Men and Women. Robert Browning

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       Possessed his stepdame Phaidra for himself

       The son of Theseus her great absent spouse.

       Hippolutos exclaiming in his rage

       Against the fury of the Queen, she judged

       Life insupportable; and, pricked at heart

       An Amazonian stranger's race should dare

       To scorn her, perished by the murderous cord:

       Yet, ere she perished, blasted in a scroll

       The fame of him her swerving made not swerve. 30

       And Theseus, read, returning, and believed,

       And exiled, in the blindness of his wrath,

       The man without a crime who, last as first,

       Loyal, divulged not to his sire the truth,

       Now Theseus from Poseidon had obtained

       That of his wishes should be granted three,

       And one he imprecated straight—"Alive

       May ne'er Hippolutos reach other lands!"

       Poseidon heard, ai ai! And scarce the prince

       Had stepped into the fixed boots of the car 40

       That give the feet a stay against the strength

       Of the Henetian horses, and around

       His body flung the rein, and urged their speed

       Along the rocks and shingles at the shore,

       When from the gaping wave a monster flung

       His obscene body in the coursers' path.

       These, mad with terror, as the sea-bull sprawled

       Wallowing about their feet, lost care of him

       That reared them; and the master-chariot-pole

       Snapping beneath their plunges like a reed, 50

       Hippolutos, whose feet were trammelled fast,

       Was yet dragged forward by the circling rein

       Which either hand directed; nor they quenched

       The frenzy of their flight before each trace,

       Wheel-spoke and splinter of the woful car,

       Each boulder-stone, sharp stub and spiny shell,

       Huge fish-bone wrecked and wreathed amid the sands

       On that detested beach, was bright with blood

       And morsels of his flesh; then fell the steeds

       Head foremost, crashing in their mooned fronts, 60

       Shivering with sweat, each white eye horror-fixed.

       His people, who had witnessed all afar,

       Bore back the ruins of Hippolutos.

       But when his sire, too swoln with pride, rejoiced

       (Indomitable as a man foredoomed)

       That vast Poseidon had fulfilled his prayer,

       I, in a flood of glory visible,

       Stood o'er my dying votary and, deed

       By deed, revealed, as all took place, the truth.

       Then Theseus lay the wofullest of men, 70

       And worthily; but ere the death-veils hid

       His face, the murdered prince full pardon breathed

       To his rash sire. Whereat Athenai wails.

       So I, who ne'er forsake my votaries,

       Lest in the cross-way none the honey-cake

       Should tender, nor pour out the dog's hot life;

       Lest at my fane the priests disconsolate

       Should dress my image with some faded poor

       Few crowns, made favors of, nor dare object

       Such slackness to my worshippers who turn 80

       Elsewhere the trusting heart and loaded hand,

       As they had climbed Olumpos to report

       Of Artemis and nowhere found her throne—

       I interposed: and, this eventful night

       (While round the funeral pyre the populace

       Stood with fierce light on their black robes which bound

       Each sobbing head, while yet their hair they clipped

       O'er the dead body of their withered prince,

       And, in his palace, Theseus prostrated

       On the cold hearth, his brow cold as the slab 90

       'T was bruised on, groaned away the heavy grief—

       As the pyre fell, and down the cross logs crashed

       Sending a crowd of sparkles through the night,

       And the gay fire, elate with mastery,

       Towered like a serpent o'er the clotted jars

       Of wine, dissolving oils and frankincense,

       And splendid gums like gold) my potency

       Conveyed the perished man to my retreat

       In the thrice-venerable forest here.

       And this white-bearded sage who squeezes now 100

       The berried plant, is Phoibos' son of fame,

       Asclepios, whom my radiant brother taught

       The doctrine of each herb and flower and root,

       To know their secret'st virtue and express

       The saving soul of all: who so has soothed

       With layers the torn brow and murdered cheeks,

       Composed the hair and brought its gloss again,

       And called the red bloom to the pale skin back,

       And laid the strips and lagged ends of flesh

       Even once more, and slacked the sinew's knot 110

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