And to his mother horrible! deprived
Of burial, let his body be the prey
Of hungry vultures!
high priest.
In these execrations
We all unite.
œdipus.
Gods! let the guilty suffer,
And they alone! or if the high decrees
Of your eternal justice leave to me
His punishment, at least indulgent grant,
Where you command, the power to obey;
If you pursue the guilty, O complete
The glorious work, and make the victim known!
[To the people.
Return, my people, to the temple; there
Once more entreat the gods: perhaps your prayers
May from their heavenly mansions draw them down
To dwell among us: if they loved the king,
They will avenge his death, and kind to him
Who errs unknowing, will direct this arm
For justice raised, and teach me where to strike.
The End of the First Act.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
jocaste, ægina, araspes, chorus.
araspes.
Believe me, ’tis too true, my royal mistress,
Your dying people, with one common voice,
Accuse the hapless Philoctetes: fate
Hath sent him back to save this wretched kingdom.
jocaste.
What do I hear, ye powers?
ægina.
’Tis wonderful.
jocaste.
Who? Philoctetes?
araspes.
Yes, it must be he:
To whom can we impute it but to him?
When last at Thebes, he seemed to meditate
A deed like this; for much he hated Laius:
From Œdipus his traitorous purpose scarce
Could he conceal; for soon unwary youth
Betrays itself: soon through the thin disguise
Of ill dissembled loyalty, we saw
The rancor of his heart. I know not what
Provoked him, but too warm and open, ever
The slave of passion, he would kindle oft
At the king’s name, and often pour forth threats
Of vengeance: for some time he left the kingdom,
But fate soon brought the restless wanderer back;
And at that fatal time, which heaven distinguished
By the detested shocking parricide,
He was at Thebes: e’er since that dreadful hour,
Suspicion justly falls on Philoctetes:
But the high name which he had gained in war,
His boasted title of earth’s great avenger,
And his heroic deeds, have stopped the tongue
Of clamor, and suspended yet the stroke
Of our resentment. Now the time is come
When Thebes shall think no more of vain respect;
His glory and his conquests plead no more;
The hearts of an oppressed people groan;
The gods require his blood, and must be heard.
chorus.
O queen! have pity on a wretched people,
Who love and honor thee, revere the gods,
And follow their example; yield up to us
Their victim, and present our vows to heaven;
For heaven will hear them, if they come from thee.
jocaste.
O! if my life can mitigate its wrath,
I give it freely; take the sacrifice;
Accept my blood; but O! demand no more.
Thebans, be gone.
SCENE II.
jocaste, ægina.
ægina.
How I lament thy fate!
jocaste.
Alas! I envy those whom death has freed
From all their cares: but what remains for me,
What pain and torment to a virtuous heart!
ægina.
’Tis terrible indeed: the clamorous people,
Warmed with false zeal, will cry aloud for vengeance,
And soon demand their victim. I forbear
To accuse him; but if he at last should prove
The murderer of thy unhappy lord,
How it must shock thy soul!
jocaste.
Impossible!
Such guilt and baseness never dwelt in him.
O my Ægina! since our bonds of love
Were disunited, naught has pierced my heart
Like this suspicion: this alone was wanting
To make Jocaste most completely wretched:
But I’ll not bear to hear him thus accused;
I loved him, and he must be innocent.
ægina.
That constant love—
jocaste.
Nay, think not that my heart
Still nourishes a guilty passion for him;
I conquered that long since; yet, dear Ægina,
Howe’er the soul may act which virtue guides,
Its secret motions, nature’s children, still
Must force their way: they will not be subdued,
But in the folds and windings of the heart,
Lurk still, and rush upon us; hid in fires
We thought extinguished, from their ashes rise:
In the hard conflict, rigid virtue may
Resist the passions, but can ne’er destroy them.
ægina.
How just, and yet how noble is thy grief!
Such sentiments!—
jocaste.
Jocaste is most wretched;
Thou knowest my miseries, and thou knowest