THE CHARIOT RACE (from "Electra")
by: Sophocles
HEY took
their stand where the appointed judges
- Had cast their lots and ranged the rival cars.
- Rang out the brazen trump! Away they bound,
- Cheer the hot steeds and shake the slackened reins;
- As with a body the large space is filled
- With the huge clangor of the rattling cars.
- High whirl aloft the dust-clouds; blent together,
- Each presses each and the lash rings; and loud
- Snort the wild steeds, and from their fiery breath,
- Along their manes and down the circling wheels
- Scatter the flaking foam. Orestes still--
- Ays, as he swept around the perilous pillar
- Last in the course, wheeled in the rushing axle;
- The left rein curbed,--that on the dexter hand
- Flung loose.-- So on erect the chariots rolled!
- Sudden the Ænian's fierce and headlong steeds
- Broke from the bit -- and, as the seventh time now
- The course was circled, on the Libyan car
- Dashed their wild fronts: then order changed to ruin:
- Car crashed on car; the wide Crissæan plain
- Was sea-like strewed with wrecks; the Athenian saw,
- Slackened his speed, and wheeling round the marge,
- Unscathed and skillful, in the midmost space,
- Left the wild tumult of that tossing storm.
- Behind, Orestes, hitherto the last,
- Had yet kept back his coursers for the close;
- Now one sole rival left -- on, on he flew,
- And the sharp sound of the impelling scourge
- Rang in the keen ears of the flying steeds.
- He nears, he reaches -- they are side by side --
- Now one -- the other -- by a length the victor.
- The courses all are past -- the wheels erect --
- All safe -- when, as the hurrying coursers round
- The fatal pillar dashed, the wretched boy
- Slackened the left rein: on the column's edge
- Crashed the frail axle: headlong from the car
- Caught and all meshed within the reins, he fell;
- And masterless the mad steeds raged along!
- Loud from that mighty multitude arose
- A shriek -- a shout! But yesterday such deeds,
- To-day such doom! Now whirled upon the earth,
- Now his limbs dashed aloft, they dragged him -- those
- Wild horses -- till all gory from the wheels
- Released; -- and no man, not his nearest friends,
- Could in that mangled corpse have traced Orestes.
- They laid the body on the funeral-pyre;
- And while we speak, the Phocian strangers bear,
- In a small, brazen, melancholy urn,
- That handful of cold ashes to which all
- The grandeur of the Beautiful hath shrunk.
|
This English translation, by Edward
Bulwer Lytton, of 'The Chariot Race' is reprinted from Greek
Poets in English Verse. Ed. William Hyde Appleton. Cambridge:
The Riverside Press, 1893. |
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