University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Clytemnestra, Agamemnon, Electra.
Cly.
Ah, why with fresh delays protract the hopes
Of thy expecting people? Even now,
Upon the sacred altars, incense smokes.
Along the paths, engarlanded with flowers,
That to the temple lead, innumerous crowds,
Like waves, succeed each other, who, to heaven,
With loud acclaim, shout Agamemnon's praise.

Aga.
I should, ere now, not only have indulged
The wishes of my people, but my own,
Had not Ægisthus, in a conference,
Detain'd me here, perhaps longer than I wished.

Cly.
Ægisthus?

Aga.
Yes, Ægisthus. Tell me now,
Why heard I not from thee he was in Argos?

Cly.
My lord ... I deem'd not he would find a place
'Mid thy so many other cares.

Aga.
Ægisthus
Is on his own account to me indifferent.
But he, thou knowest, from a blood descends
Fatal to mine. I do not now suspect
That he came here to injure me, (and could he?)
But yet it seems to me that his appearance
Is ill adapted to the festal homage
That waits on my return. I have commanded,
That ere to-morrow's dawn he goes from hence.
Meanwhile, let joy unmingled revel here.
Oh, consort, to the temple now I go,
Thus to propitiate the heavenly powers.
Ah! let the genial smile return to illume
Thy countenance. Those smiles were once to me
Pledges of peace, and of beatitude;—
This heart can never rest till they return.