Thyestes: Act I

The Ghost of Tantalus: Who from th' accurséd regions of the dead,Hath haled me forth, where greedily I striveTo snatch the food that ever doth escapeMy hungry lips? Who now to TantalusDoth show those heavenly seats which once beforeI saw to my undoing? Can it beThat some more fearful suffering than thirstIn sight of water, worse than gaping want,Hath been devised? Must I the slippery stoneOf Sisyphus upon my shoulders bear?Must I be stretched upon the whirling wheel,Or suffer Tityus' pangs, who, lying proneWithin a huge recess, the grewsome birdsDoth with his quivering, torn-out vitals feed?By night renewing what the day hath lost,He lies, an undiminished feast for all.For what new evil am I now reserved?O thou grim judge of shades, who'er thou artWho to the dead doth mete new punishments!If thou canst still some suffering deviseWhereat grim Cerberus himself would quake,And gloomy Acheron be seized with fear,At whose dread sight e'en I would tremble sore:Seek such a punishment; for from my seedIs sprung a race which shall their house outvieIn sin, shall make me innocent appear,And dare to do what I have never dared.Whatever space within the impious realmsRemains unoccupied, my house shall fill.While lives the race of Pelops on the earth,No rest shall Minos know.

The Fury: Thou curséd shade,Be gone, and to the verge of madness driveThine impious house. Be drawn the deadly swordTo every crime upraised, by every hand;Of angry passions let there be no end,No shame of strife; let blinded fury's stingPrick on their souls; seared by the breath of rageMay parents' hearts grow hard, and endless crimeTo childrens' children drag its impious trail.No time be given to hate their former crimes;But let the new in quick succession rise,Not one alone in each; and may their crimes,E'en while they suffer punishment, increase.Let the throne fall from the haughty brothers' grasp,And call them back from exiled wanderings.Let the tottering fortune of this bloody house,Amid its changing kings in ruins fall.Bring him of high estate to wretchedness,The wretched raise; and let the kingdom tossUpon the seething tide of circumstance.By crime driven out, when God shall bring them home,May they return but to still other crimes,And by all men as by themselves be loathed.Let nothing be which wrath deems unallowed:Let brother brother fear, and parent child;Let son fear father; let the children dieAn evil death--by doubly evil birthBe born. Let wives against their husbands liftTheir murderous hands. Let wars pass over seas,And every land be drenched with streams of blood.Triumphant o'er the mighty kings of earth,Let Lust exult; and in thy sinful house,Let vile, incestuous deeds seem trivial.Let justice, faith, fraternal amityBe trampled underfoot; and of our sinsLet not the heavens themselves escape the taint.Why gleam the constellations in the sky,And flash their wonted glories to the world?Be pitchy black the night, and let the dayFall fainting from the heavens and be no more.Embroil thy household gods, rouse murderous hate,And all the palace fill with Tantalus.Adorn the lofty columns; let the doors,With verdant laural decked, proclaim their joy;Let torches gleam in celebration meetOf thy return--then let the Thracian crimeBe done again, but triply hideous.Why stays the uncle's hand in idleness?Not yet Thyestes weeps his murdered sons.When will he act? The kettles o'er the firesShould even now be boiling, severed limbsBe broken up, the father's hearth be stainedWith children's blood, the festal tables spread.But at no untried carnival of crimeWilt thou sit down as guest. This day be free,And sate thy hunger at that festal board;Go eat thy fill, and drink the blood and wineCommingled in thy sight. A banquet this,Which thou thyself wouldst look in horror on.--But stay thee. Whither dost thou rush away?

Tantalus: Back to my pools and streams and ebbing waves,Back to that tree whose ever-mocking fruitEludes my lips. Oh, let me seek againThe gloomy couch of my old prison-house;And if too little wretched I appear,Bid me my river change. Within thy stream,O Phlegethon, hemmed round with waves of fire,Let me be left to suffer.Ye, whoe'erBy fate's decrees are doomed to punishment,Whoe'er thou art who 'neath the hollowed caveDost lie, in constant fear lest even nowThe cavern's mass shall fall upon thy head;Whoever fears the gaping, greedy jawsOf lions, and in helpless horror looksUpon the advancing furies' cruel lines;Whoe'er, half burned, their threat'ning torches shuns:Oh, listen to the voice of TantalusFast speeding to your realm; believe the wordsOf one who knows, and love your punishment.But now--Oh, when shall it be mine to fleeThis upper world?

The Fury: First must thou plunge thy houseIn dire disorders, stir up deadly feuds,Awake the kings to evil lust for blood,And rouse to wild amaze their maddened hearts.

Tantalus: 'Tis fit that I should suffer, not bestow,The punishment. But thou wouldst have me go,Like deadly vapor from the riven earth,Or like the plague amongst the people spread,And lead my grandsons into crime most foul.O mighty sire of gods, my sire as well,Although 'tis shame to thee to own me son,Though cruel tortures seize my tattling tongue,I will not hold my peace:I warn ye all,Stain not your kindred hands with sacred blood,And with no madman's gifts pollute the shrines.Lo, here I stand, and shall avert the deed.Why dost thou fright me with thy brandished scourge,And shake thy writhing serpents in my face?Why in mine inmost marrow dost thou rouseThese gnawing hunger pangs? My very heartIs parched with burning thirst, and leaping flamesDart scorching through my vitals--Oh, desist;I yield me to thy will.

The Fury: Then fix this thirst,This maddening thirst in all thy kindred here;So, e'en as thou, may they be driven onTo quench their thirst each in the others' blood.But lo, thy house perceives thy near approach,And shrinks in horror from thy loathsome touch.But now enough. Do thou go back againTo thine infernal caves and 'customed stream;For here the sad earth groans beneath thy feet.Dost thou not see how, driven far within,The waters flee their springs? how river banksAre empty, and the fiery wind drives onThe scattered clouds? The trees grow sickly pale,Their branches hang denuded of their fruits;And where but late the Isthmus echoed backThe loud resounding waters near at hand,Their neighboring waves by but a narrow spanDividing, now have all the waves withdrawnFar seaward, and their voice is faintly heardUpon the shore. Now Lerna backward shrinks,The streams of Inachus have hidden away,The sacred Alpheus sends his waters forthNo longer, and Cithaeron lifts no moreIts hoary head, for all its snows are gone;While they who dwell in noble Argos fearTheir ancient thirst again. E'en Titan's selfStands doubtful whether he shall bid his steedsRun their accustomed course and bring the day,Foredoomed by thee to perish on the way.

Chorus: If any god for Argos cares,And Pisa's realm for chariots famed;If any loves the Isthmian stateOf Corinth, with its double ports,And two opposing seas;If any joys in the far-seen snowsOf Mount Taygetus, which lieHeaped on his loftiest peaks what timeThe wintry blasts of Boreas blow,But which the summer melts againWhen breathe the soft Etesian winds,Sail filling; if the Alpheus brightWith its cool, clear stream moves any god,Far famed for its Olympic course--Let him his peaceful godhead turnTo our affairs; let him avertThis dread inheritance of crime;Forbid that in his grandsire's stepsThe grandson follow, worse than he;And let not worse monstrositiesPlease generations yet to be.Oh, may at last the impious raceOf thirsty Tantalus give o'erIn utter weariness its lustFor savage deeds. Enough of sin!No longer does the right prevail,And wrong is general. Behold,As Myrtilus his lord betrayed,He, too, was treacherously slain;For by that selfsame broken faithWhich he had shown, himself o'ercome,He fell into the sea and changedIts name for his. Amidst the shipsThat sail the Ionian sea, no taleIs better known.See now, while runs the little sonTo meet his father's kiss, he fallsBy that accurséd sword transfixed,Untimely victim at thy hearth,And carved, O Tantalus, by thee,That so thou mightest grace the boardOf friendly gods. That impious feastEternal hunger, endless thirstRewarded; penalty more fitFor such a crime could not be found.See where, with gaping throat, forespent,Stands Tantalus; above his headHang many luscious fruits; but, swiftAs Phineus' birds, they flee his grasp;On every side the tree droops low,With heavy-laden boughs, o'erweighedBy its own fruit, and mockinglySways to his straining lips. Yet he,Though with impatient longing filled,As often mocked, so often failsTo grasp the prize; he turns awayHis longing gaze, strains close his lips,And grimly bars his hunger fastBehind his teeth. But still againThe whole grove lets its riches down,And flaunts them in his face, soft fruitsOn drooping boughs, and whets once moreHis hunger, bidding stretch againHis hands--but all in vain. For now,When it has lured him on to hope,And mocked its fill, the boughs recede,And the whole ripe harvest of the woodIs snatched far out of reach.Then comes a raging thirst more fierceThan hunger, which inflames his blood,And with its parching fires burns upIts moisture. There the poor wretch stands,Striving to quaff the nearby waves;But the fleeing waters whirl away,And leave but the empty bed to himWho seeks to follow. Quick he quaffsAt that swift stream, but to drink--the dust.