University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE FOURTH.

People, Agamemnon, Electra, Clytemnestra, Soldiers.
Aga.
At last I see the wish'd-for walls of Argos:
This ground which now I tread is the loved spot
Where once I wander'd with my infant feet.
All that I see around me are my friends;
My wife, my daughter, and my faithful people,
And you, ye household gods, whom I at last
Return to worship. What have I to wish?
What does there now remain for me to hope?
How long and tedious do ten years appear
Spent in a foreign country, far from all
The heart holds dear! With what profound delight,
After the labours of a bloody war,
Shall I repose? Oh home, beloved asylum,
Where peace alone awaits us, with what joy
Thee I revisit! But am I, alas!
The only one that tastes of comfort here?
My wife, my daughter, silently ye stand,
Fixing upon the ground unquietly
Your conscious eyes? Oh heaven, do ye not feel
A joy that equals mine, in being thus
Restored to my embrace?

Elec.
Ah, honour'd father!

Cly.
My lord ... to-day we have felt vicissitudes
Too rapid and too opposite .... Now driven
From hope to grief, and now from grief driven back
To unexpected joy ... Ill can the heart
Emotions bear so sudden and discordant.

Elec.
For thee till now we have trembled. Here report
Spread of thee various and tremendous tidings,
To which the turbulent and stormy winds,
Which have for many days the ocean vex'd,
Made us yield credence; to ourselves a source
Of deep anxiety. At last thou art safe;
At last from Troy a conqueror thou return'st,
So much desired, and for so many months
So much desired in vain. Father, at last
Upon this hand, upon this hand of thine,
On which, before thou didst depart from hence,
I, but a child, infantine kisses printed;
I, now a woman grown, more fervently,
More reverently, the adult kiss impress.
That warlike hand, which made all Asia tremble,
Will not disdain a simple virgin's homage.
Ah no! I feel assured, that, to the heart
Of my most tender father, to behold
Once more, to clasp his well-beloved daughter,
Matured in age, devoted to his will,
Will be a grateful spectacle, far more
Than vanquish'd kingdoms, and submissive monarchs.

Aga.
Yes, daughter, dearer to me far than fame
Are the fond ties of blood; ah! could I be
As happy as a father and a husband
As I am as a warrior and a king!
But I reproach not you; myself alone
And my hard destiny. Already heaven
Has robb'd me of one daughter: to complete
My measure of parental happiness
At my return, she only now was wanting.
But heaven forbids it, and I must divert
From the dire subject my regretful thoughts.
Electra, thou art left to me; art left
To thy unhappy and afflicted mother.
How, as a fond companion, by her side,
Her only solace in my tedious absence,
Her endless tears, her anxious restlessness,
And all her sufferings, hast thou shared with her,
Thou tenderest of daughters! How many days,
How many nights, in calling me to mind,
Have ye consumed together! Likewise, I,
Amid the frequent fierce vicissitudes
Of military enterprise; 'mid blood,
'Mid glory, and 'mid death, for ever saw
Your image present, your anxieties,
Your tears, conjectures, and inquietudes.
Oft in my helmet bonnetted I wept
In silence; but, except the father, none
Were conscious of these tears. But now the time
For grief is at an end: and Clytemnestra,
From her dejected look, and tearful eye,
Alone I do not recognize.

Cly.
I sad? ...

Elec.
Joy, when it is excessive, overcomes
As much as grief. Father, allow her time
To calm her scatter'd spirits. She would fain
Say more than I can say, and hence says less.

Aga.
Nor has she spoken to me of Orestes.

Cly.
Orestes?

Elec.
Ah! come to embrace him, father.

Aga.
Heir of my throne, my only hope, Orestes,
Support and consolation of my life;
Till in these arms a thousand times I've clasp'd thee,
I will not to these weary limbs allow
A moment's rest... My consort, let us go;
Let us make haste t'embrace him: that dear son,
Of whom, though thou speak'st not, thou art the mother;
Him, whom I left an infant at the breast,
Quitting him with reluctance... Is he grown?
What are his sports? resembleth he his father?
Hath he the seeds of future virtue in him?
Do his eyes sparkle with a noble ardour,
If he beholds a brandish'd sword, or hears
Of glorious exploits, or heroic deeds?

Cly.
I cannot any longer check my tears!

Elec.
Ah, father, come, and thou shalt see him: he
Expressly is thy image; since from hence
Thou wentest, never have I quitted him.
Age of simplicity! oft as he heard
His father named by us—“When, when,” he cried,
“Shall I behold him?” Hearing afterwards
Of Troy, and arms, and foes, in thy defence,
With childish eagerness, he would aspire,
Equipp'd with arms, to brave thy enemies.

Aga.
Ah! say no more; let us depart. Each instant
Seems death to me that I delay to see him.