 | Agamemnon |  |
SCENE VII.
Clytemnestra, Talthybius, with some Grecian Soldiers that attend him.Clytemnestra.
Welcome, Talthybius; welcome, ye brave Greeks.
How fares the King?
Talthybius.
Madam, the King is well;
Health Happiness and Glory join to crown him.
His Heart, impatient to confer with yours,
Sends me before him with its warmest Wishes,
Its warmest Gratulations. Tell, he said,
“Go tell my Clytemnestra, that the Thoughts
“Of meeting her awake a dearer Joy
“Than Conquest ever gave: even tedious seems
“My People's Love, that loses me a Moment.
Health Happiness and Glory join to crown him.
His Heart, impatient to confer with yours,
Sends me before him with its warmest Wishes,
Its warmest Gratulations. Tell, he said,
“Go tell my Clytemnestra, that the Thoughts
“Of meeting her awake a dearer Joy
“Than Conquest ever gave: even tedious seems
“My People's Love, that loses me a Moment.
This Crown which circled once the Royal Brows
Of Hecuba, of Priam's lofty Queen,
He prays you to accept.
Of Hecuba, of Priam's lofty Queen,
He prays you to accept.
13
There, set it down.
I own, Talthybius, the soft Moisture fills
My Woman's Eyes, while on the sudden Turns
Of Fate I think, on Fortune's sad Reverses.
Oft when blind Mortals think themselves secure,
In height of Bliss, they touch the Brink of Ruin.
But sure your Voyage has been wond'rous quick,
Not three full Days:—Is all the Fleet return'd?
Talthybius.
No, Madam; none, except this single Ship,
Which bore the King: the rest are scatter'd wide.
Which bore the King: the rest are scatter'd wide.
When to the joyous Breeze we spread our Sails,
And left that Bay, where Simois and Scamander
Mix with the rapid Hellespont; while Troy,
Or what was Troy, yet wreathing Smoak to Heaven,
And Ida's woody Top, receding, sunk
Beneath the trembling Main: the Sky was fair;
And, wing'd our Course with slender Airs, we sail'd,
Till Night, in goodly Company, along.
But strait, as Evening fell, the fluttering Gale,
Encreasing gradual, from the red North-East,
Blew stiff and fierce. At last the Tempest howl'd.
Next Morning, nought but angry Seas and Skies
Appear'd, conflicting, round. Mean time, right on,
Our strong-ribb'd Vessel drove before the Blast,
That, falling somewhat of its Fury, gave us
A quick auspicious Voyage. Safe, we pass'd
The Cyclade Isles, that, o'er the troubled Deep,
Seem'd then to float amidst the mingling Storm.
Only at one, with much ado, we touch'd,
Nor without risque.
And left that Bay, where Simois and Scamander
Mix with the rapid Hellespont; while Troy,
Or what was Troy, yet wreathing Smoak to Heaven,
And Ida's woody Top, receding, sunk
Beneath the trembling Main: the Sky was fair;
And, wing'd our Course with slender Airs, we sail'd,
Till Night, in goodly Company, along.
But strait, as Evening fell, the fluttering Gale,
Encreasing gradual, from the red North-East,
Blew stiff and fierce. At last the Tempest howl'd.
Next Morning, nought but angry Seas and Skies
Appear'd, conflicting, round. Mean time, right on,
Our strong-ribb'd Vessel drove before the Blast,
That, falling somewhat of its Fury, gave us
A quick auspicious Voyage. Safe, we pass'd
The Cyclade Isles, that, o'er the troubled Deep,
Seem'd then to float amidst the mingling Storm.
Only at one, with much ado, we touch'd,
Nor without risque.
Clytemnestra.
And why?
Talthybius.
Madam, compell'd
By sacred Pity. On the foaming Beach,
A miserable Figure beck'ning stood,
14
His plaintive Voice, half by the murmuring Surge
Absorpt, just reach'd our Ears. In Greek he call'd,
And strong adjur'd us by the gentle Gods,
That make the Wretched their peculiar Care,
To bear him thence, from savage Solitude,
Into the chearful Haunts of Man again.
Clytemnestra.
What?—Of Condition look'd He?
Talthybius.
So he seem'd;
Tho' dim'd by helpless solitary Life.
The King regards him much—Forgive me, Madam;
I see the rueful Image but disturbs
Your generous Soul.
Clytemnestra.
I thank you, good Talthybius;
And from the King himself will learn the rest.
This Ring, on which a Victory is carv'd,
With curious Art, befits the News you bring:
I am your Debtor still; and, Soldiers, yours.
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