CHORAL INTERLUDE I
Strophe
In vain—our pious vows are vain— {111}
Make we the flying sail our care,
The light bark bounding o'er the main;
To what new realm shall we repair?
To Lycia's hallow'd strand?
Or where in solitary state,
Mid thirsty deserts wild and wide
That close him round on every side,
Prophetic Ammon holds his awful seat?
What charm, what potent hand
Shall save her from the realms beneath?
He comes, the ruthless tyrant Death:
I have no priest, no altar more,
Whose aid I may implore!
Antistrophe
O that the Son of Phoebus now {121}
Lived to behold th' ethereal light!
Then might she leave the seats below,
Where Pluto reigns in cheerless night!
The Sage's potent art,
Till thund'ring Jove's avenging pow'r
Hurl'd his red Thunders at his breast,
Could, from the yawning gulf releast,
To the sweet light of life the dead restore.
Who now shall aid impart?
To ev'ry god, at ev'ry shrine,
The king hath paid the rites divine:
But vain his vows, his pious care;
And ours is dark despair!
EPISODE I
At last they have been heard, and one of the Queen's Women comes weeping from the Palace [by one of the Inferior Doors]: the Chorus fall into their Episode position, in two ranks, between the Altar and the Stage, taking part by their Foreman in the dialogue.
The Chorus eagerly enquire whether Alcestis yet lives. {138}
Attend. As living may I speak of her, and dead. Cho. Living and dead at once, how may that be? Attend. E'en now she sinks in death and breathes her last.
They join in extolling her heroic devotion, and the Attendant tells of her bearing on this day of Death, which she celebrates as if a day of religious festival.