Two Tragedies of Seneca: Medea and The Daughters of Troy...

Pyrrhus. When, homeward turning, you would fain have spread Your happy sails, Achilles was forgot. 190 By him alone struck down, Troy fell; her fall, Ev'n at his death, was but so long delayed As she stood doubtful whither she should fall; Haste as you will to give him what he asks You give too late. Already all the chiefs 195 Have carried off their prizes; what reward Of lesser price have you to offer him For so great valor? Does he merit less? He, bidden shun the battle and enjoy A long and happy age, outnumbering 200 The many years of Pylos' aged king, Threw off his mother's mantle, stood confessed A man of arms. When Telephus in vain Refused Achilles entrance to the coast Of rocky Mysia, with his royal blood 205 He stained Achilles' hand, but found that hand Gentle as strong. When Thebes was overcome Eëtion, its conquered ruler, saw His realm made captive. With like slaughter fell Little Lyrnessus, built at Ida's foot; 210 Briseia's land was captured; Chryse, too, The cause of royal strife, is overthrown; And well-known Tenedos, and Sciro's isle That, rich with fertile pastures, nourishes The Thracian herd, and Lesbos that divides 215 The Ægean straits, Cilla to Phœbus dear,

Yes, and whatever land Caïcus laves With its green depths of waters. This had been To any other, glory, honor, fame,— Achilles is but on the march; so sped 220 My father, and so great the war he waged While he made ready for his great campaign. Though I were silent of his other deeds, Would it not be enough that Hector died? My father conquered Ilium; as for you, 225 You have but made it naught. It gives me joy To speak the praises and illustrious deeds Of my great sire: how Hector in the eyes Of fatherland and father prostrate fell, How Memnon, too, lies slain, whose mother shuns 230 The gloomy light of day, with pallid cheek Mourning his fate; and at his own great deeds Achilles trembles, and, a victor, learns That death may touch the children of a god. The Amazons' harsh queen, thy final fear, 235 Last yielded. Wouldst thou honor worthily His mighty arms, then yield him what he will, Though he should ask a virgin from the land Of Argos or Mycene. Dost thou doubt; Too soon content, art loth to offer up 240 A maiden, Priam's child, to Peleus' son? Thy child was sacrificed to Helenus, 'Tis not an unaccustomed gift I ask.

Agamemnon. To have no power to check the passions' glow Is ever found a fault of youthful hearts; 245 That which in others is the zeal of youth, In Pyrrhus is his father's fiery heart. Thus mildly once I stood the savage threats Of Æacus' fierce son; most patiently He bears, who is most strong. With slaughter harsh 250 Why sprinkle our illustrious leader's shade? Learn first how much the conqueror may do, The conquered suffer. 'Tis the mild endure, But he who harshly rules, rules not for long. The higher Fortune doth exalt a man, 255 Increasing human power, so much the more— Fearing the gods who too much favor him, And not unmindful of uncertain fate— He should be meek. In conquering, I have learned How in a moment greatness is o'erthrown. 260 Has Trojan triumph too soon made us proud? We stand, we Greeks, in that place whence Troy fell. Imperious I have been, and borne myself At times too proudly; Fortune's gifts correct In me the pride they oft in others rouse. 265 Priam, thou mak'st me proud, but mak'st me fear. What can I deem my scepter, but a name Made bright with idle glitter; or my crown, But empty ornament? Fate overthrows Swiftly, nor will it need a thousand ships, 270

Perchance, nor ten years' war. I own, indeed, (This can I do, oh Argive land, nor wound Thy honor) I have troubled Phrygia And wished her conquered; but I would have stayed The hand that crushed and laid her in the dust. 275 A foe enraged, who gains the victory By night, checks not his raging at command; Whatever cruel or unworthy deed Appeared in any, anger was the cause— Anger and darkness and the savage sword 280 Made glad with blood and seeking still for more. All that yet stands of ruined Troy shall stand, Enough of punishment—more than enough— Has been exacted; that a royal maid Should fall, and, offered as a sacrifice 285 Upon a tomb, should crimson with her blood The ashes, and this hateful crime be called A marriage—I will never suffer it. Upon my head would rest the guilt of all; He who forbids not crime when he has power, 290 Commands it.

Agamemnon. No, all shall tell his praise, And unknown lands shall sing his glorious name; And if his shade would take delight in blood Poured forth upon his ashes, let us slay 295 A Phrygian sheep, rich sacrifice. No blood Shall flow to cause a sorrowing mother's tears. What fashion this, by which a living soul Is sacrificed to one gone down to hell? Think not to soil thy father's memory 300 With such revenge, commanding us to pay Due reverence with blood.

Pyrrhus. Harsh king of kings! So arrogant while favoring fortune smiles, So timid when aught threatens! Is thy heart So soon inflamed with love and new desire; 305 And wilt thou bear away from us the spoil? I'll give Achilles back, with this right hand, His victim, and, if thou withholdest her, I'll give a greater, and whom Pyrrhus gives Will prove one worthy. All too long our hand 310 Has ceased from slaughter, Priam seeks his peer.