Hippolytus/The Bacchae | Page 7

she swoops, no strength can stem Cypris; and if man yields him,

she is sweet; But is he proud and stubborn? From his feet She lifts him,
and--how think you?--flings to scorn! She ranges with the stars of eve
and morn, She wanders in the heaving of the sea, And all life lives from
her.--Aye, this is she That sows Love's seed and brings Love's fruit to
birth; And great Love's brethren are all we on earth! Nay, they who con
grey books of ancient days Or dwell among the Muses, tell--and
praise-- How Zeus himself once yearned for Semelê; How maiden Eôs
in her radiancy Swept Kephalos to heaven away, away, For sore love's
sake. And there they dwell, men say, And fear not, fret not; for a thing
too stern Hath met and crushed them! And must thou, then, turn And
struggle? Sprang there from thy father's blood Thy little soul a11 lonely?
Or the god That rules thee, is he other than our gods? Nay, yield thee to
men's ways, and kiss their rods! How many, deem'st thou, of men good
and wise Know their own home's blot, and avert their eyes? How many
fathers, when a son has strayed And toiled beneath the Cyprian, bring
him aid, Not chiding? And man's wisdom e'er hath been To keep what
is not good to see, unseen! A straight and perfect life is not for man;
Nay, in a shut house, let him, if he can, 'Mid sheltered rooms, make all
lines true. But here, Out in the wide sea fallen, and full of fear, Hopest
thou so easily to swim to land? Canst thou but set thine ill days on one
hand And more good days on the other, verily, O child of woman, life
is well with thee!
[_She pauses, and then draws nearer to_ PHAEDRA.]
Nay, dear my daughter, cease thine evil mind, Cease thy fierce pride!
For pride it is, and blind, To seek to outpass gods!--Love on and dare:
A god hath willed it! And, since pain is there, Make the pain sleep!
Songs are there to bring calm, And magic words. And I shall find the
balm, Be sure, to heal thee. Else in sore dismay Were men, could not
we women find our way!
LEADER OF THE CHORUS Help is there, Queen, in all this woman
says, To ease thy suffering. But 'tis thee I praise; Albeit that praise is
harder to thine ear Than all her chiding was, and bitterer!
PHAEDRA Oh, this it is hath flung to dogs and birds Men's lives and
homes and cities-fair false word! Oh, why speak things to please our

ears? We crave Not that. Tis honour, honour, we must save!
NURSE Why prate so proud! 'Tis no words, brave nor base Thou
cravest; 'tis a man's arms!
[PHAEDRA moves indignantly.]
Up and face The truth of what thou art, and name it straight! Were not
thy life thrown open here for Fate To beat on; hadst thou been a woman
pure Or wise or strong; never had I for lure Of joy nor heartache led
thee on to this! But when a whole life one great battle is, To win or
lose--no man can blame me then.
PHAEDRA Shame on thee! Lock those lips, and ne'er again Let word
nor thought so foul have harbour there!
NURSE Foul, if thou wilt: but better than the fair For thee and me. And
better, too, the deed Behind them, if it save thee in thy need, Than that
word Honour thou wilt die to win!
PHAEDRA Nay, in God's name,--such wisdom and such sin Are all
about thy lips!--urge me no more. For all the soul within me is wrought
o'er By Love; and if thou speak and speak, I may Be spent, and drift
where now I shrink away.
NURSE Well, if thou wilt!--'Twere best never to err, But, having erred,
to take a counsellor Is second.--Mark me now. I have within
love-philtres, to make peace where storm hath been, That, with no
shame, no scathe of mind, shall save Thy life from anguish; wilt but
thou be brave! [_To herself, rejecting_.] Ah, but from him, the
well-beloved, some sign We need, or word, or raiment's hem, to twine
Amid the charm, and one spell knit from twain.
PHAEDRA Is it a potion or a salve? Be plain.
NURSE Who knows? Seek to be helped, Child, not to know.
PHAEDRA Why art thou ever subtle? I dread thee, so.

NURSE Thou wouldst dread everything!--What dost thou dread?
PHAEDRA Least to his ear some word be whispered.
NURSE Let be, Child! I will make all well with thee! --Only do thou,
O Cyprian of the Sea, Be with me! And mine own heart, come what
may, Shall know what