Kommos

(The stage is empty; then ADMETUS and the CHORUS return.)

ADMETUS.Alas!Bitter the homeward way,Bitter to seekA widowed house; ah me,Where should I fly or stay,Be dumb or speak?Would I could cease to be!

Despair, despair!My mother bore me under an evil star.I envy them that are perished; my heart is there.It dwells in the Sunless Houses, afar, afar.

I take no joy in looking upon the light;No joy in the feel of the earth beneath my tread.The Slayer hath taken his hostage; the Lord of the DeadHoldeth me sworn to taste no more delight.

(He throws himself on the ground in despair.)

CHORUS.(Each member of the CHORUS speaks his line severally, as he passes ADMETUS, who is heard sobbing at the end of each line.)

--Advance, advance;Till the house shall give thee cover.--Thou hast borne heavy thingsAnd meet for lamentation.--Thou hast passed, hast passed,Thro' the deepest of the River.--Yet no help comesTo the sad and silent nation.--And the face of thy belovèd, it shall meet thee never, never!

ADMETUS.Ye wrench my wounds asunder. WhereIs grief like mine, whose wife is dead?My wife, whom would I ne'er had wed,Nor loved, nor held my house with her....

Blessed are they who dare to dwellUnloved of woman! 'Tis but oneHeart that they bleed with, and aloneCan bear their one life's burden well.

No young shall wither at their side,No bridal room be swept by death....Aye, better man should draw his breathFor ever without child or bride.

CHORUS (as before).--'Tis Fate, 'tis Fate:She is strong and none shall break her.--No end, no end,Wilt thou lay to lamentations?--Endure and be still:Thy lamenting will not wake her.--There be many before thee,Who have suffered and had patience.--Though the face of Sorrow changeth, yet her hand is on all nations.

ADMETUS.The garb of tears, the mourner's cry:Then the long ache when tears are past!...Oh, why didst hinder me to castThis body to the dust and dieWith her, the faithful and the brave?Then not one lonely soul had fled,But two great lovers, proudly dead,Through the deep waters of the grave.

LEADER.A friend I knew,In whose house died a son,Worthy of bitter rue,His only one.His head sank, yet he bareStilly his weight of care,Though grey was in his hairAnd life nigh done.

ADMETUS.Ye shapes that front me, wall and gate,How shall I enter in and dwellAmong ye, with all Fortune's spellDischanted? Aye, the change is great.

That day I strode with bridal songThrough lifted brands of Pelian pine;A hand belovèd lay in mine;And loud behind a revelling throng

Exalted me and her, the dead.They called us young, high-hearted; toldHow princes were our sires of old,And how we loved and we must wed....

For those high songs, lo, men that moan,And raiment black where once was white;Who guide me homeward in the night,On that waste bed to lie alone.

SECOND ELDER.It breaks, like strife,Thy long peace, where no painHad entered; yet is life,Sweet life, not slain.A wife dead; a dear chairEmpty: is that so rare?Men live without despairWhose loves are ta'en.

ADMETUS (erect and facing them).Behold, I count my wife's fate happier,Though all gainsay me, than mine own. To herComes no more pain for ever; she hath restAnd peace from all toil, and her name is blest.But I am one who hath no right to stayAlive on earth; one that hath lost his wayIn fate, and strays in dreams of life long past....Friends, I have learned my lesson at the last.I have my life. Here stands my house. But nowHow dare I enter in? Or, entered, howGo forth again? Go forth, when none is thereTo give me a parting word, and I to her?...Where shall I turn for refuge? There within,The desert that remains where she hath beenWill drive me forth, the bed, the empty seatShe sat in; nay, the floor beneath my feetUnswept, the children crying at my kneeFor mother; and the very thralls will beIn sobs for the dear mistress that is lost.That is my home! If I go forth, a hostOf feasts and bridal dances, gatherings gayOf women, will be there to fright me awayTo loneliness. Mine eyes will never bearThe sight. They were her friends; they played with her.And always, always, men who hate my nameWill murmur: "This is he who lives in shameBecause he dared not die! He gave insteadThe woman whom he loved, and so is fledFrom death. He counts himself a man withal!And seeing his parents died not at his callHe hates them, when himself he dared not die!"Such mocking beside all my pain shall IEndure.... What profit was it to live on,Friend, with my grief kept and mine honour gone?