Delay not till I goad thee in my wrath,
But aid me with a will as one who knows
The golden rule, a father to obey.
Yea, father, though the issue gives me pause
And I misdoubt thy purport, I’ll obey.
Well said, but first lay thy right hand in mine.
Wherefore impose on me this needless pledge?
Thy hand at once; obey and argue not.
Here is my hand; I do as I am bid.
Now by the head of Zeus my Father swear,
What wouldst thou have me swear? May I not know?
Swear to perform the task that I enjoin.
I will and take the oath, so help me Zeus,
And add thereto the curse on perjurers.
No need, for I shall keep it; yet I will.
Thou know’st the peak of Oeta, shrine of Zeus?
Yea, I have climbed it oft to sacrifice.
Thither thyself, thou with what friends thou wilt,
Must carry me. From the deep-rooted oak
Lop many a branch, and many a faggot hew
From the wild-olive’s lusty stock, and lay me
Upon the pyre. Kindle a torch of pine,
And fire it. Not a tear or wail or moan!
Unweeping, unlamenting must thou do
Thy part and prove thou art indeed my son.
Fail, and my ghost shall haunt thee ever more.
O father, canst thou mean it? Hear I right?
Thou hast thy charge. If thou refuse it, get
Another sire, be called no more my son.
O woe isme! What dost thou ask, that I
Should be thy murderer, a parricide?
Not so, but healer of my sufferings,
The one physician that can cure my pains.
How can I heal thy stricken frame by fire?
Well, if thou shrink from this, perform the rest.
The task of bearing thee I will not grudge.
Nor yet to heap the pyre, as I have bid?
So that I light it not with my own hands;
All else I will perform and do my part.
That will suffice. But add one other boon,
A little one, to crown the great ones given.
It shall be granted, be it ne’er so great.
Thou know’st the maiden, child of Eurytus?
Methinks thou meanest Iolè.
None else.
This is my charge to thee concerning her.
When I am dead, if thou wouldst keep the oath
Thou sworest to obey thy father’s will,
Take her to wife, let not another have her
Who by my side hath lain; but thine, my son—
Thine let her be, joined in the marriage bond.
Much hast thou granted, to refuse one more,
One little boon, would cancel all the score.
Ah me! ’tis ill to quarrel with one sick—
But who could bear to see him in this mind?
Thy murmuring augurs disobedience;
What her, the sole cause of my mother’s death,
And worse, the cause of this thy grievous plight!
Who, were he not possessed of fiends, would do it?
Better, my father, I with thee should die
Than live united with our direst foe.
The boy, it seems, is not inclined to heed
A father’s dying prayer; but heaven’s curse
Awaits full sure a disobedient son.
I fear thy frenzy soon will show itself.
Yea, for thou wakenest my pain that slept.
O what a coil of dread perplexities!
Because thou wilt not deign to heed thy sire.
What, must I learn impiety from thee?
’Tis piety to glad a father’s heart.
I have thy warrant then for what I do?
I call the gods to witness it is just.
Then I consent and hesitate no more.
Let heaven attest this act of thine, for I
Cannot be blamed for filial piety.
Thou endest well. Now crown thy gracious words
With action; haste and lay me on the pyre
Before the spasms and fever-fit return.
Ho, haste and lift me. Thus I find repose
The end and consummation of my woes.
Since, father, this thou straitly dost command,
Naught hinders the fulfilment of thy will.
Rouse, arm thyself, O stubborn heart,
Before again the plague upstart;
Set on thy lips a curb of steel,
Thy mouth let stony silence seal;
Go meet thy doom without a cry,
A victim, happy thus to die.
Lift him, men, nor take amiss
That I bear a part in this.
We are blameless, but confess
That the gods are pitiless.
Children they beget, and claim
Worship in a father’s name,
Yet with apathetic eye
Look upon such agony.
What is yet to be none knows,
But the present’s fraught with woes,
Woes for us, for them deep shame;
And of all beneath the sun
Worse than he hath suffered none.
Come, maidens, come away!
Horrors have ye seen this day,
Dire death and direr fall:
And Zeus hath wrought it all. Exeunt omnes.
Endnotes
-
The Peleads were the priestesses of Dodona who interpreted the rustling of the oak or the cooing of the sacred doves and their name in folk etymology was identified with peleiai, doves. ↩
Colophon
The Trachiniae
was written between 450 and 425 BCE by
Sophocles.
It was translated from Ancient Greek in 1913 by
Francis Storr.
This ebook was transcribed and produced for
Standard Ebooks
by
Emma Sweeney,
and is based on digital scans from the
Internet Archive.
The cover page is adapted from
Soir antique,
a painting completed in 1908 by
Alphonse Osbert.
The cover and title pages feature the
League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy
typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by
The League of Moveable Type.
The first edition of this ebook was released on
March 31, 2025, 1:55 a.m.
You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at
standardebooks.org/ebooks/sophocles/the-trachiniae/francis-storr.
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