All that is past and over, let it sail
Adown the stream of time. But O, be thou,
Whate’er thou art to others, true to me.
Heed her, she counsels well, and thou shalt win
Her commendation soon, and thanks from me
Nay, then, dear mistress, since I see thou hast
A human feeling for the infirmities
Of poor humanity, I will tell thee all
Frankly and fully. ’Tis as this man saith;
The overmastering passion that inspired
The soul of Heracles was for this maid,
And for her sake he sacked Oechalia,
Her desolate home. This much in his defence
I needs must add, he ne’er himself denied
Nor bade me hide it from thee. It was I,
Fearing to wound thee, lady, I who sinned,
If such concealment should be deemed a sin.
Now, lady, that thou know’st the tale in full,
For both your sakes—thine own no less than his—
Suffer this maiden gladly, and abide
By the kind words thou spak’st concerning her.
For he who never yielded to a foe,
By her was vanquished and by love laid low.
This way my thoughts too, as thou bidst, inclined,
Nor will I fondly aggravate my trouble
By warring against Heaven. Let us indoors,
That thou may’st bear a message to my lord,
And, as a fit return for gifts received,
My gift withal. It were not meet that thou
Should’st leave me empty-handed, having come
Accompanied by such a goodly train. Exeunt Lichas and Deianira.
Strophe
Many a trophy of war the Cyprian bears away;
To tell of the triumphs she wins o’er gods I may not stay,
How the Olympian King and the Lord of the realms of night,
Yea, and the Shaker of Earth, Poseidon, owns her might.
Fitter theme for my song the well-matched champion pair,
Rivals who entered the lists to win the hand of the fair.
Dread the strife, and the sky with dust of battle was full.
Antistrophe
One was a river-god, four-footed and horned like a bull,
Oeneadae was his home and Achelous his name;
But from Thebè, beloved of Bacchus, the other came,
With bow and with brandished club and javelins twain at his side,
Child of Zeus. So they met and fought for a winsome bride.
But with her umpire wand the Cyprian Queen was there,
Goddess who rules the fight and assigns the hand of the fair.
Hark! the thud of fisted blow,
Crash of horns and twanging bow,
Grapplings close-entwined, and now
Buttings of the hornèd brow;
And amid the storm, in tones
Faint and muffled, deep-drawn groans.
But afar upon the sward
Sat the tender tearful maid,
While in doubt the battle swayed,
Musing who should be her lord.
Long she sat and wept forlorn,
Then, like heifer driven to stray,
Weanèd, from her dam away,
Sudden from her home was torn.
Friends, while our herald guest is in the house
Conversing with the captives, ere he leaves,
I have stolen forth to speak with you alone;
Partly to tell you what my hands have wrought,
And to command your sympathy. This maid—
No maiden she but mistress now, methinks—
I have harboured (as some merchant takes on board
An over-freight) to wreck my peace of mind.
And now we twain must share a common couch,
To one lord wedded. Such the recompense
That Heracles, whom I was wont to extol
As model of all virtue, makes me now
For all my faithful service as a wife.
Yet to be wroth with one like him, infect
With this love-plague, I cannot bring myself;
But then to share his bed and board with her—
What wife could bear it? She’s the budding rose,
And I o’erblown and withering on the thorn.
Men cull the flower and when the bloom has fled
Fling it far from them. This then is my fear,
That Heracles will leave me the bare name
Of consort, while the younger is his wife.
But, as I said, ’tis folly to be wroth.
I have a better way to ease my pain,
A remedy that I will now reveal.
Stored in an urn of brass I long have kept
A keepsake of the old-world monster; this
The shaggy-breasted Nessus gave to me
While yet a girl, and from his wounded side
I took it as he lay at point of death;
Nessus who ferried wayfarers for hire
Across the deep Evenus in his arms,
Without the help of oar or sail. I too,
When first I went with Heracles, a bride
Assigned him by my sire, I too was borne
On his broad shoulders, and in mid-stream he
Touched me with wanton hands. I shrieked aloud,
He turned, the son of Zeus, and straight let fly
A winged shaft that, whizzing in the air,
Pierced to the lungs. Faint with approaching death
The Centaur spake: “Daughter of Oeneus old,
This profit of my ferrying at least,
As last of all I’ve ferried, shall be thine,
If thou wilt heed me. Gather with thy hands
The clotted gore that curdles round my wound,
Just where the Hydra, Lerna’s monstrous breed,
Has tinged the barbed arrow with her gall.
Thus shalt thou have a charm to bind the heart
Of Heracles, and never shall he look
On wife or maid to love her more than thee.”
So I bethought me of this philtre, friends,
Which since the Centaur’s death I had preserved
Locked in a secret place, and I have smeared
This robe as he directed while he lived.
My work is now accomplished. Far from me
Be thought of evil witch-craft or desire
To learn it; wives who try such arts I hate.
But how by love-charms I may win again
My Heracles and wean him from this maid,
This I have planned—unless indeed I seem
O’erwanton; if ye think so, I desist.
If thou hast warranty thy charm will work,
We think that thou hast counselled not amiss.
No warrant, for I have not tried it yet,
But of its potency I am assured.
Without experiment there cannot be
Assurance, howsoever firm thy faith.
Well, we shall know ere long, for there I see
Lichas just starting; he is at the gate.
Only do you be secret; e’en dark deeds
If they be done in darkness bring no blame.
What are thy orders, child of Oeneus, say;
Already I have tarried over long.
Whilst thou wert talking with the maids within
I have been busied, Lichas, with thy charge,
This robe;
