第2章

My own lot I regard no less than his.

For I see well, nought else are we but mere Phantoms, all we that live, mere fleeting shadows.

ATHENA

Warned therefore by his fate, never do thou Thyself utter proud words against the gods;Nor swell with insolence, if thou shouldst vanquish Some rival by main strength or by wealth's power.

For a day can bring all mortal greatness low, And a day can lift it up. But the gods love The wise of heart, the froward they abhor.

(ATHENA vanishes and ODYSSEUS departs. The CHORUS OF SALAMINIANSenters.)

CHORUS (singing)

Son of Telamon, lord of Salamis' isle, On its wave-washed throne mid the breaking sea, I rejoice when fair are thy fortunes:

But whene'er thou art smitten by the stroke of Zeus, Or the vehement blame of the fierce-tongued Greeks, Then sore am I grieved, and for fear I quake, As a fluttering dove with a scared eye.

Even so by rumour murmuring loud Of the night late-spent our ears are assailed.

'Tis a tale of shame, how thou on the plains Where the steeds roam wild, didst ruin the Danaan Flocks and herds, Our spear-won booty as yet unshared, With bright sword smiting and slaughtering.

Such now are the slanders Odysseus forges And whispers abroad into all men's ears, Winning easy belief: so specious the tale He is spreading against thee; and each new hearer Rejoices more than he who told, Exulting in thy degradation.

For the shaft that is aimed at the noble of soul Smites home without fail: but whoe'er should accuse me Of such misdeeds, no faith would he win.

'Tis the stronger whom creeping jealousy strikes.

Yet small men reft of help from the mighty Can ill be trusted to guard their walls.

Best prosper the lowly in league with the great;And the great have need to be served by the less.

But none to the knowledge of such plain truths May lead minds witless and froward.

Even such are the men who murmur against thee:

And vainly without thine aid, O King, We strive to repel their accusing hate.

For whene'er they are safe from the scorn of thy glance, They chatter and screech like bids in a flock:

But smitten with dread of the powerful vulture, Doubtless at once, should'st thou but appear, They will cower down dumbly in silence.

stropheWas it the Tauric Olympian Artemis, (Oh, the dread rumour of woe, Parent of my grievous shame!)Who drove thee forth to slaughter the herds of the people, In wrath perchance for some unpaid-for victory, Whether defrauded of glorious spoil, or offerings Due for a stag that was slain?

Or did the bronze-clad Demon of battle, aggrieved On him who scorned the might of his succouring spear, Plot revenge by nightly deception?

antistropheNe'er of itself had thy heart, son of Telamon, Strayed into folly so far As to murder flocks and herds.

Escape from heaven-sent madness is none: yet Apollo And Zeus avert these evil rumours of the Greeks.

But should the story be false, these crafty slanders Spread by the powerful kings, And by the child of the infamous Sisyphid line, No more, my master, thus in the tent by the sea Hide thy countenance, earning an ill fame.

epodeNay, but arise from thy seat, where'er so long wrapt in Brooding pause from the battle thou hast lurked: arise, Heaven-high kindle the flame of death.

But the insolence of thy foes boldly Thus wanders abroad in the wind-swept glens.

Meanwhile all men mocking With venomous tongues taunt thee:

But grief in my heart wanes not.

(TECMESSA enters. The following lines between TECMESSA and the CHORUS are chanted responsively.)TECMESSA

Liegemen of Ajax, ship-companions, Ye children of earth-sprung Erechthid race, Lamentation is now our portion, to whom Dear is the far-off house of Telamon, Now that the stern and terrible Ajax Lies whelmed by a storm Of turbid wildering fury.

CHORUS

To what evil change from the day's woe now Has night given birth?

Thou daughter of Phrygian Teleutas, speak;For a constant love has valiant Ajax Borne thee, his spear-won prisoner bride.

Then hide from us nought that thou knowest.

TECMESSA

How to utter a tale of unspeakable things!

For disastrous as death is the hap you will hear.

In the darkness of night madness has seized Our glorious Ajax: he is ruined and lost.

Hereof in the tent may proof be seen;

Sword-slain victims in their own blood bathed, By his hand sacrificially slaughtered.

CHORUS

stropheWhat tidings of the fiery warrior tellest thou, Not to be borne, nor yet to be disputed, Rumoured abroad by the chiefs of the Danaan host, Mightily still spreading and waxing!

Woe's me! I dread the horror to come. Yea, to a public death doomed Will he die, if in truth his be the hand that wielded The red sword that in frenzy hath slain the herds and mounted herdsmen.

TECMESSA

Ah me! Thence was it, thence that he came to me Leading his captive flock from the pastures!

Thereof in the tent some did he slaughter, Others hewed he asunder with slashing sword;Then he caught up amain two white-footed rams, Sliced off from the one both the head and the tongue, And flings them away;But the other upright to a pillar he binds, Then seizing a heavy horse-harnessing thong He smites with the whistling doubled lash, Uttering fierce taunts which an evil fiend No mere mortal could have taught him.

CHORUS

antistrophe'Tis time that now each with shamefully muffled head Forth from the camp should creep with stealthy footsteps.

Nay, on the ship let us muster, and benched at the oars Over the waves launch her in swift flight.

Such angry threats sound in our ears hurled by the brother princes, The Atreidae: and I quake, fearing a death by stoning, The dread portion of all who would share our hapless master's ruin.

TECMESSA

Yet hope we: for ceased is the lightning's flash:

His rage dies down like a fierce south-wind.

But now, grown sane, new misery is his;

For on woes self-wrought he gazes aghast, Wherein no hand but his own had share;And with anguish his soul is afflicted.

LEADER OF THE CHORUS

Nay, if 'tis ceased, there is good cause to hope.

Once 'tis past, of less moment is his frenzy.

TECMESSA