
The gods impatiently hastened to do him harm?
What lightning struck? What blow has snatched him?

Theramenes

We had barely left the gates of Troezen,
He was in his chariot. His gloomy men
Echoing his silence, ranged around him: 1500
Pensive he took the road to Mycenae:
His hand had let the horses' reins hang free.
His proud stallions that previously appeared
Nobly obeying his voice, and full of ardour,
With grieving eyes and with lowered brow, 1505
Seemed responsive to his sad thoughts, now.
A fearful cry, risen from the depths of the sea,
Troubled, in an instant, the quiet of the scene:
And from the heart of the earth a strident voice
Replied with groans to that formidable noise. 1510
The blood froze in our hearts profoundest depths
The manes of the startled horses stood erect.
Meanwhile over the surface of the watery plain,
A liquid mountain rose through boiling waves:
Neared us, shattered, and from the foaming breaker 1515
Vomited to our eyes a raging monster.
Its broad brow was horned, armed with menace,
Its whole body scaly, yellow as jaundice,
Untameable bull, or impetuous dragon,
Hindquarters coiling like a tortuous serpent. 1520
Its long-drawn out bellowing shook the shore.
The heavens viewed the savage monster with horror,
The earth quaked, and the air was infected,
The terrified wave that carried it recoiled.
All fled, and not pretending useless bravery, 1525
Each man sought refuge in the neighbouring sanctuary.
Hippolyte alone, worthy to be a hero's son,
Reined in his horses, seized his javelin,
Drove at the monster, and with a steady hand
Dealt him a gaping spear wound in the flank. 1530
The monster reared upwards in pain and anger,
Fell at the horses' feet, groaning, rolled over,
And presented its fiery muzzle to them, again,
Covering them with blood, smoke and flame.
Panic took them, and deaf as they were then, 1535
They recognised neither voice nor the rein.
Their master exhausted himself in useless struggle,
While in the blood-wet foam they stained their bridles.
They even say some saw, in this wild confusion,
A god who goaded their dusty flanks: a vision. 1540
Their fear drove them headlong over the rocks,
The axle groaned and shattered, brave Hippolytus
Saw his whole chariot break into fragments.
He himself fell entangled in the harness.
Forgive my sorrow.