No More Learning

. And you,
Poor little sister, too.
Oh, Father!
Such a little time we had her. She might have stayed
On till we all were old. . . .
Everything is spoiled when Mother is dead.

[_The_ LITTLE BOY _is taken away, with his Sister, sobbing_. ]

LEADER.
My King, thou needs must gird thee to the worst.
Thou shalt not be the last, nor yet the first,
To lose a noble wife. Be brave, and know
To die is but a debt that all men owe.

ADMETUS.
I know. It came not without doubts and fears,
This thing. The thought hath poisoned all my years.
Howbeit, I now will make the burial due
To this dead Queen. Be assembled, all of you;
And, after, raise your triumph-song to greet
This pitiless Power that yawns beneath our feet.
Meantime let all in Thessaly who dread
My sceptre join in mourning for the dead
With temples sorrow-shorn and sable weed.
Ye chariot-lords, ye spurrers of the steed,
Shear close your horses' manes! Let there be found
Through all my realm no lute, nor lyre, nor sound
Of piping, till twelve moons are at an end.
For never shall I lose a closer friend,
Nor braver in my need. And worthy is she
Of honour, who alone hath died for me.

[_The body of_ ALCESTIS _is carried into the house by mourners;_
ADMETUS _follows it. _]

CHORUS.
Daughter of Pelias, fare thee well,
May joy be thine in the Sunless Houses!
For thine is a deed which the Dead shall tell
Where a King black-browed in the gloom carouses;
And the cold grey hand at the helm and oar
Which guideth shadows from shore to shore,
Shall bear this day o'er the Tears that Well,
A Queen of women, a spouse of spouses.

Minstrels many shall praise thy name
With lyre full-strung and with voices lyreless,
When Mid-Moon riseth, an orbed flame,
And from dusk to dawning the dance is tireless;
And Carnos cometh to Sparta's call,
And Athens shineth in festival;
For thy death is a song, and a fullness of fame,
Till the heart of the singer is left desireless.

LEADER.
Would I could reach thee, oh,
Reach thee and save, my daughter,
Starward from gulfs of Hell,
Past gates, past tears that swell,
Where the weak oar climbs thro'
The night and the water!

SECOND ELDER.
Beloved and lonely one,
Who feared not dying:
Gone in another's stead
Alone to the hungry dead:
Light be the carven stone
Above thee lying!

THIRD ELDER.
Oh, he who should seek again
A new bride after thee,
Were loathed of thy children twain,
And loathed of me.

LEADER.
Word to his mother sped,
Praying to her who bore him;
Word to his father, old,
Heavy with years and cold;
"Quick, ere your son be dead!
What dare ye for him? "

SECOND ELDER.
Old, and they dared not; grey,
And they helped him never!
'Twas she, in her youth and pride,
Rose up for her lord and died.
Oh, love of two hearts that stay
One-knit for ever. . . .

THIRD ELDER.
'Tis rare in the world! God send
Such bride in my house to be;
She should live life to the end,
Not fail through me.

[_As the song ceases there enters a stranger, walking strongly, but
travel-stained, dusty, and tired. His lion-skin and club show him to
be_ HERACLES. ]

HERACLES.
Ho, countrymen! To Pherae am I come
By now? And is Admetus in his home?

LEADER.
Our King is in his house, Lord Heracles. --
But say, what need brings thee in days like these
To Thessaly and Pherae's walled ring?

HERACLES.
A quest I follow for the Argive King.

LEADER.
What prize doth call thee, and to what far place?

HERACLES.
The horses of one Diomede, in Thrace.

LEADER.
But how. . . ? Thou know'st not? Is he strange to thee?

HERACLES.
Quite strange. I ne'er set foot in Bistony.

LEADER.
Not without battle shalt thou win those steeds.

HERACLES.
So be it! I cannot fail my master's needs.

LEADER.
'Tis slay or die, win or return no more.

HERACLES.
Well, I have looked on peril's face before.

LEADER.
What profit hast thou in such manslaying?

HERACLES.
I shall bring back the horses to my King.

LEADER.
'Twere none such easy work to bridle them.

HERACLES.
Not easy? Have they nostrils breathing flame?

LEADER.
They tear men's flesh; their jaws are swift with blood.

HERACLES.
Men's flesh! 'Tis mountain wolves', not horses' food!

LEADER.
Thou wilt see their mangers clogged with blood, like mire.

HERACLES.
And he who feeds such beasts, who was his sire?

LEADER.
Ares, the war-lord of the Golden Targe.

HERACLES.
Enough! --This labour fitteth well my large
Fortune, still upward, still against the wind.
How often with these kings of Ares' kind
Must I do battle? First the dark wolf-man,
Lycaon; then 'twas he men called The Swan;
And now this man of steeds! . . . Well, none shall see
Alcmena's son turn from his enemy.

LEADER.
Lo, as we speak, this land's high governor,
Admetus, cometh from his castle door.

_Enter_ ADMETUS _from the Castle_.

ADMETUS.
Zeus-born of Perseid line, all joy to thee!

HERACLES.
Joy to Admetus, Lord of Thessaly!

ADMETUS.
Right welcome were she! --But thy love I know.

HERACLES.
But why this mourning hair, this garb of woe?

ADMETUS (_in a comparatively light tone_).
There is a burial I must make to-day.

HERACLES.
God keep all evil from thy children!

ADMETUS.
Nay,
My children live.

HERACLES.
Thy father, if 'tis he,
Is ripe in years.

ADMETUS.
He liveth, friend, and she
Who bore me.

HERACLES.
Surely not thy wife? 'Tis not
Alcestis?

ADMETUS (_his composure a little shaken_).
Ah; two answers share my thought,
Questioned of her.

HERACLES.
Is she alive or dead?

ADMETUS.
She is, and is not; and my heart hath bled
Long years for her.

HERACLES.
I understand no more.
Thy words are riddles.

ADMETUS.
Heard'st thou not of yore
The doom that she must meet?

HERACLES.
I know thy wife
Has sworn to die for thee.

ADMETUS.
And is it life,
To live with such an oath hung o'er her head?

HERACLES (_relieved_).
Ah,
Weep not too soon, friend. Wait till she be dead.

ADMETUS.
He dies who is doomed to die; he is dead who dies.

HERACLES.
The two are different things in most men's eyes.

ADMETUS.
Decide thy way, lord, and let me decide
The other way.

HERACLES.
Who is it that has died?
Thou weepest.

ADMETUS.
'Tis a woman. It doth take
My memory back to her of whom we spake.

HERACLES.
A stranger, or of kin to thee?

ADMETUS.
Not kin,
But much beloved.

HERACLES.
How came she to be in
Thy house to die?

ADMETUS.
Her father died, and so
She came to us, an orphan, long ago.

HERACLES (_as though about to depart_).
'Tis sad.
I would I had found thee on a happier day.

ADMETUS.
Thy words have some intent: what wouldst thou say?

HERACLES.
I must find harbour with some other friend.

ADMETUS.
My prince, it may not be! God never send
Such evil!

HERACLES.
'Tis great turmoil, when a guest
Comes to a mourning house.

ADMETUS.
Come in and rest.
Let the dead die!

HERACLES.
I cannot, for mere shame,
Feast beside men whose eyes have tears in them.

ADMETUS.
The guest-rooms are apart where thou shalt be.

HERACLES.
Friend, let me go. I shall go gratefully.

ADMETUS.
Thou shalt not enter any door but mine.
(_To an Attendant_)
Lead in our guest.
Unlock the furthest line
Of guest-chambers; and bid the stewards there
Make ready a full feast; then close with care
The midway doors. 'Tis unmeet, if he hears
Our turmoil or is burdened with our tears.

[_The Attendant leads_ HERACLES _into the house_. ]

LEADER.
How, master? When within a thing so sad
Lies, thou wilt house a stranger? Art thou mad?

ADMETUS.
And had I turned the stranger from my door,
Who sought my shelter, hadst thou praised me more?
I trow not, if my sorrow were thereby
No whit less, only the more friendless I.
And more, when bards tell tales, were it not worse
My house should lie beneath the stranger's curse?
Now he is my sure friend, if e'er I stand
Lonely in Argos, in a thirsty land.

LEADER.
Thou callest him thy friend; how didst thou dare
Keep hid from him the burden of thy care?

ADMETUS.
He never would have entered, had he known
My grief. --Aye, men may mock what I have done,
And call me fool. My house hath never learned
To fail its friend, nor seen the stranger spurned.

[ADMETUS _goes into the house_]

CHORUS.
Oh, a House that loves the stranger,
And a House for ever free!
And Apollo, the Song-changer,
Was a herdsman in thy fee;
Yea, a-piping he was found,
Where the upward valleys wound,
To the kine from out the manger
And the sheep from off the lea,
And love was upon Othrys at the sound.

And from deep glens unbeholden
Of the forest to his song
There came lynxes streaky-golden,
There came lions in a throng,
Tawny-coated, ruddy-eyed,
To that piper in his pride;
And shy fawns he would embolden,
Dappled dancers, out along
The shadow by the pine-tree's side.

And those magic pipes a-blowing
Have fulfilled thee in thy reign
By thy Lake with honey flowing,
By thy sheepfolds and thy grain;
Where the Sun turns his steeds
To the twilight, all the meads
Of Molossus know thy sowing
And thy ploughs upon the plain.
Yea, and eastward thou art free
To the portals of the sea,
And Pelion, the unharboured, is but minister to thee.

He hath opened wide his dwelling
To the stranger, though his ruth
For the dead was fresh and welling,
For the loved one of his youth.
'Tis the brave heart's cry:
"I will fail not, though I die! "
Doth it win, with no man's telling,
Some high vision of the truth?
We may marvel. Yet I trust,
When man seeketh to be just
And to pity them that wander, God will raise him from the dust.

[_As the song ceases the doors are thrown open and_ ADMETUS _comes
before them: a great funeral procession is seen moving out. _]

ADMETUS.
Most gentle citizens, our dead is here
Made ready; and these youths to bear the bier
Uplifted to the grave-mound and the urn.
Now, seeing she goes forth never to return,
Bid her your last farewell, as mourners may.

[_The procession moves forward, past him_. ]

LEADER.
Nay, lord; thy father, walking old and grey;
And followers bearing burial gifts and brave
Gauds, which men call the comfort of the grave.

_Enter_ PHERES _with followers bearing robes and gifts_.

PHERES.
I come in sorrow for thy sorrow, son.
A faithful wife indeed thou hast lost, and one
Who ruled her heart. But, howso hard they be,
We needs must bear these griefs. --Some gifts for thee
Are here. . . . Yes; take them. Let them go beneath
The sod. We both must honour her in death,
Seeing she hath died, my son, that thou mayst live
Nor I be childless. Aye, she would not give
My soul to a sad old age, mourning for thee.
Methinks she hath made all women's life to be
A nobler thing, by one great woman's deed.
Thou saviour of my son, thou staff in need
To our wrecked age, farewell! May some good life
Be thine still in the grave. --Oh, 'tis a wife
Like this man needs; else let him stay unwed!

[_The old man has not noticed_ ADMETUS'S _gathering
indignation_. ]

ADMETUS.
I called not thee to burial of my dead,
Nor count thy presence here a welcome thing.
My wife shall wear no robe that thou canst bring,
Nor needs thy help in aught. There was a day
We craved thy love, when I was on my way
Deathward--thy love, which bade thee stand aside
And watch, grey-bearded, while a young man died!
And now wilt mourn for her? Thy fatherhood!
Thou wast no true begetter of my blood,
Nor she my mother who dares call me child.
Oh, she was barren ever; she beguiled
Thy folly with some bastard of a thrall.
Here is thy proof! This hour hath shown me all
Thou art; and now I am no more thy son.
'Fore God, among all cowards can scarce be one
Like thee. So grey, so near the boundary
Of mortal life, thou wouldst not, durst not, die
To save thy son! Thou hast suffered her to do
Thine office, her, no kin to me nor you,
Yet more than kin! Henceforth she hath all the part
Of mother, yea, and father in my heart.
And what a glory had been thine that day,
Dying to save thy son--when, either way,
Thy time must needs be brief. Thy life has had
Abundance of the things that make men glad;
A crown that came to thee in youth; a son
To do thee worship and maintain thy throne--
Not like a childless king, whose folk and lands
Lie helpless, to be torn by strangers' hands.
Wilt say I failed in duty to thine age;
For that thou hast let me die? Not so; most sage,
Most pious I was, to mother and to thee;
And thus ye have paid me! Well, I counsel ye.
Lose no more time. Get quick another son
To foster thy last years, to lay thee on
Thy bier, when dead, and wrap thee in thy pall.
_I_ will not bury thee. I am, for all
The care thou hast shown me, dead. If I have found
Another, true to save me at the bound
Of life and death, that other's child am I,
That other's fostering friend, until I die.
How falsely do these old men pray for death,
Cursing their weight of years, their weary breath!
When Death comes close, there is not one that dares
To die; age is forgot and all its cares.

LEADER.
Oh, peace! Enough of sorrow in our path
Is strewn. Thou son, stir not thy father's wrath.

PHERES.
My son, whom seekest thou . . . some Lydian thrall,
Or Phrygian, bought with cash? . . . to affright withal
By cursing? I am a Thessalian, free,
My father a born chief of Thessaly;
And thou most insolent. Yet think not so
To fling thy loud lewd words at me and go.
I got thee to succeed me in my hall,
I have fed thee, clad thee. But I have no call
To die for thee. Not in our family,
Not in all Greece, doth law bid fathers die
To save their sons. Thy road of life is thine
None other's, to rejoice at or repine.
All that was owed to thee by us is paid.
My throne is thine. My broad lands shall be made
Thine, as I had them from my father. . . . Say,
How have I wronged thee? What have I kept away?
"Not died for thee? ". . . I ask not thee to die.
Thou lovest this light: shall I not love it, I? . . .
'Tis age on age there, in the dark; and here
My sunlit time is short, but dear; but dear.
Thou hast fought hard enough. Thou drawest breath
Even now, long past thy portioned hour of death,
By murdering her . . . and blamest my faint heart,
Coward, who hast let a woman play thy part
And die to save her pretty soldier! Aye,
A good plan, surely! Thou needst never die;
Thou canst find alway somewhere some fond wife
To die for thee. But, prithee, make not strife
With other friends, who will not save thee so.
Be silent, loving thine own life, and know
All men love theirs! . . . Taunt others, and thou too
Shalt hear much that is bitter, and is true.

LEADER.
Too much of wrath before, too much hath run
After. Old man, cease to revile thy son.

ADMETUS.
Speak on. I have spoken. . . . If my truth of tongue
Gives pain to thee, why didst thou do me wrong?

PHERES.
Wrong? To have died for thee were far more wrong.

ADMETUS.
How can an old life weigh against a young?

PHERES.
Man hath but one, not two lives, to his use.

ADMETUS.
Oh, live on; live, and grow more old than Zeus!

PHERES.
Because none wrongs thee, thou must curse thy sire?

ADMETUS.
I blest him. Is not life his one desire?

PHERES.
This dead, methinks, is lying in _thy_ place.

ADMETUS.
A proof, old traitor, of thy cowardliness!

PHERES.
Died she through me? . . . That thou wilt hardly say.

ADMETUS (_almost breaking down_).
O God!
Mayst thou but feel the need of me some day!

PHERES.
Go forward; woo more wives that more may die.

ADMETUS.
As thou wouldst not! Thine is the infamy.

PHERES.
This light of heaven is sweet, and sweet again.

ADMETUS.
Thy heart is foul. A thing unmeet for men.

PHERES.
Thou laugh'st not yet across the old man's tomb.

ADMETUS.
Dishonoured thou shalt die when death shall come.

PHERES.
Once dead, I shall not care what tales are told.

ADMETUS.
Great Gods, so lost to honour and so old!

PHERES.
She was not lost to honour: she was blind.

ADMETUS.
Go! Leave me with my dead. . . . Out from my mind!

PHERES.
I go. Bury the woman thou hast slain. . . .
Her kinsmen yet may come to thee with plain
Question.