Instant the general voice aloud proclaimed
The kingdom his reward, who, by the gods
Inspired, should first unveil the mystery.
The aged and the wise, by hope misled,
With fruitless science braved the monster’s rage;
Vain knowledge all! all tried and trying fell,
Till Œdipus, the heir to Corinth’s throne,
Endowed with wisdom far above his years,
Fearless, and led by fortune, came, beheld,
Unfolded all, and took the great reward;
Lives still, and reigns o’er Thebes; but reigns, alas!
O’er dying subjects, and a desert land.
Vainly we hoped to see the wayward fates
Chained to his throne, and yielding to the hand
Of Œdipus, our great deliverer.
A little time the gods propitious smiled,
And blessed us with a gleam of transient peace;
But barrenness and famine soon destroyed
Our airy hopes: ills heaped on ills succeed,
A dreadful plague unpeoples half the realms
Of sickly Thebes, snatching the poor remains
Just escaped from famine and the grave: high heaven
Hath thus ordained, and such our hapless fate.
But say, illustrious hero, whom the gods
Have long approved, say, wherefore hast thou left
The paths of glory, and the smiles of fortune,
To seek the regions of affliction here?
philoctetes.
I come to join my sorrows and my tears,
For know the world with me hath lost its best
And noblest friend: ne’er shall these eyes behold
The offspring of the gods, like them unconquered,
Earth’s best support, the guardian deity
Of innocence oppressed: I mourn a friend,
The world a father.
dimas.
Is Alcides dead?
philoctetes.
These hands performed the melancholy office,
Laid on his funeral pile the first of men;
The all-conquering arrows, those dear dreadful gifts
The son of Jove bequeathed me, have I brought,
With his cold ashes, here, where I will raise
A tomb and altars to my valued friend.
O! had he lived! had but indulgent heaven,
In pity to mankind, prolonged his days,
Far from Jocaste I had still remained;
And, though I might have cherished still my vain
And hopeless passion, had not wandered here,
Or left Alcides for a woman’s love.
dimas.
Oft have I pitied thy unhappy flame,
Caught in thy earliest youth, increasing still
And growing with thy growth: Jocaste, forced
By a hard father to a hateful bed,
Unwillingly partook the throne of Laius.
Alas! what tears those fatal nuptials cost,
What sorrows have they brought on wretched Thebes!
How have I oft admired thy noble soul,
Worthy of empire! conqueror o’er thyself:
There first the hero shone, repressed his passion,
And the first tyrant he subdued was love.
philoctetes.
There we must fly to conquer; I confess it:
Long time I strove, I felt my weakness long;
At length resolved to shun the fatal place,
I took a last farewell of my Jocaste.
The world then trembled at Alcides’ name,
And on his valor did suspend their fate;
I joined the god-like man, partook his toils,
Marched by his side, and twined his laurel wreath
Round my own brows: then my enlightened soul
Against the passions armed, and rose superior.
A great man’s friendship is the gift of heaven.
In him I read my duty and my fate;
I bound myself to virtue and to him:
My valor strengthened, and my heart improved,
Not hardened, I became like my Alcides.
What had I been without him! a king’s son,
A common prince, the slave of every passion,
Which Hercules hath taught me to subdue.
dimas.
Now then unmoved thou canst behold Jocaste,
And her new husband.
philoctetes.
Ha! another husband!
Saidst thou, another?
dimas.
Œdipus hath joined
To hers his future fate
philoctetes.
He is too happy;
But he is worthy: he who saved a kingdom
Alone can merit her, and heaven is just.
dimas.
He comes, and with him his assembled people;
Lo! the high-priest attends: this way they bend,
To deprecate the wrath of angry heaven.
philoctetes.
It melts my soul; I weep for their misfortunes.
O Hercules, from thy eternal seat
Look down on thy afflicted country! hear
Thy fellow citizens! O hear thy friend,
Who joins his prayers, and be their guardian god!
SCENE II.
high priest, chorus.
first person of the chorus.
Ye blasting powers, who waste this wretched empire,
And breathe contagion, death, and horrors round us,
O quicken your slow wrath, be kind at last,
And urge our lingering fate.
second person of the chorus.
Strike, strike, ye gods,
Your victims are prepared; ye mountains, fall!
Crush us, ye heavens! O death, deliver us,
And we shall thank you for the boon.
high priest.
No more:
Cease your loud plaints, the wretch’s poor resource;