Philoctetes (1402-1469)

If it is your will, let us go.

O noble words!

Now lean your steps firmly upon mine.

As far as my strength allows.

But how shall I escape blame from the Achaeans?

Disregard it.

What if they ravage my country?

I will be there—

And what aid will you render?

—And with the shafts of Heracles—

What?

—I will keep them away.

Then say your farewell to this island, and leave with me.

Not yet, not until you have heard my commands,

son of Poeas. Know that your ears perceive the voice of Heracles, and that you look upon his face. For your sake I have left my divine seat and come

to reveal to you the purposes of Zeus, and to halt the journey on which you are departing. Hearken to my words. First I would tell you of my own fortunes—how, by toiling through and enduring so many toils to the end, I have won the glory of deathlessness, as you witness.

And for you, be sure, this fate is ordained, that through these toils of yours you will make your life far-famed. You shall go with this man to the Trojan city, where, first, you shall be healed of your cruel sickness,

and then, chosen out as foremost among the warriors in prowess, with my bow you shall sever Paris, the author of these evils, from life. You shall sack Troy and shall receive from the army the spoils of supreme valor to carry home

to the heights of your native Oeta for the delight of your father Poeas. And whatever spoils you receive from that army, from them carry to my pyre a thank-offering for my bow. And these counsels hold for you also, son of Achilles,

for you have not the might to subdue the Trojan realm without him, nor he without you. Rather, like twin lions with the same quarry, each of you must guard the other’s life. For the healing of your sickness, I will send Asclepius to Troy, since it is doomed to fall a second time

before my arrows. But of this be mindful, when you plunder the land—that you show reverence towards the gods. Do this because Father Zeus regards all else as of less account, and because Piety does not die along with mortals. Whether they are alive or dead, their piety does not perish.

Ah, friend whose voice I have longed to hear, whose shape I see at long last, I will not disobey your commands!

I, too, consent.

Then do not long delay,

for the occasion and the fair wind there at your stern urge you forward.

Come, then, let me hail this land as I depart. Farewell, chamber that shared my watches. Farewell,

nymphs of stream and meadow, and you, strong pounding of the sea-lashed cape, where often in the cavern’s inmost recess my head was wetted by the south wind’s blasts, and where many times the Hermaean mount sent an echo

to my sad groans in the gale of my sorrow! But now, clear springs and Lycian fount, I am leaving you, leaving you at last, though such a hope had never buoyed me! Farewell, sea-wrapped Lemnos,

and send me off with sailing fair to my heart’s content, send me to the destination appointed me by mighty Fate and the will of my friends, and by the all-taming god who has brought these things to pass.

Now let us all leave together,