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Title: Erechtheus 
A Tragedy (New Edition) 
Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne 
Release Date: June 11, 2006 [EBook #18550] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
0. START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 
ERECHTHEUS *** 
Produced by Thierry Alberto, Taavi Kalju and the Online
Distributed 
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net 
ERECHTHEUS: 
A TRAGEDY. 
BY 
ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
[Greek: ô tai liparai kai iostephanoi kai aoidimoi,
Hellados ereisma, 
kleinai Athanai, daimonion ptoliethron.]
PIND. _Fr._ 47. 
[Greek: AT. tis de poimanôr epesti kapidespozei stratou? 
XO. outinos douloi keklê, tai phôtos oud' upêkooi.] 
ÆSCH. _Pers._ 241-2. 
_A NEW EDITION._ 
London:
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
1881. 
PERSONS. 
ERECHTHEUS.
CHORUS OF ATHENIAN ELDERS.
PRAXITHEA.
CHTHONIA.
HERALD OF EUMOLPUS.
MESSENGER.
ATHENIAN HERALD.
ATHENA. 
ERECHTHEUS. 
ERECHTHEUS. 
Mother of life and death and all men's days,
Earth, whom I chief of 
all men born would bless,
And call thee with more loving lips than 
theirs
Mother, for of this very body of thine
And living blood I have 
my breath and live,
Behold me, even thy son, me crowned of men,
Me made thy child by that strong cunning God
Who fashions fire and 
iron, who begat
Me for a sword and beacon-fire on thee,
Me 
fosterling of Pallas, in her shade 10 Reared, that I first might pay the 
nursing debt,
Hallowing her fame with flower of third-year feasts,
And first bow down the bridled strength of steeds
To lose the wild 
wont of their birth, and bear
Clasp of man's knees and steerage of his 
hand,
Or fourfold service of his fire-swift wheels
That whirl the 
four-yoked chariot; me the king
Who stand before thee naked now, 
and cry,
O holy and general mother of all men born,
But mother 
most and motherliest of mine, 20 Earth, for I ask thee rather of all the
Gods,
What have we done? what word mistimed or work
Hath 
winged the wild feet of this timeless curse
To fall as fire upon us? Lo, 
I stand
Here on this brow's crown of the city's head
That crowns its 
lovely body, till death's hour
Waste it; but now the dew of dawn and 
birth
Is fresh upon it from thy womb, and we
Behold it born how 
beauteous; one day more
I see the world's wheel of the circling sun 
30 Roll up rejoicing to regard on earth
This one thing goodliest, fair 
as heaven or he,
Worth a God's gaze or strife of Gods; but now
Would this day's ebb of their spent wave of strife
Sweep it to sea, 
wash it on wreck, and leave
A costless thing contemned; and in our 
stead,
Where these walls were and sounding streets of men,
Make 
wide a waste for tongueless water-herds
And spoil of ravening fishes; 
that no more
Should men say, Here was Athens. This shalt thou 40 
Sustain not, nor thy son endure to see,
Nor thou to live and look on; 
for the womb
Bare me not base that bare me miserable,
To hear this 
loud brood of the Thracian foam
Break its broad strength of 
billowy-beating war
Here, and upon it as a blast of death
Blowing, 
the keen wrath of a fire-souled king,
A strange growth grafted on our 
natural soil,
A root of Thrace in Eleusinian earth
Set for no comfort 
to the kindly land, 50 Son of the sea's lord and our first-born foe,
Eumolpus; nothing sweet in ears of thine
The music of his making, 
nor a song
Toward hopes of ours auspicious; for the note
Rings as 
for death oracular to thy sons
That goes before him on the sea-wind 
blown
Full of this charge laid on me, to put out
The brief light 
kindled of mine own child's life,
Or with this helmsman hand that 
steers the state
Run right on the under shoal and ridge of death 60 
The populous ship with all its fraughtage gone
And sails that were to 
take the wind of time
Rent, and the tackling that should hold out fast
In confluent surge of loud calamities
Broken, with spars of rudders 
and lost oars
That were to row toward harbour and find rest
In some 
most glorious haven of all the world
And else may never near it: such 
a song
The Gods have set his lips on fire withal
Who threatens now 
in all their names to bring 70 Ruin; but none of these, thou knowest,
have I
Chid with my tongue or cursed at heart for grief,
Knowing 
how the soul runs reinless on sheer death
Whose grief or joy takes 
part against the Gods.
And what they will is more than our desire,
And their desire is more than what we will.
For no man's will and no 
desire of man's
Shall stand as doth a God's will. Yet, O fair
Mother, 
that seest me how I cast no word
Against them, plead no reason, 
crave no cause, 80 Boast me not blameless, nor beweep    
    
		
	
	
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