Hercules Furens: Act I

Juno [in soliloquy]: Lo I, the sister of the Thunderer(For, save this name alone, I've nothing more),Have left my lord, so often false to me,Have left, in widowhood, the realms of heaven,And, banished from the sky, have given placeUnto my hated rivals. Now must earthBe my abode, while they in heaven reign.Behold, the Bear, far in the frozen north,Is set on high to guide the Argive ships;Behold, in southern skies, where days grow longBeneath the warmth of spring, the Bull shines bright,Who once the Tyrian Europa bore.There gleam the wandering Atlantides,A fearful band for ships and sea alike;And yonder fierce Orion with his swordThe very gods affrights; his stars, as well,The golden Perseus boasts; while Leda's sonsWith shining banners glitter in the sky;And they, Latona's children, for whose birthThe floating land stood firm. And not aloneHave Bacchus and his mother gained the heavens;But, that the infamy may be complete,The skies must needs the Cretan maiden's crownEndure. But these are ancient wrongs I tell:One wild and baneful land alone is fullOf shameless mistresses--the Theban land,Which all too oft has me a stepdame made.And though Alcmena scale the heights of heaven,And hold my place, victorious over me;And though her son his promised star obtain(Whose hateful getting cost the world a day,Since Phoebus, bidden to hold his shining carIn Ocean hid, with tardy light shone forthFrom eastern seas): still ever in my heartShall hate relentless dwell. Undying wrathMy outraged soul shall kindle; and my grief,All hope of truce denying, endless warsShall fiercely wage. But what avail my wars?Whatever savage things the hurtful earth,The sea or air produce, terrific shapes,Fierce, pestilential, horrible, and dire,The power of all is broken and subdued.Alcides towers above and thrives on woe;My wrath is his delight, and to his praiseHe turns my deadly hate. While I, too stern,Impose his dreadful tasks, I do but proveHis origin, and opportunityFor glorious achievement render him.Where Phoebus with his neighboring torch illumesThe east and western shores of Aethiop's land,Alcides' dauntless courage is adored;While all the world considers him a god.And now have I no monsters more to send;And less his toil to do the tasks I bid,Than mine to set them. Joyfully he hearsMy several commands. But what dire tasksThe tyrant may conceive can harm that youthImpetuous? His very arms, forsooth,Are torn from monsters which he feared--and slew;With spoils of lion and of hydra armed,He walks abroad. Nor are the lands of earthEnough for him: behold, the doors of DisAre burst, and to the upper world he bringsThe booty taken from the vanquished king.'Tis not enough that he returns alive:The law that binds the shades is set at naught.Myself I saw him, when he had o'ercomeThe king of hades and escaped the nightOf that deep underworld, display to JoveThe spoils of Dis. But why does he not lead,Oppressed and overcome, the king himselfWho gained by lot an equal realm with Jove?Why rules he not in conquered Erebus?Why bares he not the Styx? His upward wayFrom deepest hell to earth he has retraced,And all the sacred mysteries of deathLie open to the world. Not yet content,And proud that he has burst the bars of night,He triumphs over me, and, insolent,He leads through all the cities of the landThat gruesome dog of hell. I saw, myself,The daylight pale at sight of Cerberus,The sun start in affright. Nay, even IWas struck with terror; and, as I beheldThat triple-headed beast in bondage led,I trembled at the thought that 'twas my will.But all too trivial ills do I lament;My fears must be aroused for heaven itself,Lest he who overcame the lowest depthsShould scale the very skies, and from his sireHis scepter snatch away. Nor to the starsWill he, like Bacchus, by an easy pathAscend; through ruin would he make his way,And wish to rule an empty universe.He is inflamed with pride of tested strength;But he has learned by bearing up the heavens,That by his power the heavens can be subdued.Upon his head he bore the universe,Nor did his shoulders bend beneath the weightOf that stupendous mass; the vault of heavenUpon his neck was poised, and steadilyHe bore the expanse of sky, the shining stars;And even me, down pressing, he endured.He seeks a place among the immortal gods.Then up, arouse thee to destructive wrath,Destroy him meditating plans so great.Meet him in single strife; with thine own handsAsunder rend him. Why thy mighty hateDost thou consign to others to appease?Enough of monsters; let Eurystheus rest,All weary with imposing thy commands.Though thou shouldst open wide Sicilia's vaults,And free the Titans who essayed to wrenchThe scepter from the hand of mighty Jove;Though the Doric isle, which trembles with affrightWhene'er the heaving giant turns himself,Should ease her weight upon the monster's head;Though in the moon another race of beastsShould be conceived: yet all of these, I knowAlcides conquered and will conquer still.Seek'st thou his match? There is none save himself.Then set him on to war against himself;Let furies from the lowest depths of hellBe roused and come to aid, their flaming locksAglow with maddening fire, their savage handsThe horrid snaky scourges brandishing.Go now, thou proud one, seek the seats of heaven,And scorn the lot of men. And dost thou think,O hero brave, that thou hast fled the StyxAnd gloomy shades? Here will I show thee hell;Here will I summon up the goddess direOf Discord, deep in darkness thick confinedFar down below the abode of guilty souls.A cavern huge within a mountain's holdIs her dark prison. Her will I call forth,And from the deepest realms of Dis bring upWhate'er thou hast escaped: base Crime shall come;Impiety that fiercely stains its handsIn kindred blood; the shape of Error, too,And Fury ever armed against itself.This, this assistance shall my grief employ.Come then, ye ever-faithful slaves of Dis,Begin your task. Shake high the blazing torch;And let Megaera lead her dreadful bandOf sisters viperous. With deadly handLet her from off the blazing funeral pyreA burning brand snatch up. Now to your task;Thus seek revenge for violated Styx:Distract his heart with madness; let his soulMore fiercely burn than that hot fire which glowsOn Aetna's forge. But first, that HerculesMay be to madness driven, smitten throughWith mighty passion, I must be insane.Why rav'st thou not, O Juno? Me, Oh, me,Ye sisters, first of sanity deprive,That something worthy of a stepdame's wrathI may prepare. Let all my hate be changedTo favor. Now I pray that he may comeTo earth again, and see his sons unharmed;May he return with all his old-time strength.Now have I found a day when HerculesMay help me with his strength that I deplore.Now let him equally o'ercome himselfAnd me; and let him, late escaped from death,Desire to die. Now let it profit meThat he is born of Jove. I'll stand by himAnd nicely poise his hand, that so his dartsMay with more deadly aim be hurled. I'll guideThe madman's arms. And so at last I helpAlcides in his wars. The crime complete,Then let his father to the heavens admitThose guilty hands. Now must the attack begin.The day is breaking, and with saffron lightThe rising sun dispels the gloom of night.

Chorus: Now scattered and with paling lightThe stars gleam in the sinking west;Now vanquished night collects her fires,Whose shining band at the day's returnThe star of morning drives away.High up in the frozen northern sky,The Arcadian Bears with their seven-fold stars,Their course completed, hail the dawn.Now borne along by his azure steedsThe sun looks forth from Oeta's ridge;With whose light suffused, the clustering grapesIn the vineyards to Theban Bacchus dearFlush rosy red. The waning moonFades out of sight, to return again.Hard Toil awakens, at whose knockThe doors of men are opened wide,And daily cares resumed.The shepherd sends his flock afield,And plucks, himself, the tender grassStill sparkling with the frosty rime.The young bull sports among the fieldsAt liberty; the dams refillTheir empty udders; sportive kidsLeap lightly o'er the tender grassIn aimless course. On the topmost branchThe Thracian Philomela singsHer strident song, and near her nestOf chattering young she spreads her wingsTo the morning sun; while all aroundThe throng of birds with united songsAnnounce the day.The daring sailor spreads his sailsTo the freshening wind, as the breezes fillTheir flapping folds. From wave-worn rocksThe fisher leans and baits anewHis cunning hook; he feels his lineA-tremble with the struggling fish,Or weighs his prize with practiced handAnd eager eye.Such are the joys of him who livesIn tranquil and unworried peace;Whose pleasure is a humble house,His own, though small; whose simple hopesAre in the open fields.But worried hopes in cities dwell,And trembling fears. There some would hauntThe rich man's haughty vestibules,Wait at their proud, unfeeling doors,Forego their sleep. Some heap up wealth,Though blest with boundless wealth, and gazeIn admiration at their heaps;And yet, with all their gold, are poor.Some strain for the applause of men,The vulgar throng, whose fickle willIs shifting as the sea, and swellWith empty pride. The noisy martStill others claim, who meanly dealIn quarrelsome suits, and profit makeOf wrath and empty words.Few know untroubled peace, the menWho, heeding time's swift flight, hold fastThe years that never will return.While fate permits, live happily;For life runs on with rapid pace,And with headlong speed the year's swift wheelWith winged hours is turned.The cruel sisters urge their task,Nor backward turn the threads of life.But the race of men is hurried onTo meet the quick approaching fates,Uncertain of their own.Of our own will we haste to crossThe Stygian waves. Thou, Hercules,With heart too brave, before thy timeDidst see the grieving shades. The fatesIn pre-established order come;And none may stay when they command,None may put off the appointed day.The swiftly whirling urn of fateContains all mortal men.Let glory then to many landsProclaim some names, and chattering fameThrough every city sing their praise,And raise them to the stars. SublimeIn triumph let another ride.Me let my native land concealWithin a safe and humble home.'Tis unambitious souls who comeTo hoary-headed age at last.If humble, still the lot is sureOf lowly homes. Souls lifted high,For this to greater depths must fall.But see, sad Megara comes with flowing hair,Her little children closely pressing round;And with her, with the tardy step of age,The sire of Hercules, Amphitryon.