Page:Sophocles - Seven Plays, 1900.djvu/211



. Men say,—’twas old experience gave the word,

—‘No lot of mortal, ere he die, can once

Be known for good or evil.’ But I know,

Before I come to the dark dwelling-place,

Mine is a lot, adverse and hard and sore.

Who yet at Pleuron, in my father’s home,

Of all Aetolian women had most cause

To fear my bridal. For a river-god,

Swift Achelôüs, was my suitor there

And sought me from my father in three forms;

Now in his own bull-likeness, now a serpent

Of coiling sheen, and now with manlike build

But bovine front, while from the shadowy beard

Sprang fountain-waters in perpetual spray.

Looking for such a husband, I, poor girl!

Still prayed that Death might find me, ere I knew

That nuptial.—Later, to my glad relief,

Zeus’ and Alcmena’s glorious offspring came,

And closed with him in conflict, and released

My heart from torment. How the fight was won

I could not tell. If any were who saw

Unshaken of dread foreboding, such may speak.

But I sate quailing with an anguished fear,

Lest beauty might procure me nought but pain,

Till He that rules the issue of all strife,

Gave fortunate end—if fortunate! For since,

Assigned by that day’s conquest, I have known

The couch of Heracles, my life is spent

In one continual terror for his fate.

Night brings him, and, ere morning, some fresh toil

Drives him afar. And I have borne him seed;

Which be, like some strange husbandman that farms