The Choral Odes of Alcestis

— Why this silence at the gates?

— Why is the house of Admetus hushed?

— But no friend is near

who might tell whether she is dead,

and we must mourn our queen, or living still

she sees this day’s light, the daughter of Pelias,

Alcestis, by me and everyone else

judged the best a wife

could be to her husband.

Strophe 1 (86-97):

— Does anyone hear sounds of mourning

or the beating of hands within the house

or moaning as when the end has come?

— No, and there is no attendant

posted at the gates.

If only, amid the waves of disaster,

oh Paian, you would appear.

— If she were gone they would not be silent.

— She is dead now.

— But not gone from the house.

— Why do you think so? I am not so confident. What makes you sure?

— How could Admetus have buried

his noble wife without mourners?

Antistrophe 1 (98-111):

— Beside the gates I do not see

the spring water that is the custom

at the gates of the dead.

— No cut lock of hair is at the front gates

which falls in mourning

for the dead. No young hand

of women can be heard beating.

— And truly this is the fated day...

— What is this you say?

— On which she must go below.

— You have touched my soul, you have touched my heart.

— When the good are worn with misery

all good people

must grieve with them.

.

Strophe 2 (112-121):

— But there is no place left on earth

where anyone, by sending

a ship’s voyage, either to Lycia

or to the waterless

altars of Ammon,

might save the life

of the unhappy woman. For the untimely end of her life

approaches. By the hearths of the gods

there is no priest burning sheep

I may approach.

Antistrophe 2 (122-131):

— But he alone... if only he were now seeing

this day’s light with his eyes,

Phoebus’ son [Asclepius}, then leaving

the shadowy places and gates of Hades,

she might come back.

For he used to raise the dead

until the Zeus-cast

bolt of blazing thunder took him away.

But now what hope

of life may I entertain?

— All is over for the royal family;

at the altars of all the gods

full sacrifices are streaming with blood.

But there is no cure for these ills.

Stasimon 1 (212-237)

CHORUS

Strophe (212-225):

— Ah Zeus what way out of evils, how, where

might there be a way? and release from the fortune

that is upon our rulers?

— Alas! Will anyone come or must I cut my hair

and change into

black clothes of mourning?

— It is plain, friends, plain, but still

let us pray to the gods,

for great is the might of the gods.

— Oh Lord Paian,

find a way out of evils for Admetus.

— Grant one, grant it. For even before this

you discovered a way, even now

be a savior from death,

stop bloody Hades.

Antistrophe (226-237):

— Woe........

Oh child of Pheres, how badly you have fared

deprived of your wife.

— Alas, are these things not worthy of cutting one’s throat

and more than enough to put one’s neck

in a high hung rope?

— For you will see

not a dear, but the dearest wife

die on this day.

— Look, look,

she is coming out and her husband with her.

— Cry out! Lament, oh Pheraian land,

for the best of wives,

wasting away with sickness

and going beneath the earth to Hades.

Stasimon 2 (435-475)

Oh daughter of Pelias,

be happy for me in the halls of Hades

where you live in the sunless house.

But Hades the black-haired god should know, and the old ferryman of the dead

who sits by the oar

and rudder that he rows you,

far and away the best of women,

over the lake of Acheron

in the two-oared pine boat.

Antistrophe 1:

Many songs will the servants of the Muses

sing of you to the seven-toned mountain lyre

and celebrate in lyreless hymns

in Sparta when the cycle of the season of the month

of Karneios returns

when the moon is up all night long,

and in shining happy Athens.

Such hymns of praise did you leave

to the singers when you died.

Strophe 2:

If only it were in my power

and I were able to row you

into the light from Hades’ halls

and across the streams of Cocytus

with oars over the river underground.

For you alone, dearest of women,

had the heart to give your life

in exchange for your husband’s,

saving him from Hades. Light may the earth

fall upon you, my queen. But if

your husband makes a second marriage, we will despise him

and so will your children.

Antistrophe 2:

When his mother refused

to let her body be buried in the ground

for her child and his aged father too

— for their son whom they gave life —they had not the courage to save him,

hard-hearted, grey-headed couple.

But in your early youth,

dying for your husband, you are gone.

I hope I am lucky enough

to get such a partner—

for this rarely happens in life--without grief she would be

with me through our lives.

 

Stasimon 3 (568-605)

Oh house of a hero, hospitable and forever free

in you the Pythian Apollo of the beautiful lyre

deigned to dwell,

and he endured to be a shepherd                         

in your domain,

over the sloping hillsides,             

piping to your flocks

pastoral mating songs.

Antistrophe 1:

In joy at the melodies spotted lynxes were herded with them,

and the blood-red pride of lions came,

leaving the covert of Orthys.

And with them danced about your lyre,

Phoebus, the dapple-coated fawn

coming from beyond the high-needled pines

with graceful ankles,

rejoicing in the happy tune.

Strophe 2:

For you dwell in a home most rich in sheep

beside the fair-flowing

lake of Boebia. As boundary

to his plough lands and level places of his plains he sets

the dark resting place

for the sun’s horses, the sky of the Molossians;

and he rules the Aegean sea

up to the harborless shore of Pelion.

 

Antistrophe 2:

And now having opened his home,

he has received a traveller, with tears in his eyes,

from weeping over the body of his dear wife,

just dead in the house. Well-bred people

know how to act.

Among the good there is every sort of wisdom. I am stunned.

But upon my soul confidence sits

that a god-fearing man will fare well.

Stasimon 4 (962-1005)

Though I have raced through

the musical gamut,

and touched on many tales I have found

nothing is stronger than Necessity,

not any drug

in the Thracian tablets

where are written the sayings

of Orpheus, not all the cures Phoebus gave to the Asclepiads

proven remedies of many ills for mortals.

Antistrophe 1:

But of this goddess alone it is not possible

to go to altars or images;

she heeds no sacrifice.

May you not come, Lady,

upon me with greater force than before in life.

For whatever Zeus assents to,

with you he accomplishes it.

You subdue even the iron among the Chalybes by force,

and have no respect for the stubborn temper.

Strophe 2:

You, too, the goddess has taken in the inescapable bonds of her hands.

But be brave, for you will not ever bring back the dead

from the nether world by weeping.

Even the shadowy children of the gods

perish in death.

Dear she was when she was with us,

dear will she be in death.

You brought to your bed the most perfect wife of all.

Antistrophe 2:

Let the tomb of your wife not be thought of

as a mound of the perished dead, but let it be honored like the gods,

a holy shrine for travelers.

And someone, turning into the road that angles off

will say this:

Hail Mistress, grant my prayer.  Such voices will greet her.