HYL.  Lift him, men, and hate not me
    For the evil deeds ye see,
    Since the Heavens’ relentless sway
    Recks not of the righteous way. 
    He who gave life and doth claim
    From his seed a Father’s name
    Can behold this hour of blame. 
    Though the future none can tell,
    Yet the present is not well: 
    Sore for him who bears the blow,
    Sad for us who feel his woe,
    Shameful to the Gods, we trow.

CH.  Maidens from the palace-hall,
    Come ye forth, too, at our call! 
    Mighty deaths beyond belief,
    Many an unknown form of grief,
    Ye have seen to-day; and nought
    But the power of Zeus hath wrought.

* * * * *

PHILOCTETES

THE PERSONS

ODYSSEUS. 
NEOPTOLEMUS. 
CHORUS of Mariners. 
PHILOCTETES. 
Messenger, disguised as a Merchantman. 
HERACLES, appearing from the sky.

SCENE.  A desert shore of the Island of Lemnos.

It was fated that Troy should be taken by Neoptolemus, the son of
Achilles, assisted by the bow of Heracles in the hands of Philoctetes.

Now Philoctetes had been rejected by the army because of a trouble in his foot, which made his presence with them insufferable; and had been cast away by Odysseus on the island of Lemnos.

But when the decree of fate was revealed by prophecy, Odysseus undertook to bring Philoctetes back, and took with him Neoptolemus, whose ambition could only be gratified through the return of Philoctetes with the bow.

Philoctetes was resolutely set against returning, and at the opening of the drama Neoptolemus is persuaded by Odysseus to take him with guile.

But when Philoctetes appears, the youth’s ingenuous nature is so wrought upon through pity and remorse, that his sympathy and native truthfulness at length overcome his ambition.

When the inward sacrifice is complete, Heracles appears from heaven, and by a few words changes the mind of Philoctetes, so that all ends well.

PHILOCTETES

ODYSSEUS.  NEOPTOLEMUS.

ODYSSEUS.  This coast of sea-girt Lemnos, where we stand,
Is uninhabited, untrodden of men. 
And here, O noble son of noblest sire,
Achilles-born Neoptolemus, I erewhile,—­
Ordered by those who had command,—­cast forth
Trachinian Philoctetes, Poeas’ son,
His foot dark-dripping with a rankling wound;
When with wild cries, that frighted holy rest,
Filling the camp, he troubled every rite,
That none might handle sacrifice, or pour
Wine-offering, but his noise disturbed our peace. 
  But why these words?  No moment this for talk,
Lest he discern my coming, and I lose
The scheme, wherewith I think to catch him soon. 
Now most behoves thy service, to explore