Hippolytus/The Bacchae | Page 3

life is clean.
HUNTSMAN Clean? Nay, proud, proud; a mark for all to scan!
HIPPOLYTUS Each mind hath its own bent, for God or man.
HUNTSMAN God grant thee happiness ... and wiser thought!
HIPPOLYTUS These Spirits that reign in darkness like me not.
HUNTSMAN What the Gods ask, O Son, that man must pay!
HIPPOLYTUS (_turning from him to the others_). On, huntsmen, to
the Castle! Make your way Straight to the feast room; 'tis a merry thing
After the chase, a board of banqueting. And see the steeds be groomed,
and in array The chariot dight. I drive them forth to-day [_He pauses,
and makes a slight gesture of reverence to the Statue on the left. Then
to the_ OLD HUNTSMAN.] That for thy Cyprian, friend, and nought
beside! [HIPPOLYTUS _follows the huntsmen, who stream by the
central door in the Castle. The_ OLD HUNTSMAN remains.]
HUNTSMAN (_approaching the Statue and kneeling_) O Cyprian--for
a young man in his pride I will not follow!--here before thee, meek, In
that one language that a slave may speak, I pray thee; Oh, if some wild
heart in froth Of youth surges against thee, be not wroth For ever! Nay,
be far and hear not then: Gods should be gentler and more wise than
men! [He rises and follows the others into the Castle.]
_The Orchestra is empty for a moment, then there enter from right and
left several Trosenian women young and old. Their number eventually
amounts to fifteen._
CHORUS There riseth a rock-born river, Of Ocean's tribe, men say;
The crags of it gleam and quiver, And pitchers dip in the spray: A
woman was there with raiment white To bathe and spread in the warm
sunlight, And she told a tale to me there by the river The tale of the
Queen and her evil day:
How, ailing beyond allayment, Within she hath bowed her head, And
with shadow of silken raiment The bright brown hair bespread. For
three long days she hath lain forlorn, Her lips untainted of flesh or corn,
For that secret sorrow beyond allayment That steers to the far sad shore
of the dead.

Some Women Is this some Spirit, O child of man? Doth Hecat hold thee
perchance, or Pan? Doth she of the Mountains work her ban, Or the
dread Corybantes bind thee?
Others Nay, is it sin that upon thee lies, Sin of forgotten sacrifice, In
thine own Dictynna's sea-wild eyes? Who in Limna here can find thee;
For the Deep's dry floor is her easy way, And she moves in the salt wet
whirl of the spray.
Other Women Or doth the Lord of Erechtheus' race, Thy Theseus,
watch for a fairer face, For secret arms in a silent place, Far from thy
love or chiding?
Others Or hath there landed, amid the loud Hum of Piraeus'
sailor-crowd, Some Cretan venturer, weary-browed, Who bears to the
Queen some tiding; Some far home-grief, that hath bowed her low,
And chained her soul to a bed of woe?
An Older Woman Nay--know yet not?--this burden hath alway lain On
the devious being of woman; yea, burdens twain, The burden of Wild
Will and the burden of Pain. Through my heart once that wind of terror
sped; But I, in fear confessèd, Cried from the dark to Her in heavenly
bliss, The Helper of Pain, the Bow-Maid Artemis: Whose feet I praise
for ever, where they tread Far off among the blessèd!
THE LEADER But see, the Queen's grey nurse at the door, Sad-eyed
and sterner, methinks, than of yore With the Queen. Doth she lead her
hither To the wind and sun?--Ah, fain would I know What strange
betiding hath blanched that brow And made that young life wither. [The
NURSE comes out from the central door followed by_ PHAEDRA,
_who is supported by two handmaids. They make ready a couch for_
PHAEDRA to lie upon.]
NURSE O sick and sore are the days of men! What wouldst thou?
What shall I change again Here is the Sun for thee; here is the sky; And
thy weary pillows wind-swept lie, By the castle door. But the cloud of
thy brow is dark, I ween; And soon thou wilt back to thy bower within:
So swift to change is the path of thy feet, And near things hateful, and

far things sweet; So was it before!
Oh, pain were better than tending pain! For that were single, and this is
twain, With grief of heart and labour of limb. Yet all man's life is but
ailing and dim, And rest upon earth comes never. But if any far-off
state there be, Dearer than life to mortality; The hand of the Dark hath
hold thereof, And mist is under and mist above. And so we are