University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Agamemnon, Clytemnestra.
Agamemnon.
Where is my Life! my Love! my Clytemnestra!
O let me press Thee to my fluttering Soul,
That is on wing to mix itself with thine!
O thou, for whom I live, for whom I conquer,
Than Glory brighter! O my Clytemnestra!
Now, in this dear Embrace, I lose the Toils
Of ten Years War; Absence, with all its Pains,
Is by this charming Moment wip'd away.
All-bounteous Gods! Sure, never was a Heart
So full, so blest as mine.—
[discovering her Disorder.
But whence, my Fairest!
What mean these Tears?—Not Tears of happy Love,
Such as I shed.—What means that clouded Look,
Whose downcast Sweetness will not shine upon me?
Why this cold Meeting? Why unkindly damp'd
My Ardor thus? Oh speak, my Clytemnestra!

Clytemnestra.
Forgive me, Agamemnon; but I cannot,
Alas! I cannot see your Face again,
Without reflecting where I saw you last.
Aulis is present to my Eyes anew,
The Ships, the Chiefs, the Guards, the bloody Calchas,
All the dire Pomp of Sacrifice around:
Anew my Daughter bleeds, basely deceiv'd!
And when I see that awful Brow, that doom'd Her,
Need Agamemnon wonder at my Tears?

Agamemnon.
Why will my Clytemnestra add new Stings
To what here rankles but too deep already?
Ah! why impute to me the Work of Fate?
'Tis not indulging private Inclination,
The selfish Passions, that sustains the World,
And lends its Rulers Grace; no, 'tis not thence
That Glory springs, and high immortal Deeds:
The Public Good, the Good of others, still,
Must bear fond Nature down, in him who dares
Aspire to worthy Rule; imperious Honour
Still o'er the most Distinguish'd lords it most.
Was it for me?—Let even your Passions judge—
For Agamemnon was it, when ordain'd,
By common Voice, the General of the Greeks;
While twenty Kings beneath my Banner march'd;
And while around me full-assembled Greece,
Indignant, kindled at your Sister's Rape,
On her old native Foe demanding Vengeance,
On faithless Asia: Was it then for me,
To quench this glorious Flame? And to refuse
One Life to Thousands, to those generous Thousands,
That for my Honour, for the dearer Honour
Of Clytemnestra's Family, stood all
Prepar'd to die? If to the mingled Voice
Of Honour, Duty, Glory, Public Good,
Of the commanding Gods, I had been deaf;
And, in the feeble Father, poorly sunk
The Greek, the Chief, the Patriot and the King,
Greater than King, the General of the Greeks;
Then you yourself, my Clytemnestra's Self,
Must (let her Heart avow the Truth) have scorn'd me.
Nor think it was an easy Resignation.
Oh Clytemnestra! Had you seen within,
What here within my tortur'd Bosom pass'd;
To that my Battles since were only Sport.
No, not the kindest Mother, bath'd in Tears,
As o'er her agonizing Babe she hangs,
Feels what I suffer'd then—You may remember—
Again the Father melts me at the Thought—
You may remember how I hid my Face;
Asham'd to let the Greeks around behold
The Tears, that misbecame their General's Cheek.
Then cease to blame what rather merits Pity,
I might add Praise.—He, who the Father's Heart
More tender has than mine, too tender has it.
I love my Children, as a Father should;
Besides, I love them from a softer Cause,
I love my Clytemnestra.

Clytemnestra.
Had, alas!
Had Agamemnon lov'd me, would He, nay,
Could he have left me in the Rage of Grief,
My Daughter yet fresh bleeding in my sight?
Left me so long? Love surely must have found,
In the wide Round of ten revolving Years,
Some way to see me, to prevent these Sorrows—
Why was I thus abandon'd, Agamemnon?

Agamemnon.
Let me kiss off these Tears—O beauteous Tears!
If shed by doubting Love, if shed for Absence.
Instead of these Reproaches, ask me rather,
How I that Absence bore: and here all Words
All Eloquence is dumb, to speak the Pangs,
That lurk'd beneath the rugged Brow of War.
When glaring Day was clos'd, and hush'd the Camp,
Oh! then, amid ten thousand other Cares,
Those stung the keenest that remember'd Thee,
That on my long-left Clytemnestra thought,
On what wild Seas and Mountains lay between us.

Clytemnestra.
Unhappy Man!

Agamemnon.
What says my Clytemnestra?

Clytemnestra.
Unhappy Mortals! by vain Words deceiv'd,
To their own Pride, to joyless Honour Slaves.

Agamemnon.
He, he, alone, can claim a Right to Bliss,
Who has fulfill'd the painful Task of Honour.

Clytemnestra.
But what avails a Right to vanish'd Bliss?

Agamemnon.

Clytemnestra.
Oh!

Agamemnon.
Turn not away;
There is relenting Goodness in thy Look.

Clytemnestra.
Alas! untimely Fondness—Agamemnon!
Too generous Agamemnon! you distress me.
Would you were not so kind, so tender, now!
Or ne'er had been so cruel!

Agamemnon.
'Tis unjust
To call me cruel. Fate, the Gods, our Fortune
Were cruel to us both—What could I more
To sooth our parting Woes, and ease my Absence?
I left you Melisander to advise you,
Left you the wisest, faithfullest and best—
Oh whisp'ring Nature! Are not these my Children?