DEANIRA.  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 Acheloues, 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 he, like some strange husbandman that farms
A distant field, finds but at sowing time
And once in harvest.  Such a weary life
Still tossed him to and fro,—­no sooner home
But forth again, serving I know not whom. 
  And when his glorious head had risen beyond
These labours, came the strongest of my fear. 
For since he quelled the might of Iphitus,
We here in Trachis dwell, far from our home,
Dependent on a stranger, but where he
Is gone, none knoweth.  Only this I know,
His going pierced my heart with pangs for him,
And now I am all but sure he bears some woe. 
These fifteen months he hath sent me not one word. 
And I have cause for fear.  Ere he set forth
He left a scroll with me, whose dark intent
I oft pray Heaven may bring no sorrow down.

ATTENDANT.  Queen Deanira, many a time ere now
Have I beheld thee with all tearful moan
Bewailing the departure of thy lord. 
But, if it be permitted that a slave
Should tender counsel to the free, my voice
May venture this:—­Of thy strong band of sons
Why is not one commissioned to explore
For Heracles? and why not Hyllus first,
Whom most it would beseem to show regard
For tidings of his father’s happiness? 
Ah! here I see him bounding home, with feet
Apt for employment!  If you count me wise,
He and my words attend upon your will.

Enter HYLLUS.

DE.  Dear child, dear boy! even from the lowliest head
Wise counsel may come forth.  This woman here,
Though a bond-maiden, hath a free-born tongue.