 | Electra |  |
SCENE THE THIRD.
ORESTES and CLYTEMNESTRA, musing.CLYTEMNESTRA.
Vain is my search for peace, who bear about
The cause that makes each place alike uneasy.
O restless wretchedness of conscious guilt!—
Sure what we feel's akin to what we fear—
And souls like mine anticipate damnation.
The cause that makes each place alike uneasy.
O restless wretchedness of conscious guilt!—
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And souls like mine anticipate damnation.
How vain the pomps and glories that surround me!
How insufficient to confer that bliss
The virtuous beggar knows. His scraps are banquets,
And his sleep elysium—compar'd with mine.
My tasteless palate loaths the choicest viands—
My bed's a nest of serpents—and my mind
The cave of terror, anguish and dismay!
Spectres and goblins haunt the dreary scene!
In fancy furies hiss—fell demons howl—
And all is horror—agony—despair!—
Where-e'er I look, a husband's mangled form
Rises before me!—and in ev'ry sound
I hear his groans, his cries and exclamations!
How insufficient to confer that bliss
The virtuous beggar knows. His scraps are banquets,
And his sleep elysium—compar'd with mine.
My tasteless palate loaths the choicest viands—
My bed's a nest of serpents—and my mind
The cave of terror, anguish and dismay!
Spectres and goblins haunt the dreary scene!
In fancy furies hiss—fell demons howl—
And all is horror—agony—despair!—
Where-e'er I look, a husband's mangled form
Rises before me!—and in ev'ry sound
I hear his groans, his cries and exclamations!
ORESTES
, apart.
She seems disorder'd!
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Heard I not a noise!—
Who's there?—The youth on whom my eyes could hang,
I know not why, forever with delight.
He wakes, whene'er I see him, the rememb'rance
That I had once a son—my joy—my pride!
But prov'd a murd'ress—not a mother to him.
ORESTES
, advancing.
I'll probe the wound—tho' hopeless of a cure.
[Aside.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Whence, gentle stranger, that thou'rt lonely here
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So suited to a gay and youthful mind.
ORESTES.
Mine is but ill-dispos'd to relish pleasures.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Can melancholy taint so young a heart?
Or hast thou from misfortune found a cause
To pine in pensive sadness?
ORESTES.
Oh!—A great one!
The loss of a deserving, long-lov'd friend.
CLYTEMNESRTA.
Then thy affliction has a gen'rous plea.
Yet as an evil that we know must come,
The noble mind should be prepar'd to meet it;
Nor suffer sorrow to usurp too highly
For what's inevitable.
ORESTES.
Death, 'tis true,
Is the condition life is granted on—
A debt that all must pay. The parent, lover,
The friend and husband, know the hour will come
Which must divide the best-cemented hearts.
Yet, howe'er common—tho' prepar'd and arm'd,
A real loss will make the firmest feel.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
I know it well—know nature will have scope—
And passion mock at reason's wisest precepts.
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We only, who remain behind, are loosers;
For death's to many a relief from care,
To none an evil—if not made by guilt.
Yet where a bright assemblage of all virtues
Blaze early forth, and meet a timeless blast,
Like those which I lament, not only friends,
But all mankind should sadden at the loss.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Who was this wonder?
ORESTES,
The much-injur'd heir
Of glorious Agamemnon! who had sworn,
My soul assenting to the solemn vow,
Never to rest, till to that hero's ghost
He'd sacrific'd the spoiler of his life.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Do'st thou not know me—thou presumptuous boy?
ORESTES.
Well—and must teach you too, to know yourself.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
What would'st thou aim at?—To assassinate—
ORESTES.
No, by the Gods!—But if thou art a woman,
The strings of wife and mother I must strike,
And jar them on thy heart. Thy royal lord,
Leader of monarchs, vanquisher of Troy,
The noblest warriour, and the first of kings,
By thy devices, thy accomplice fell.
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Hah!—
ORESTES.
Are you stricken?—Seize the only means
That can redeem your name from infamy,
Your soul from endless torments. Earth and heav'n
Demand the punishment of him who dar'd
To violate all laws, divine and human,
By an assault on majesty. Each God
There lost a sacred representative—
As ev'ry subject did a gracious father:
But most your son—your unoffending son—
Blood of your Blood—
CLYTEMNESTRA.
If life be worth thy care—
ORESTES.
Down on thy knees—and to the awful Gods
Swear with the foe of regicides and traitors,
To rend this pest of nature from the seat
His guilt first gave him, and his crimes have stain'd,
Or, by the vengeance of a murder'd husband—
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Unhand me, beardless ruffian—nor presume
Thus to profane my sex and dignity
With such unlicenc'd outrage—or, this moment,
The violation of all sacred rights
Draws ruin irrevocable upon thee.
ORESTES.
Raise boist'rous passion to the height it reach'd
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Summon the furies, give the damn'd beneath
An hour of horrid joy! Bid the winds roar,
The mountain-billows clash, the earth be shook,
And set the skies on fire!—Amid'st their wreck,
Did'st thou, a dreadful deity, preside,
I'd fearless face thee to arraign such crimes!
Urge the loud cry of men and Gods for justice—
Compel the stroke—or punish the refusal.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
To men and Gods—to thee and Agamemnon—
Orestes—all, I dare avow the deed—
Exult and glory in it!—Would again,
Tho' the red bolt were hissing in the hand
Of heav'ns almighty thund'rer, bravely strike
For happy freedom from the man who wrong'd me.
ORESTES.
The complicated vengeance will have way,
And thus o'erwhelms thee [going to kill her, but stops.
—Everlasting Gods!—
Whither was phrenzy goading desperation?—
Gape hell, and save me from a crime so horrid.
[falls on his face.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
But, to thy ruin, indignation prompts
A surer aim—
[snatching up the sword, and going to kill him.
| Electra | |