Poetry Reading, Fall 1998
Thebaid by Statius, IX. 39
| Sed postquam haud dubio clades auctore reperta est, nox oculos mentemque rapit; tum sanguine fixo membra simul, simul arma ruunt: madet ardua fletu iam galea atque ocreae clipeum excepere cadentem. It maestus genua aegra trahens hastamque sequentem, vulneribus ceu mille gravis totosque per artus saucius, absistunt socii monstrantque gementes. Tandem ille abiectis, vix quae portaverat, armis nudus in egregii vacuum iam corpus amici procidit et tali lacrimas cum voce profudit: "Hasne tibi, armorum spes o suprema meorum, Oenide, grates, haec praemia digna rependi, funus ut invisa Cadmi tellure iaceres sospite me? Nunc exsul ego aeternumque fugatus, quando alius misero ac melior mihi frater ademptus. Nec iam sortitus veteres regnique nocentis periurum diadema peto: quo gaudia tanti empta mihi aut sceptrum, quod non tua dextera tradet?" Sic ait, et maerens etiamnum lubrica tabo ora viri terget lacrimis dextraque reponit. "Tune meos hostes hucusque exosus, et ultra sospes ego?" Exuerat vagina turbidus ensem aptabatque neci: comites tenuere, socerque castigat bellique vices ac fata revolvens solatur tumidum, longeque a corpore caro paulatim, unde dolor letique animosa voluntas, amovet ac tacite ferrum inter verba reponit. Ducitur amisso qualis consorte laborum deserit inceptum media inter iugera sulcum taurus iners colloque iugum deforme remisso parte trahit, partem lacrimans sustentat arator. |
But when the disaster was confirmed by a reliable source, darkness seized his eyes and mind: then his blood froze, and both his limbs and weapons fall: now his lofty helmet is already wet with tears and his greaves caught the shield as it fell. Sadly he goes, dragging himself upon weak knees, his spear trailing behind, as if burdened with a thousand wounds and injured in all his limbs; his comrades step back and, sighing, point to the body. At length, having cast aside the weapons he could scarcely carry, he falls, unarmed, onto the lifeless body of his illustrious friend and pours forth his tears in these words: "Are these the thanks, the just rewards I have paid you, son of Oenidus, the final hope of my arms, that you should lie unburied in the hated land of Cadmus while I remain safe? Now I am an exile, forever banished, since my second and better brother has been taken from wretched me. No longer do I seek the ancient drawing of lots or the perjured crown of a wicked kingdom: what good to me are the joys so dearly bought or a scepter, which your hand does not place in mine?" Thus he speaks, and, weeping, washes with his tears the face of the soldier, still slippery with blood, and with his own hand lays out the body. "Did you hate my enemies so much, and I, far away, remain safe?" With uncontrolled grief, he had drawn his sword from the sheath and prepared it for death. His comrades restrained him; his father-in-law rebukes him and, reminding him of fate and the chances of war, comforts his swelling heart and gradually leads him away from the dear body, from which come grief and an eager desire for death, and quietly, while speaking, returns the sword. Polynices is lead like a bull, which, numbed by the loss of the partner of his labors, quits in the middle of the fields the furrow it has begun, dragging on its gentle neck one end of the unbalanced yoke, while the weeping plowman supports the other. |
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