THE SUPPLIANTS [12]
reverses came; many a lover though he had midst men and maids, yet was he careful to avoid offence. Of Tydeus next the lofty praise I will express in brief; no brilliant spokesman he, but a clever craftsman in the art of war, with many a shrewd device; inferior in judgment to his brother Meleager, yet through his warrior skill lending his name to equal praise, for he had found in arms a perfect science; his was an ambitious nature, a spirit rich in store of deeds, with words less fully dowered. From this account then wonder not, Theseus, that they dared to die before the towers; for noble nurture carries honour with it, and every man, when once he hath practised virtue, scorns the name of villain. Courage may be learnt, for even a babe doth learn to speak and hear things it cannot comprehend; and whatso'er a child hath learnt, this it is his wont to treasure up till he is old. So train up your children in a virtuous way. CHORUS (chanting) Alas! my son, to sorrow I bare thee and carried thee within my womb, enduring the pangs of travail; but now Hades takes the fruit of all my hapless toil, and I that had a son am left, ah me! with none to nurse my age. THESEUS As for the noble son of Oecleus, him, while yet he lived, the gods snatched hence to the bowels of the earth, and his chariot too, manifestly blessing him; while I myself may truthfully tell the praises of the son of Oedipus, that is, Polyneices, for he was my guest-friend ere he left the town of Cadmus and crossed to Argos in voluntary exile. But dost thou know what I would have thee do in this? ADRASTUS I know naught save this,-to yield obedience to thy hests. THESEUS As for yon Capaneus, stricken by the bolt of Zeus- ADRASTUS Wilt bury him apart as a consecrated corpse? THESEUS Even so; but all the rest on one funeral pyre. ADRASTUS Where wilt thou set the tomb apart for him? THESEUS Here near this temple have I builded him a sepulchre. ADRASTUS Thy thralls forthwith must undertake this toil. THESEUS Myself will look to those others; let the biers advance. ADRASTUS Approach your sons, unhappy mothers. THESEUS This thy proposal, Adrastus, is anything but good. ADRASTUS Must not the mothers touch their sons? THESEUS It would kill them to see how they are altered. ADRASTUS 'Tis bitter, truly, to see the dead even at the moment of death. THESEUS Why then wilt thou add fresh grief to them? ADRASTUS Thou art right. Ye needs must patiently abide, for the words of Theseus are good. But when we have committed them unto the flames, ye shall collect their bones. O wretched sons of men! Why do ye get you weapons and bring slaughter on one another? Cease therefrom, give o'er your toiling, and in mutual peace keep safe your cities. Short is the span of life, so 'twere best to run its course as lightly as we may, from trouble free.
(The corpses, followed by the CHILDREN of the slain chieftains, are carried off to the pyre which is kindled within the sight of the persons on the stage.)
CHORUS (singing)
strophe
No more a happy mother I, with children blest; no more I share, among Argive women, who have sons, their happy lot; nor any more will Artemis in the hour of travail kindly greet these childless mothers. Most dreary is my life, and like some wandering cloud drift before the howling blast.
antistrophe
The seven noblest sons in Argos once we had, we seven hapless mothers; but now my sons are dead, I have no child, and on me steals old age in piteous wise, nor 'mongst the dead nor 'mongst the living do I count myself, having as it were a lot apart from these. Tears alone are left me; in my house sad memories of my son are stored; mournful tresses shorn from his head, chaplets that he wore, libations for the dead departed, and songs, but not such as golden-haired Apollo welcometh; and when I wake to weep,
(The corpses, followed by the CHILDREN of the slain chieftains, are carried off to the pyre which is kindled within the sight of the persons on the stage.)
CHORUS (singing)
strophe
No more a happy mother I, with children blest; no more I share, among Argive women, who have sons, their happy lot; nor any more will Artemis in the hour of travail kindly greet these childless mothers. Most dreary is my life, and like some wandering cloud drift before the howling blast.
antistrophe
The seven noblest sons in Argos once we had, we seven hapless mothers; but now my sons are dead, I have no child, and on me steals old age in piteous wise, nor 'mongst the dead nor 'mongst the living do I count myself, having as it were a lot apart from these. Tears alone are left me; in my house sad memories of my son are stored; mournful tresses shorn from his head, chaplets that he wore, libations for the dead departed, and songs, but not such as golden-haired Apollo welcometh; and when I wake to weep,