Now tell me who thou art, that thou hast enter'd The seven-tow'r'd rampires of the Theban land. POL. My sire is Edipus the son of Laius;
Jocasta, daughter of Menaceus, bore me;
Thebes knows me by the name of Polynices. CHOR. O thou, whose high blood to Agenor's sons, My lords that led me hither, is allied,
Thus lowly at thy knees, O king, I fall,
Holding my country's custom. Art thou come,
After this length of absence art thou come
To thy paternal land!-What, ho! come forth
Thou venerable dame, open thy doors:
I call thee to thy son: dost thou not hear?
Why this delay to quit thy lofty mansion?
Haste, come, and in thy fond arms clasp thy son.
JOCASTA, POLYNICES, CHORUS.
Hearing, ye virgins, your Phoenician voice
Within the house, I hither drag my steps
Feeble with trembling age.-My son, my son,
After this length of time, this tedious absence,
Do I behold thy face? Ah! fold thine arms
Around me, clasp me to thy bosom, lean
Thy cheek 'gainst my fond cheek, and shade my breast
With the dark ringlets of thy clust'ring hair.
Can I believe I hold thee in my arms
Unlook'd for thus, so much beyond my hopes?
What shall I say to thee? How tell thee all?
To touch thee thus, to hear thy voice, is joy,
Is transport; and my throbbing heart once more
Feels its old raptures. O my son, my son,
Long hast thou left thy father's house forsaken,
Forced into exile by thy brother's fault.
Howhave thyfriends, and howhath Thebeswish'd for thee!
With many a mournful cry my hoary locks
For thee I clipt away, for thee threw off
My splendid robes, and chang'd them for these weeds,
This sable dress of grief. Within the house,
His eyes extinct, the poor old man still mourns
With many a tear, with many an ardent wish,
The discord of the brothers; and his grief
Swelling to madness arm'd his hand to strike
At his own life, bewailing his rash curses
Utter'd against his sons, with sighs and groans
In solitary darkness lies conceal'd.
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For thee, my son, the nuptial bed, I hear,
Rais'd in a foreign house, gives thee the joys
Of love, and fondly to a foreign stem
Allies thee: to a mother grievous this,
Grievous to high-born Laius, this disgrace
To be allied to strangers: nor did I
Light, as our country's rites require, the torch
T'attend thy nuptials, office well beseeming
An happy mother; his unconscious stream
Ismenus roll'd, and his delicious wave
Fill'd not the bridal bath: through silent Thebes
No voice of joy hail'd, as she pass'd along,
Thy ent'ring bride. Be these ill omens vain!
Whether the sword, or discord, or thy father
Be the sad cause, or Ate in the house
Of Edipus her horrid orgies holds.
On me with all their weight these sorrows fall. CHOR. Strong are the pangs of child-birth, yet each mother Glows with a warm affection to her children.
With confidence, though mix'd with some distrust,
I set my foot amongst my foes: such love
Our country claims perforce: whoe'er suggests
A different argument, may please himself
With empty words, but his sad heart is there.
Yet so far troubled thoughts arose, and fear
Lest treachery from my brother should attempt
My life, that as I pass'd I grasp'd my sword,
And each way roll'd mine eye; yet did the truce
Assure me, and thy faith, which hath induced me
To enter thus this fortress of my fathers.
The tears gush forth as after this long absence
I view these roofs, the altars of the gods,
The circus where my active youth first learn'd
Its martial exercise, and Dirce's stream;
From these unjustly exiled I seek refuge
'Midst strangers in a foreign state, whilst tears
Incessant dew my cheeks. But to my griefs
This grief is added, thus to see thy head
Shorn of its honour'd locks, these sable weeds,
The garb of mourning: Ah, my miseries!
When discord rages in the house of friends,
How dreadful, how implacable the strife!
But of my father tell me, whose sad age
Sits darkling in the house; of my two sisters
Tell me; unhappy, mourn they yet my exile?
Some vengeful god pours ruin on the race
Of Edipus, e'er since thy luckless birth,
And my unholy nuptials with thy father,
Who gave thee being. But of this no more:
Whate'er the gods ordain, 'tis ours to bear.
Much would I ask; but how? I fear t' offend
The feelings of thy mind, for thou art come
Indulging my fond wish.
Without reserve
Be thy enquiries; for to me thy will
Is ever dear.
This first then would I know;
Is exile from our country a great ill?
The greatest: more in deed than words can speak.
Whence this? What gives such harshness to the ill?
The greatest this, it curbs th' ingenuous tongue.
Who dares not speak his free thoughts is a slave.
The follies of the pow'rful must be borne.
To be unwise with the unwise is painful.
To interest he must bend, and be a slave.
But Hope, they say, supports the exile's soul.
Her looks are gracious, but her steps are slow.
Hath time discover'd that her smiles are false?
The sweetest, most attracting charms are in them.
Whence, e'er obtain'd by marriage, hadst thou food?
One day had its supplies, another not.
Thy father's friends, were they not courteous to thee?
In prosperous days friends swarm, in adverse vanish.
Did not thy noble birth to greatness raise thee?
To want is wretched; high birth fed me not.
Our country then must be most dear to us.
I have not pow'r of words to say how dear.
But what to Argos led thee? What thy view?
The oracle of Phoebus warn'd Adrastus,
What wou'dst thou say? Tell me: I have not heard it.
To wed his daughters to a Boar and Lion.
What semblance hadst thou of these savages?
I know not: by the gods call'd to this fortune.
The god is wise. But how obtain these nuptials?
'Twas night: I reach'd the portal of Adrastus.
In search of lodging, as a wand'ring exile?
E'en so and then another exile came.
Another, who? And was he wretched too?
Tydeus: whom fame reports the son of Eneus.
In what to Boar or Lion were ye like?
In contest fierce as theirs for space to lodge.
And did Adrastus think the oracle
And in marriage gave us
His daughters blooming in the charms of youth.
447. Statius relates this adventure with his usual spirit. Polynices, wandering in a dark and tempestuous night, at length beheld the lights gleaming from Larissa, the citadel of Argos: he hastens thither, and entering the vestibule of the palace, throws himself on the floor to repose his limbs, stiff with the rain and wind. It happened that Tydeus (then an exile from Calydon for the unhappy murder of his brother) was driven by the same storm to the same place for shelter: a quarrel immediately ensued between the two princes; they fought; till Adrastus, disturbed by their clamours, came forth with many torches, and put an end to the fray: he hospitably received them into his house, where observing that Polynices wore on his shoulders a lion's bide, as Tydeus was covered with the skin of the Caledonian boar, he concluded that the oracle was accomplished in their arrival ;
Cui Phoebus generos ævo ducente canebat
Setigerumque suem, et fulvum adventare leonem. Thebaid. 1. 1.
JOC. Art thou then happy in the nuptial state?
I never, to this day, had cause to blame it.
How hast thou wrought with all these troops in arms
T'attend thee hither?
To each son his faith
Adrastus pledg'd, to Tydeus and to me,
My bridal day was his, and with an oath
Confirm'd it, to replace us in our country,
Me first: hence many chiefs unite in arms
From Argos and Mycenæ, rendering me
A needful but a melancholy service.
That to these walls I lead my warring troops,
I call the gods to witness how reluctant
I lift my spear against my much-loved parents.
But now with thee it rests to end these ills,
To close again the broken links of love
'Twixt jarring brothers, to my toils give rest,
To thine, and to thy country's. Oft of old
Hath this been said, let me repeat the same,
"Rich havings win respect, and bring to men
"The greatest pow'r :" and therefore am I come
With many a ported spear: the noblest blood,
If chill'd with want, boasts its high fount in vain.
CHOR. See, to the mediation of this peace
Eteocles comes: be it thy care, Jocasta,
Well it becomes a mother, to speak words
Whose soothing charms may reconcile thy sons.
ETEOCLES, POLYNICES, JOCASTA,
CHORUS.
ETEO. Well, mother, I am here, this grace to thee
Conceding what is to be done? Some one
Begin the conference: for the walls around
My squadrons marshall'd and well harness'd cars,
I check them, till from thee I learn the terms
Of amity, for which thou hast receiv'd him
Within these walls, with leave from me obtain'd.
Restrain thy heat: the hasty spirit errs
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