And in Athens, famed in story,
Rich in splendour, wealth, and glory.
Such a theme thy death supplies
For the minstrel's melodies.

Would that it did on me depend
That thou should'st to the light ascend!
From the realm of Dis supreme,
Where Cocytus rolls his stream,
From the land of shadows black
Would that I could waft thee back,
Bring thee up to earth again
By the river Subterrane!
Thou, of women thou alone,
For thy husband's life thine own
Didst to Hades freely give,
Dying that thy spouse might live.
Lightly lie the earth o'er thee!
If with other ever he

Link in love, his children's hate
And our scorn upon him wait.

His mother was not willing found
To hide her body under ground,
Was not willing, tho' she bore him,
To the grave to go before him;
Nor did his old father dare,
When they both had hoary hair,
Neither of them dared to go,
As his substitute, below.

But thou didst-and in the hour

Of thy youth's fresh-breathing flower,
Ere life's loveliest hues had fled,
Dying in thy husband's stead.
Oh, with such mate may I pair-
But such lot in life is rare-
For 'tis certain such a wife
Would ne'er cause a pain in life.

HERCULES enters.

Her. Phereans, is Admetus now at home? Chor. He is within; but tell us, Hercules, What brings you to this part of Thessaly? Her. Eurystheus has appointed me a task.

Chor. Where must you travel, and for what exploit ? Her. To Thrace, and for the steeds of Diomede. Chor. How can you do this? do you know the man? Her. No! I was ne'er in the Bistonian land.

Chor. Those steeds cannot be won without a battle.
Her. And I cannot renounce this enterprise.
Chor. You must slay some one ere you can return,
Or else remain there being slain yourself.

Her. 'Tis not my first adventure.
Chor.

If you are victor over Diomede ?

What remains,

Her. To take the steeds to the Tirynthian king.
Chor. It is no easy thing to bridle them.

Her. Except they from their nostrils breathe out fire.
Chor. But they devour men with their ravenous jaws.
Her. So feed, not horses, but the mountain beasts.
Chor. You'll see their stalls defiled with human gore.
Her. Whom does their trainer boast of as his sire?

Chor. The King of Thracian shields, enrich'd with gold, Calls Mars his sire.

Thus does fate deal with me,

Her.
Still tasking me with arduous enterprise;
If I must with the sons of Mars contend,
First with Lycaon, and with Cycnus next,
Now with a third, this king and his fierce steeds.
But none shall ever see Alcmena's son

Shrink from encounter with a hostile hand.
Chor. And, lo! Admetus from the palace comes.

ADMETUS enters.

Adm. Hail, son of Zeus, prince of the blood of Perseus!
Her. Admetus, prince of the Thessalians, hail!

Adm. Would that your " hail" was suited to my state,
For your good will toward me well I know.

Her. Why are your locks in sign of mourning shorn?
Adm. To-day I have to bury somebody.

Her. 'Tis not one of your children? Heaven forbid !
Adm. My children are within, alive and well.
Her. If 'tis thy father, he went full of years.
Adm. My father and my mother are alive.
Her. It cannot be Alcestis that is dead?
Adm. Of her I have to speak a twofold tale.
Her. Speak you of her as living, or as dead?
Adm. She is and is not; but she is my grief.
Her. I am no wiser, for you speak in riddles.
Adm. Do you not know the doom imposed on her?
Her. I know she undertook to die for you.
Adm. How is she living then if bound to this?
Her. Weep not beforehand; wait until the event.
Adm. One just about to die is dead already,
And one that's dead no longer is in being.

Her. To be, and not to be, are different things.
Adm. You judge in one way-in another I.

Her. But wherefore are you weeping? Who is dead?
Adm. A woman :-we were speaking of a woman.
Her. One of thy blood, or of no kin to thee?
Adm. Not of my blood, but to my house most dear.
Her. And did she in thy house depart this life?
Adm. Her father being dead, she lived with us.
Her. Oh, that you were not mourning!
Adm.

With what aim

Adm. That must not be; let not such ill occur.
Her. A guest is grievous to a house in grief.

Adm. The dead are dead: come, go within at once.
Her. To feast with mourners is a shameful thing.
Adm. The guest-rooms are apart.

Her.

I'll owe you thousand thanks.

Adm.

Elsewhere you must not go

Nay! let me go,

It must not be ;

lead on, and throw (to an Attendant)

The guest-rooms open; bid the purveyor
Provide fit entertainment for my guest;
Shut to the doors of the mid-hall, lest groans
(It were not well) should reach the feaster's ears,
And with unwelcome grief mar his content.

[HERCULES goes into the Palace.

Chor. What means this? When so great mischance has fallen,

Is it a season for receiving guests?

Adm. Had I driven from my house a new-come guest, Would you have praised me?

My grief, but rather hospitality;

No! I had not lost

And such impeachment of my house had been
Another added to my present ills.

Besides, when I to thirsty Argos go,

Then this my guest is my most worthy host.

Chor. Why did you then from such a friend conceal Your present trouble?

Adm.

Had he known my grief,
He never would have gone within my doors.
Yet will he think I was not wise in this-
He'll not like it; but my roof knows not how
To turn away and to dishonour guests.

[He goes into the Palace.

Chor. House! where a liberal spirit is dwelling,
In hospitable grace excelling,

Under thy roof the bright Apollo,
The master of the golden lyre,
Dwelt a shepherd, in the days

That on his steps the flocks did follow

O'er hill and slope with glad desire
To hear his pastoral lays.

Then with the flocks were wont to hie,
Such influence had his minstrelsy!

The spotted lynxes, meek and tame;

And then were seen, from Othrys drawn,

Tawny lions in his train;

And from the tall pine-forest came,
With a light foot, the dappled fawn,
Rejoicing in the strain.

So in a place that most excels
In flocks and herds Admetus dwells,
Where Ossa his tall shadow flings
O'er Bæbe, lake of freshest springs :
The boundary of his domains,
Of eared fields and pasture plains,
Is the Molossian clime that lies
Toward the region of the skies,
Where glide the coursers of the sun
Into the dusk, their day's work done;
And his sway doth to Pelion reach,
Far as the Ægean's portless beach.

And now the guest-rooms open lie;
And he the guest with courtesy
Bade welcome, though with eyelid wet:
He lingers with the lost one yet,
And o'er the corse his tears doth shed,
Lamenting o'er his newly dead.

The noble nature well is known

By sense of honour, felt and shown.
It seems a spirit of wisdom true

Is in the good, in all they do ;
And on this truth my soul doth rest,
The godly always fare the best.

ADMETUS enters, followed by the bearers with the body of ALCESTIS. Adm. My kind Phereans! these attendants now

Convey the corse with honour to the tomb.
Salute ye, as the custom is, the dead,

That now upon her latest journey goes.

Chor. Here comes your sire, with the slow foot of age; And his train follows with his funeral gifts,

And ornaments, in honour of the dead.

Enter PHERES and Train.

Pher. I'm come, my son, in very sympathy;
A good wife and a chaste you've lost indeed,
Yet this affliction, though hard to be borne,
You must e'en bear: accept these offerings,
And let them go with her under the ground.
'Tis fit her body should have honour due,
Since by a voluntary death she saved
Thy life, nor let my age in sorrow pine
From being childless. She has left behind
The memory of a life, that to her sex
Gives glory, from the lustre of this deed.
My son's preserver, our support, farewell!
In Hades' mansion be it well with thee!
Such marriage profits men, else better far
Not to submit unto the marriage yoke.

Adm. Thou'rt come unbidden to this funeral,
Nor do I count thy presence that of friend.
Thy funeral gifts and offerings I refuse;
Owing thee nothing shall she be interred.
My danger was thy time for sympathy;

Dost thou mourn her, that then didst stand aloof?
Thou that, being old, didst let a young one die?
No father thou of mine, nor was I born

Of my reputed mother, but some slave

Brought me to light, and I was privily placed
At thy wife's breast. No! thou art not my father,
Thy conduct clearly showed my thought is right;
Else no man ever was so mean of spirit,
That thou at such an age, the goal of life,
For thy own son shouldst lack the heart to die!
But didst permit a woman, of no kin,

Whom I may well esteem both sire and mother,
To die instead. Yet dying for thy son,
Thy life had then been finished with renown;
And think how short its small remainder is ;
Then had my wife and I both lived together,
Nor I been left to groan in widowhood.
And thou hast tasted all the joys of life;
Thy flower of manhood passed in sovereignty,
And I, thy son, succeeded to thy place;
So that not childless hadst thou left thy house
For others to despoil. Nor canst thou say
I ever did dishonour thine old age,

For I have showed thee greatest reverence.
But what return had I from both my parents!
Get other children without loss of time

To nourish thine old age, and deck thy corse,

And lay it out; for I'll not bury thee,
Since for thy part I had been dead ere now.
If I've found other to preserve my life,

I owe that other filial care and love.

The prayer the old make for death is vain pretence,
Of age complaining, and life's weary hours;
For soon as death comes near, not one is found
Willing to die; age then no burden is.

Chor. Cease! for the present wo is quite enough :
Nor thou, the son, provoke thy father's wrath.

Pher. Whom do you take me for? a Lydian slave,
Or else a Phrygian purchased with your coin,
That you revile me thus ? know'st not I am
Free born, Thessalian, of Thessalian sire?
You're over-bold, but shall not go hence plumed
With triumph of youth's reckless insolence.
I gat and reared you for my successor;
I'm not your debtor bound to die for you.
That fathers for their issue are condemned
To pay great Nature's debt, is not Greek law,
Nor one hereditary in my house.

You for yourself, for good or ill, were born ;
Whate'er was due to you from me, you have;
Your present sway is great; and I will leave you
The territories I inherited.

How have I wronged, of what defrauded you?
Die not for me; for you I will not die.
Think you I take no pleasure in the light,
To you so pleasant? I count long the time
That we must spend below, and this life brief,
But very sweet. You shrank, like a poltroon,
From death, and, making her your victim, 'scaped;
Shamed by the woman that durst die for you,
The handsome youth! Dost call me mean of soul?
A fine invention for escaping death,

If you can substitute, from time to time,

A cozened wife! How dare you, being a coward,
Reproach your friends with selfish backwardness?
But hold your peace, and only just consider,
If you love your life, all alike love theirs;
And if you speak against us, how much more,
More truly, may be said against yourself.

Chor. Too much of this has been already said:

Desist, old man, nor thus reproach thy son.
Adm. Say on; if the truth jars upon your ear,
You should not err against me.

Pher.
I had erred
Much rather, if I had, to save you, died.

Adm. Is it the same for youth and age to die?

Pher. Each has a single life; that should content us.

Adm. For aught I care, live longer e'en than Zeus!

Pher. Dost curse thy parents without wrong from then?

Adm. I knew you were enamoured of long life.

Pher. Is not this corse in thy stead now borne out?
Adm. A proof this of thy penury of spirit.

Pher. 'Twas not for me she died!

Adm. Ah! may you want me! Pher. Woo many wives, that more may die for thee. Adm. That thou didst shrink from it, is thy reproach. Pher. Dear, ob, how dear, the blessed light of heaven Adm. Mean is thy spirit, unworthy of a man. Pher. That is no corse of age-for your derision. Adm. Inglorious will your end be, when it comes. Pher. When dead, I shall not care what's said of me. Adm. Alas! how shameless is old age! Pher. She was Not shameless but you found her mad indeed. Adm. Begone! and let me bury now my dead. Pher. I'll go; and thou, her slayer, bury her! Her kinsmen yet will call thee to account,