Volume 2 — THE ARGONAUTIC LEGEND
Reading edition
he legend of the Argonauts relates to the story of a band of heroes who sailed from Thessaly to Æa, the region of the Sun-god on the remotest shore of the Black Sea, in quest of a Golden Fleece. The ship Argo bore the heroes, under the command of Jason, to whom the task had been assigned by his uncle Pelias. Pelias was the usurper of his nephew's throne; and for Jason, on his coming to man's estate, he devised the perilous adventure of fetching the golden fleece of the Speaking Ram which many years before had carried Phrixus to Æa, or Colchis. Fifty of the most distinguished Grecian heroes came to Jason's aid, while Argus, the son of Phrixus, under the guidance of Athena, built the ship, inserting in the prow, for prophetic advice and furtherance, a piece of the famous talking oak of Dodona. Tiphys was the steersman, and Orpheus joined the crew to enliven the weariness of their sea-life with his harp.
The heroes came first to Lemnos, where the women had risen in revolt and slain fathers, brothers, and husbands. Here the voyagers lingered almost a year; but at last, having taken leave, they came to the southern coast of Propontis, where the Doliones dwelt under King Cyzicus. Their kind entertainment among this people was marred by ill-fate; for having weighed anchor in the night, they were driven back by a storm, and being mistaken for foes, were fiercely attacked. Cyzicus himself fell by the hand of Jason. They next touched at the country of the Bebrycians, where the hero Pollux overcame the king in a boxing-match and bound him to a tree; and thence to Salmydessus, to consult the soothsayer Phineus. In gratitude for their freeing him from the Harpies, who, as often as his table was set, descended out of the clouds upon his food and defiled it, the prophet directed them safe to Colchis. The heroes rowing with might, thus passed the Symplegades, two cliffs which opened and shut with such swift violence that a bird could scarce fly through the passage. The rocks were held apart with the help of Athena, and from that day they became fixed and harmless. Further on, they came in sight of Mount Caucasus, saw the eagle which preyed on the vitals of Prometheus, and heard the sufferer's woeful cries. So their journey was accomplished, and they arrived at Æa, and the palace of King Æetes.
When the king heard the errand of the heroes he was moved against them, and refused to give up the fleece except on terms which he thought Jason durst not comply with. Two bulls, snorting fire, with feet of brass, Jason was required to yoke, and with them plow a field and sow the land with dragon's teeth. Here the heavenly powers came to the hero's aid, and Hera and Athena prayed Aphrodite to send the shaft of Cupid upon Medea, the youthful daughter of the king. Thus it came about that Medea conceived a great passion for the young hero, and with the magic which she knew she made for him a salve. The salve rendered his body invulnerable. He yoked the bulls, and ploughed the field, and sowed the dragon's teeth. A crop of armed men sprang from the sowing, but Jason, prepared for this marvel by Medea, threw among them a stone which she had given him, whereupon they fell upon and slew one another.
But Æetes still refused to fetch the fleece, plotting secretly to burn the Argo and kill the heroic Argonauts. Medea came to their succor, and by her black art lulled to sleep the dragon which guarded the fleece. They seized the pelt, boarded the Argo, and sailed away, taking Medea with them. When her father followed in pursuit, in the madness of her love for Jason she slew her brother whom she had with her, and strewed the fragments of his body upon the wave. The king stopped to recover them and give them burial, and thus the Argonauts escaped. But the anger of the gods at this horrible murder led the voyagers in expiation a wearisome way homeward. For they sailed through the waters of the Adriatic, the Nile, the circumfluous stream of the earth, passed Scylla and Charybdis and the Island of the Sun, to Crete and Ægina and many lands, before the Argo rode once more in Thessalian waters.
The legend is one of the oldest and most familiar tales of Greece. Whether it is all poetic myth, or had a certain foundation in fact, it is impossible now to say. The date, the geography, the heroes, are mythical; and as in the Homeric poems, the supernatural and seeming historical are so blended that the union is indissoluble by any analysis yet found. The theme has touched the imagination of poets from the time of Apollonius Rhodius, who wrote the 'Argonautica' and went to Alexandria B.C. 194 to take care of the great library there, to William Morris, who published his 'Life and Death of Jason' in 1867. Mr. Morris's version of the contest of Orpheus with the Sirens is given to illustrate the reality of the old legends to the Greeks themselves. Jason's later life, his putting away of Medea, his marriage with Glauce, and the revenge of the deserted princess, furnish the story of the greatest of the plays of Euripides.
THE VICTORY OF ORPHEUS
From 'The Life and Death of Jason' The Sirens: Oh, happy seafarers are ye, And surely all your ills are past, And toil upon the land and sea, Since ye are brought to us at last. To you the fashion of the world, Wide lands laid waste, fair cities burned, And plagues, and kings from kingdoms hurled, Are naught, since hither ye have turned. For as upon this beach we stand, And o'er our heads the sea-fowl flit, Our eyes behold a glorious land, And soon shall ye be kings of it. Orpheus: A little more, a little more, O carriers of the Golden Fleece, A little labor with the oar, Before we reach the land of Greece. E'en now perchance faint rumors reach Men's ears of this our victory, And draw them down unto the beach To gaze across the empty sea. But since the longed-for day is nigh, And scarce a god could stay us now, Why do ye hang your heads and sigh, And still go slower and more slow? The Sirens: Ah, had ye chanced to reach the home Your fond desires were set upon, Into what troubles had ye come! What barren victory had ye won! But now, but now, when ye have lain Asleep with us a little while Beneath the washing of the main, How calm shall be your waking smile! For ye shall smile to think of life That knows no troublous change or fear, No unavailing bitter strife, That ere its time brings trouble near. Orpheus: Is there some murmur in your ears, That all that we have done is naught, And nothing ends our cares and fears, Till the last fear on us is brought? The Sirens: Alas! and will ye stop your ears, In vain desire to do aught, And wish to live 'mid cares and fears, Until the last fear makes you naught? Orpheus: Is not the May-time now on earth, When close against the city wall The folk are singing in their mirth, While on their heads the May flowers fall? The Sirens: Yes, May is come, and its sweet breath Shall well-nigh make you weep to-day, And pensive with swift-coming death Shall ye be satiate of the May. Orpheus: Shall not July bring fresh delight, As underneath green trees ye sit, And o'er some damsel's body white, The noon-tide shadows change and flit? The Sirens: No new delight July shall bring, But ancient fear and fresh desire; And spite of every lovely thing, Of July surely shall ye tire. Orpheus: And now when August comes on thee, And 'mid the golden sea of corn The merry reapers thou mayst see, Wilt thou still think the earth forlorn? The Sirens: Set flowers on thy short-lived head, And in thine heart forgetfulness Of man's hard toil, and scanty bread, And weary of those days no less. Orpheus: Or wilt thou climb the sunny hill, In the October afternoon, To watch the purple earth's blood fill The gray vat to the maiden's tune? The Sirens: When thou beginnest to grow old, Bring back remembrance of thy bliss With that the shining cup doth hold, And weary helplessly of this. Orpheus: Or pleasureless shall we pass by The long cold night and leaden day, That song and tale and minstrelsy Shall make as merry as the May? The Sirens: List then, to-night, to some old tale Until the tears o'erflow thine eyes; But what shall all these things avail, When sad to-morrow comes and dies? Orpheus: And when the world is born again, And with some fair love, side by side, Thou wanderest 'twixt the sun and rain, In that fresh love-begetting tide; Then, when the world is born again, And the sweet year before thee lies, Shall thy heart think of coming pain, Or vex itself with memories? The Sirens: Ah! then the world is born again With burning love unsatisfied, And new desires fond and vain, And weary days from tide to tide. Ah! when the world is born again, A little day is soon gone by, When thou, unmoved by sun or rain, Within a cold straight house shall lie. Therewith they ceased awhile, as languidly The head of Argo fell off toward the sea, And through the water she began to go; For from the land a fitful wind did blow, That, dallying with the many-colored sail, Would sometimes swell it out and sometimes fail, As nigh the east side of the bay they drew; Then o'er the waves again the music flew. The Sirens: Think not of pleasure short and vain, Wherewith, 'mid days of toil and pain, With sick and sinking hearts ye strive To cheat yourselves that ye may live With cold death ever close at hand. Think rather of a peaceful land, The changeless land where ye may be Roofed over by the changeful sea. Orpheus: And is the fair town nothing then, The coming of the wandering men With that long talked-of thing and strange. And news of how the kingdoms change, The pointed hands, and wondering At doers of a desperate thing? Push on, for surely this shall be Across a narrow strip of sea. The Sirens: Alas! poor souls and timorous, Will ye draw nigh to gaze at us And see if we are fair indeed? For such as we shall be your meed, There, where our hearts would have you go. And where can the earth-dwellers show In any land such loveliness As that wherewith your eyes we bless, O wanderers of the Minyæ, Worn toilers over land and sea? Orpheus: Fair as the lightning 'thwart the sky, As sun-dyed snow upon the high Untrodden heaps of threatening stone The eagle looks upon alone, Oh, fair as the doomed victim's wreath, Oh, fair as deadly sleep and death, What will ye with them, earthly men, To mate your threescore years and ten? Toil rather, suffer and be free, Betwixt the green earth and the sea. The Sirens: If ye be bold with us to go, Things such as happy dreams may show Shall your once heavy lids behold About our palaces of gold; Where waters 'neath the waters run, And from o'erhead a harmless sun Gleams through the woods of chrysolite. There gardens fairer to the sight Than those of the Phæacian king Shall ye behold; and, wondering, Gaze on the sea-born fruit and flowers, And thornless and unchanging bowers, Whereof the May-time knoweth naught. So to the pillared house being brought, Poor souls, ye shall not be alone, For o'er the floors of pale blue stone All day such feet as ours shall pass, And 'twixt the glimmering walls of glass, Such bodies garlanded with gold, So faint, so fair, shall ye behold, And clean forget the treachery Of changing earth and tumbling sea. Orpheus: Oh the sweet valley of deep grass, Where through the summer stream doth pass, In chain of shadow, and still pool, From misty morn to evening cool; Where the black ivy creeps and twines O'er the dark-armed, red-trunkèd pines. Whence clattering the pigeon flits, Or brooding o'er her thin eggs sits, And every hollow of the hills With echoing song the mavis fills. There by the stream, all unafraid, Shall stand the happy shepherd maid, Alone in first of sunlit hours; Behind her, on the dewy flowers, Her homespun woolen raiment lies, And her white limbs and sweet gray eyes Shine from the calm green pool and deep, While round about the swallows sweep, Not silent; and would God that we, Like them, were landed from the sea. The Sirens: Shall we not rise with you at night, Up through the shimmering green twilight, That maketh there our changeless day, Then going through the moonlight gray, Shall we not sit upon these sands, To think upon the troublous lands Long left behind, where once ye were, When every day brought change and fear! There, with white arms about you twined, And shuddering somewhat at the wind That ye rejoiced erewhile to meet, Be happy, while old stories sweet, Half understood, float round your ears, And fill your eyes with happy tears. Ah! while we sing unto you there, As now we sing, with yellow hair Blown round about these pearly limbs, While underneath the gray sky swims The light shell-sailor of the waves, And to our song, from sea-filled caves Booms out an echoing harmony, Shall ye not love the peaceful sea? Orpheus: Nigh the vine-covered hillocks green, In days agone, have I not seen The brown-clad maidens amorous, Below the long rose-trellised house, Dance to the querulous pipe and shrill, When the gray shadow of the hill Was lengthening at the end of day? Not shadowy or pale were they, But limbed like those who 'twixt the trees Follow the swift of goddesses. Sunburnt they are somewhat, indeed, To where the rough brown woolen weed Is drawn across their bosoms sweet, Or cast from off their dancing feet; But yet the stars, the moonlight gray, The water wan, the dawn of day, Can see their bodies fair and white As hers, who once, for man's delight, Before the world grew hard and old, Came o'er the bitter sea and cold; And surely those that met me there Her handmaidens and subjects were; And shame-faced, half-repressed desire Had lit their glorious eyes with fire, That maddens eager hearts of men. Oh, would that I were with them when The risen moon is gathering light, And yellow from the homestead white The windows gleam; but verily This waits us o'er a little sea. The Sirens: Come to the land where none grows old, And none is rash or over-bold Nor any noise there is or war, Or rumor from wild lands afar, Or plagues, or birth and death of kings; No vain desire of unknown things Shall vex you there, no hope or fear Of that which never draweth near; But in that lovely land and still Ye may remember what ye will, And what ye will, forget for aye. So while the kingdoms pass away, Ye sea-beat hardened toilers erst, Unresting, for vain fame athirst, Shall be at peace for evermore, With hearts fulfilled of Godlike lore, And calm, unwavering Godlike love, No lapse of time can turn or move. There, ages after your fair fleece Is clean forgotten, yea, and Greece Is no more counted glorious, Alone with us, alone with us, Alone with us, dwell happily, Beneath our trembling roof of sea. Orpheus: Ah! do ye weary of the strife, And long to change this eager life For shadowy and dull hopelessness, Thinking indeed to gain no less Than this, to die, and not to die, To be as if ye ne'er had been, Yet keep your memory fresh and green, To have no thought of good or ill, Yet keep some thrilling pleasure still? Oh, idle dream! Ah, verily If it shall happen unto me That I have thought of anything, When o'er my bones the sea-fowl sing, And I lie dead, how shall I pine For those fresh joys that once were mine, On this green fount of joy and mirth, The ever young and glorious earth; Then, helpless, shall I call to mind Thoughts of the flower-scented wind, The dew, the gentle rain at night, The wonder-working snow and white, The song of birds, the water's fall, The sun that maketh bliss of all; Yea, this our toil and victory, The tyrannous and conquered sea. The Sirens: Ah, will ye go, and whither then Will ye go from us, soon to die, To fill your threescore years and ten With many an unnamed misery? And this the wretchedest of all, That when upon your lonely eyes The last faint heaviness shall fall, Ye shall bethink you of our cries. Come back, nor, grown old, seek in vain To hear us sing across the sea; Come back, come back, come back again, Come back, O fearful Minyæ! Orpheus: Ah, once again, ah, once again, The black prow plunges through the sea; Nor yet shall all your toil be vain, Nor ye forget, O Minyæ!