 | Agamemnon |  |
SCENE III.
Clytemnestra, her Attendant.Clytemnestra.
He comes! he comes! the hapless Victor comes!
Even now his trophy'd Vessel streaks the Main,
And ploughs the Billows with triumphant Prow;
Or, by glad Crouds receiv'd, perhaps, he hails
His native Shore, and presses on to Shame.
Even now with Glory charg'd, with Conquest gay,
Crown'd with the Laurels of ten famous Years,
He dreams to join them to the peaceful Olive;
And, after rugged Toils and perillous War,
Soft to repose him on the Myrtle Bed
Of calm domestic Bliss. How vain the Hopes!
How short the Prospect of believing Man!
I dare not look before me, dare not paint
The rising Storm.
Attendant.
Behold Egisthus, Madam.
Clytemnestra.
Leave me.
| Agamemnon | |