 | Agamemnon |  |
13
I pray the gods a respite from these toils,
This long year's watch that, dog-like, I have kept,
High on the Atridan's battlements, beholding
The nightly council of the stars, the circling
Of the celestial signs, and those bright regents,
High-swung in ether, that bring mortal men
Summer and winter. Here I watch the torch,
The appointed flame that wings a voice from Troy,
Telling of capture; thus I serve her hopes,
The masculine-minded who is sovereign here.
And when night-wandering shades encompass round
My dew-sprent dreamless couch (for fear doth sit
In slumber's chair, and holds my lids apart),
I chaunt some dolorous ditty, making song,
Sleep's substitute, surgeon my nightly care,
And the misfortunes of this house I weep,
14
Oh! soon may the wished for sign relieve my toils,
Thrice-welcome herald, gleaming through the night!
[The beacon is seen shining.]
All hail thou cresset of the dark! fair gleam
Of day through midnight shed, all hail! bright father
Of joy and dance, in Argos, hail! all hail!
Hillo! hilloa!
I will go tell the wife of Agamemnon
To shake dull sleep away, and lift high-voiced
The jubilant shout well-omened, to salute
This welcome beacon; if, indeed, old Troy
Hath fallen—as flames this courier torch to tell.
Myself will dance the prelude to this joy.
My master's house hath had a lucky throw,
And thrice six falls to me, thanks to the flame!
Soon may he see his home; and soon may I
Carry my dear-loved master's hand in mine!
The rest I whisper not, for on my tongue
Is laid a seal. These walls, if they could speak,
Would say strange things. Myself to those that know
Am free of speech, to whoso knows not dumb.
[Exit.
Enter CHORUS in procession. March time.
Nine years have rolled, the tenth is rolling,
Since the strong Atridan pair,
Menelaus and Agamemnon,
Sceptred kings by Jove's high grace,
With a host of sworn alliance,
With a thousand triremes rare,
With a righteous strong defiance,
Sailed for Troy. From furious breast
Loud they clanged the peal of battle;
Like the cry of vultures wild
O'er the lone paths fitful-wheeling,
With their plumy oarage oaring
Over the nest by the spoiler spoiled,
The nest dispeopled now and bare,
Their long but fruitless care.
But the gods see it: some Apollo,
Pan or Jove, the wrong hath noted,
Heard the sharp and piercing cry
Of the startled birds, shrill-throated
Tenants of the sky;
And the late-chastising Fury
Sent from above to track the spoiler,
Hovers vengeful nigh.
Since the strong Atridan pair,
Menelaus and Agamemnon,
Sceptred kings by Jove's high grace,
With a host of sworn alliance,
15
With a righteous strong defiance,
Sailed for Troy. From furious breast
Loud they clanged the peal of battle;
Like the cry of vultures wild
O'er the lone paths fitful-wheeling,
With their plumy oarage oaring
Over the nest by the spoiler spoiled,
The nest dispeopled now and bare,
Their long but fruitless care.
But the gods see it: some Apollo,
Pan or Jove, the wrong hath noted,
Heard the sharp and piercing cry
Of the startled birds, shrill-throated
Tenants of the sky;
And the late-chastising Fury
Sent from above to track the spoiler,
Hovers vengeful nigh.
Thus great Jove, the high protector
Of the hospitable laws,
'Gainst Alexander sends the Atridans,
Harnessed in a woman's cause,
The many-lorded fair.
Toils on toils shall come uncounted,
(Jove hath willed it so);
Limb-outwearying hard endeavour,
Where the strong knees press the dust,
Where the spear-shafts split and shiver,
Trojan and Greek shall know.
But things are as they are: the chain
Of Fate doth bind them; sighs are vain,
Tears, libations, fruitless flow,
To divert from purposed ire
The powers whose altars know no fire.
But we behind that martial train
Inglorious left remain,
Old and frail, and feebly leaning
Strength as of childhood on a staff.
Yea! even as life's first unripe marrow
In the tender bones are we,
From war's harsh service free.
For hoary Eld, life's leaf up-shrunken,
Totters, his three-footed way
Feebly feeling, weak as childhood,
Like a dream that walks by day.
But what is this? what wandering word,
Clytemnestra queen, hath reached thee?
What hast seen? or what hast heard
That from street to street swift flies
Thy word, commanding sacrifice?
All the altars of all the gods
That keep the city, gods supernal,
Gods Olympian, gods infernal,
Gods of the Forum, blaze with gifts;
Right and left the flame mounts high,
Spiring to the sky,
With the gentle soothings cherished
Of the oil that knows no malice,
And the sacred cake that smokes
From the queen's chamber in the palace.
What thou canst and may'st, declare;
Be the healer of the care
That bodes black harm within me; change it
To the bright and hopeful ray,
Which from the altar riseth, chasing
From the heart the sateless sorrow
That eats vexed life away.
Of the hospitable laws,
'Gainst Alexander sends the Atridans,
Harnessed in a woman's cause,
The many-lorded fair.
Toils on toils shall come uncounted,
(Jove hath willed it so);
Limb-outwearying hard endeavour,
Where the strong knees press the dust,
Where the spear-shafts split and shiver,
Trojan and Greek shall know.
16
Of Fate doth bind them; sighs are vain,
Tears, libations, fruitless flow,
To divert from purposed ire
The powers whose altars know no fire.
But we behind that martial train
Inglorious left remain,
Old and frail, and feebly leaning
Strength as of childhood on a staff.
Yea! even as life's first unripe marrow
In the tender bones are we,
From war's harsh service free.
For hoary Eld, life's leaf up-shrunken,
Totters, his three-footed way
Feebly feeling, weak as childhood,
Like a dream that walks by day.
But what is this? what wandering word,
Clytemnestra queen, hath reached thee?
What hast seen? or what hast heard
That from street to street swift flies
Thy word, commanding sacrifice?
All the altars of all the gods
That keep the city, gods supernal,
Gods Olympian, gods infernal,
Gods of the Forum, blaze with gifts;
Right and left the flame mounts high,
Spiring to the sky,
With the gentle soothings cherished
Of the oil that knows no malice,
And the sacred cake that smokes
17
What thou canst and may'st, declare;
Be the healer of the care
That bodes black harm within me; change it
To the bright and hopeful ray,
Which from the altar riseth, chasing
From the heart the sateless sorrow
That eats vexed life away.
The Chorus, having now arranged themselves into a regular band in the middle of the Orchestra, sing the First
CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE.
I'll voice the strain. What though the arm be weak
That once was strong,
The suasive breath of Heaven-sent memories stirs
The old man's breast with song.
My age hath virtue left
To sing what fateful omens strangely beckoned
The twin kings to the fray,
What time to Troy concentuous marched
The embattled Greek array.
Jove's swooping bird, king of all birds, led on
The kings of the fleet with spear and vengeful hand:
By the way-side from shining seats serene,
Close by the palace, on the spear-hand seen,
Two eagles flapped the air,
One black, the other silver-tipt behind,
And with keen talons seized a timorous hare,
Whose strength could run no more,
Itself, and the live burden which it bore.
Sing woe and well-a-day! But still
May the good omens shame the ill.
ANTISTROPHE.That once was strong,
The suasive breath of Heaven-sent memories stirs
The old man's breast with song.
My age hath virtue left
To sing what fateful omens strangely beckoned
The twin kings to the fray,
What time to Troy concentuous marched
The embattled Greek array.
Jove's swooping bird, king of all birds, led on
The kings of the fleet with spear and vengeful hand:
By the way-side from shining seats serene,
Close by the palace, on the spear-hand seen,
18
One black, the other silver-tipt behind,
And with keen talons seized a timorous hare,
Whose strength could run no more,
Itself, and the live burden which it bore.
Sing woe and well-a-day! But still
May the good omens shame the ill.
The wise diviner of the host beheld,
And knew the sign;
The hare-devouring birds with diverse wings
Typed the Atridan pair,
The diverse-minded kings;
And thus the fate he chaunted:—Not in vain
Ye march this march to-day;
Old Troy shall surely fall, but not
Till moons on moons away
Have lingering rolled. Rich stores by labour massed
Clean-sweeping Fate shall plunder. Grant the gods,
While this strong bit for Troy we forge with gladness,
No heavenly might in jealous wrath o'ercast
Our mounting hope with sadness.
For the chaste Artemis a sore grudge nurses
Against the kings; Jove's winged hounds she curses,
The fierce war-birds that tore
The fearful hare, with the young brood it bore.
Sing woe and well-a-day! but still
May the good omens shame the ill.
EPODE.And knew the sign;
The hare-devouring birds with diverse wings
Typed the Atridan pair,
The diverse-minded kings;
And thus the fate he chaunted:—Not in vain
Ye march this march to-day;
Old Troy shall surely fall, but not
Till moons on moons away
Have lingering rolled. Rich stores by labour massed
Clean-sweeping Fate shall plunder. Grant the gods,
While this strong bit for Troy we forge with gladness,
No heavenly might in jealous wrath o'ercast
Our mounting hope with sadness.
For the chaste Artemis a sore grudge nurses
Against the kings; Jove's winged hounds she curses,
The fierce war-birds that tore
The fearful hare, with the young brood it bore.
19
May the good omens shame the ill.
The lion's fresh-dropt younglings, and each whelp
That sucks wild milk, and through the forest roves,
Live not unfriended; them the fair goddess loves,
And lends her ready help.
The vision of the birds shall work its end
In bliss, but dashed not lightly with black bane;
I pray thee, Pæan, may she never send
Contrarious blasts dark-lowering, to detain
The Argive fleet.
Ah! ne'er may she desire to feast her eyes
On an unblest unholy sacrifice,
From festal use abhorrent, mother of strife,
And sundering from her lawful lord the wife.
Stern-purposed waits the child-avenging wrath
About the fore-doomed halls,
Weaving dark wiles, while with sure-memoried sting
Fury to Fury calls.
Thus hymned the seer the doom, in dubious chaunt
Bliss to the chiefs dark-mingling with the bane,
From the way-haunting birds; and we
Respondent to the strain,
Sing woe and well-a-day! but still
May the good omens shame the ill.
That sucks wild milk, and through the forest roves,
Live not unfriended; them the fair goddess loves,
And lends her ready help.
The vision of the birds shall work its end
In bliss, but dashed not lightly with black bane;
I pray thee, Pæan, may she never send
Contrarious blasts dark-lowering, to detain
The Argive fleet.
Ah! ne'er may she desire to feast her eyes
On an unblest unholy sacrifice,
From festal use abhorrent, mother of strife,
And sundering from her lawful lord the wife.
Stern-purposed waits the child-avenging wrath
About the fore-doomed halls,
Weaving dark wiles, while with sure-memoried sting
Fury to Fury calls.
Thus hymned the seer the doom, in dubious chaunt
Bliss to the chiefs dark-mingling with the bane,
From the way-haunting birds; and we
Respondent to the strain,
Sing woe and well-a-day! but still
May the good omens shame the ill.
20
Jove, or what other name
The god that reigns supreme delights to claim,
Him I invoke; him of all powers that be,
Alone I find,
Who from this bootless load of doubt can free
My labouring mind.
ANTISTROPHE I.The god that reigns supreme delights to claim,
Him I invoke; him of all powers that be,
Alone I find,
Who from this bootless load of doubt can free
My labouring mind.
Who was so great of yore,
With all-defiant valour brimming o'er,
Is mute; and who came next by a stronger arm
Thrice-vanquished fell;
But thou hymn victor Jove: so in thy heart
His truth shall dwell.
STROPHE II.With all-defiant valour brimming o'er,
Is mute; and who came next by a stronger arm
Thrice-vanquished fell;
But thou hymn victor Jove: so in thy heart
His truth shall dwell.
For Jove doth teach men wisdom, sternly wins
To virtue by the tutoring of their sins;
Yea! drops of torturing recollection chill
The sleeper's heart; 'gainst man's rebellious will
Jove works the wise remorse:
Dread Powers, on awful seats enthroned, compel
Our hearts with gracious force.
ANTISTROPHE II.To virtue by the tutoring of their sins;
Yea! drops of torturing recollection chill
The sleeper's heart; 'gainst man's rebellious will
Jove works the wise remorse:
Dread Powers, on awful seats enthroned, compel
Our hearts with gracious force.
The elder chief, the leader of the ships,
Heard the dire doom, nor dared to ope his lips
Against the seer, and feared alone to stand
'Gainst buffeting fate, what time the Chalcian strand
Saw the vexed Argive masts
In Aulis tides hoarse-refluent, idly chained
By the fierce Borean blasts;
STROPHE III.Heard the dire doom, nor dared to ope his lips
21
'Gainst buffeting fate, what time the Chalcian strand
Saw the vexed Argive masts
In Aulis tides hoarse-refluent, idly chained
By the fierce Borean blasts;
Blasts from Strymon adverse braying,
Harbour-vexing, ship-delaying,
Snapping cables, shattering oars,
Wasting time, consuming stores,
With vain-wandering expectation,
And with long-drawn slow vexation
Wasting Argive bloom.
At length the seer forth-clanged the doom,
A remedy strong to sway the breeze,
And direful Artemis to appease,
But to the chiefs severe:
The Atridans with their sceptres struck the ground,
Nor could restrain the tear.
ANTISTROPHE III.Harbour-vexing, ship-delaying,
Snapping cables, shattering oars,
Wasting time, consuming stores,
With vain-wandering expectation,
And with long-drawn slow vexation
Wasting Argive bloom.
At length the seer forth-clanged the doom,
A remedy strong to sway the breeze,
And direful Artemis to appease,
But to the chiefs severe:
The Atridans with their sceptres struck the ground,
Nor could restrain the tear.
Then spake the elder. To deny,
How hard! still harder to comply!
My daughter dear, my joy, my life,
To slay with sacrificial knife,
And with life's purple-gushing tide,
Imbrue a father's hand, beside
The altar of the gods.
This way or that is ill: for how
Shall I despise my federate vow?
How leave the ships? That all conspire
Thus hotly to desire
The virgin's blood—wind-soothing sacrifice—
Is the gods' right. So be it.
STROPHE IV.How hard! still harder to comply!
My daughter dear, my joy, my life,
To slay with sacrificial knife,
And with life's purple-gushing tide,
Imbrue a father's hand, beside
22
This way or that is ill: for how
Shall I despise my federate vow?
How leave the ships? That all conspire
Thus hotly to desire
The virgin's blood—wind-soothing sacrifice—
Is the gods' right. So be it.
Thus to necessity's harsh yoke he bared
His patient neck. Unblissful blew the gale
That turned the father's heart
To horrid thoughts unholy, thoughts that dared
The extreme of daring. Sin from its primal spring
Mads the ill-counsell'd heart, and arms the hand
With reckless strength. Thus he
Gave his own daughter's blood, his life, his joy,
To speed a woman's war, and consecrate
His ships for Troy.
ANTISTROPHE IV.His patient neck. Unblissful blew the gale
That turned the father's heart
To horrid thoughts unholy, thoughts that dared
The extreme of daring. Sin from its primal spring
Mads the ill-counsell'd heart, and arms the hand
With reckless strength. Thus he
Gave his own daughter's blood, his life, his joy,
To speed a woman's war, and consecrate
His ships for Troy.
In vain with prayers, in vain she beats dull ears
With a father's name; the war-delighting chiefs
Heed not her virgin years.
The father stood; and when the priests had prayed,
Take her, he said; in her loose robes enfolden,
Where prone and spent she lies, so lift the maid;
Even as a kid is laid,
So lay her on the altar; with dumb force
Her beauteous mouth gag, lest it breathe a voice
Of curse to Argos.
STROPHE V.With a father's name; the war-delighting chiefs
Heed not her virgin years.
The father stood; and when the priests had prayed,
Take her, he said; in her loose robes enfolden,
Where prone and spent she lies, so lift the maid;
Even as a kid is laid,
So lay her on the altar; with dumb force
23
Of curse to Argos.
And as they led the maid, her saffron robe
Sweeping the ground, with pity-moving dart
She smote each from her eye,
Even as a picture beautiful, fain to speak,
But could not. Well that voice they knew of yore;
Oft at her father's festive board,
With gallant banqueters ringed cheerly round,
The virgin strain they heard
That did so sweetly pour
Her father's praise, whom Heaven had richly crowned
With bounty brimming o'er.
ANTISTROPHE V.Sweeping the ground, with pity-moving dart
She smote each from her eye,
Even as a picture beautiful, fain to speak,
But could not. Well that voice they knew of yore;
Oft at her father's festive board,
With gallant banqueters ringed cheerly round,
The virgin strain they heard
That did so sweetly pour
Her father's praise, whom Heaven had richly crowned
With bounty brimming o'er.
The rest I know not, nor will vainly pry;
But Calchas was a seer not wont to lie.
Justice doth wait to teach
Wisdom by suffering. Fate will have its way.
The quickest ear is pricked in vain to-day,
To catch to-morrow's note. What boots
To forecast woe, which, on no wavering wing,
The burthen'd hour shall bring.
But we, a chosen band,
Left here sole guardians of the Apian land,
Pray Heaven, all good betide!
But Calchas was a seer not wont to lie.
Justice doth wait to teach
Wisdom by suffering. Fate will have its way.
The quickest ear is pricked in vain to-day,
To catch to-morrow's note. What boots
To forecast woe, which, on no wavering wing,
The burthen'd hour shall bring.
But we, a chosen band,
Left here sole guardians of the Apian land,
Pray Heaven, all good betide!
24
CHORUS.
Hail Clytemnestra! honour to thy sceptre!
When her lord's throne is vacant, the wife claims
His honour meetly. Queen, if thou hast heard
Good news, or to the hope of good that shall be,
With festal sacrifice dost fill the city,
I fain would know; but nothing grudge thy silence.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Bearing blithe tidings, saith the ancient saw,
Fair Morn be gendered from boon mother Night!
News thou shalt hear beyond thy topmost hope;
The Greeks have ta'en old Priam's city.
CHORUS.
How!
Troy taken! the word drops from my faithless ear.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
The Greeks have taken Troy. Can I speak plainer?
CHORUS.
Joy o'er my heart creeps, and provokes the tear.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Thine eye accuses thee that thou art kind.
CHORUS.
What warrant of such news? What certain sign?
25
Both sign and seal, unless some god deceive me.
CHORUS.
Dreams sometimes speak; did suasive visions move thee?
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Where the soul sleeps, and the sense slumbers, there
Shall the wise ask for reasons?
CHORUS.
Ever swift
Though wingless, Fame, with tidings fair hath cheered thee.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Thou speak'st as one who mocks a simple girl.
CHORUS.
Old Troy is taken? how?—when did it fall?
CLYTEMNESTRA.
The self-same night that mothers this to-day.
CHORUS.
But how? what stalwart herald ran so fleetly?
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Hephæstus. He from Ida shot the spark;
And flaming straightway leapt the courier fire
26
Of Lemnos, first from Ida; from the isle
The Athóan steep of mighty Jove received
The beaming beacon; thence the forward strength
Of the far-travelling lamp strode gallantly
Athwart the broad sea's back. The flaming pine
Rayed out a golden glory like the sun,
And winged the message to Macistus' watch-tower.
There the wise watchman, guiltless of delay,
Lent to the sleepless courier further speed;
And the Messapian station hailed the torch
Far-beaming o'er the floods of the Eurípus.
There the grey heath lit the responsive fire,
Speeding the portioned message; waxing strong,
And nothing dulled across Asopus' plain
The flame swift darted like the twinkling moon,
And on Cithæron's rocky heights awaked
A new receiver of the wandering light.
The far-sent ray, by the faithful watch not spurned,
With bright addition journeying, bounded o'er
Gorgópus' lake and Ægiplanctus' mount,
Weaving the chain unbroken. Hence it spread
Not scant in strength, a mighty beard of flame,
Flaring across the headlands that look down
On the Saronic gulf. Speeding its march,
It reached the neighbour-station of our city,
Arachne's rocky steep; and thence the halls
Of the Atridæ recognised the signal,
Light not unfathered by Idæan fire.
Such the bright train of my torch-bearing heralds,
27
And last and first was victor in the race.
Such the fair tidings that my lord hath sent,
A sign that Troy hath fallen.
CHORUS.
And for its fall
Our voice shall hymn the gods anon: meanwhile
I'm fain to drink more wonder from thy words.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
This day Troy fell. Methinks I see't; a host
Of jarring voices stirs the startled city,
Like oil and acid, sounds that will not mingle,
By natural hatred sundered. Thou may'st hear
Shouts of the victor, with the dying groan,
Battling, and captives' cry; upon the dead—
Fathers and mothers, brothers, sisters, wives—
The living fall—the young upon the old;
And from enthralléd necks wail out their woe.
Fresh from the fight, through the dark night the spoilers
Tumultuous rush where hunger spurs them on,
To feast on banquets never spread for them.
The homes of captive Trojan chiefs they share
As chance decides the lodgment; there secure
From the cold night-dews and the biting frosts,
Beneath the lordly roof, to their hearts' content
They live, and through the watchless night prolong
Sound slumbers. Happy if the native gods
28
Themselves not captive led by their own folly!
May no unbridled lust of unjust gain
Master their hearts, no reckless rash desire!
Much toil yet waits them. Having turned the goal,
The course's other half they must mete out,
Ere home receives them safe. Their ships must brook
The chances of the sea; and, these being scaped,
If they have sinned the gods their own will claim,
And vengeance wakes till blood shall be atoned.
I am a woman; but mark thou well my words;
I hint the harm; but with no wavering scale,
Prevail the good! I thank the gods who gave me
Rich store of blessings, richly to enjoy.
CHORUS.
Woman, thou speakest wisely as a man,
And kindly as thyself. But having heard
The certain signs of Agamemnon's coming,
Prepare we now to hymn the gods; for surely
With their strong help we have not toiled in vain.
And kindly as thyself. But having heard
The certain signs of Agamemnon's coming,
Prepare we now to hymn the gods; for surely
With their strong help we have not toiled in vain.
O regal Jove! O blessed Night!
Thou hast won thee rich adornments,
Thou hast spread thy shrouding meshes
O'er the towers of Priam. Ruin
Whelms the young, the old. In vain
Shall they strive to o'erleap the snare,
And snap the bondsman's galling chain,
In woe retrieveless lost.
Jove, I fear thee, just protector
Of the wrong'd host's sacred rights;
Thou didst keep thy bow sure bent
'Gainst Alexander; not before
The fate-predestined hour, and not
Beyond the stars, with idle aim,
Thy cunning shaft was shot.
Thou hast won thee rich adornments,
Thou hast spread thy shrouding meshes
O'er the towers of Priam. Ruin
Whelms the young, the old. In vain
Shall they strive to o'erleap the snare,
And snap the bondsman's galling chain,
In woe retrieveless lost.
29
Of the wrong'd host's sacred rights;
Thou didst keep thy bow sure bent
'Gainst Alexander; not before
The fate-predestined hour, and not
Beyond the stars, with idle aim,
Thy cunning shaft was shot.
CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
The hand of Jove hath smote them; thou
May'st trace it plainly;
What the god willed, behold it now
Not purposed vainly!
The gods are blind, and little caring,
So one hath said, to mark the daring
Of men, whose graceless foot hath ridden
O'er things to human touch forbidden.
Godless who said so; sons shall rue
Their parents' folly,
Who flushed with wealth, with insolence flown,
The sober bliss of man outgrown,
The trump of Mars unchastened blew,
And stirred red strife without the hue
Of justice wholly.
Live wiselier thou; not waxing gross
With gain, thou shalt be free from loss.
Weak is his tower, with pampering wealth
In brief alliance
Who spurns great Justice' altar dread
With damned defiance;
Him the deep hell shall claim, and shame
His vain reliance.
ANTISTROPHE I.May'st trace it plainly;
What the god willed, behold it now
Not purposed vainly!
The gods are blind, and little caring,
So one hath said, to mark the daring
Of men, whose graceless foot hath ridden
O'er things to human touch forbidden.
Godless who said so; sons shall rue
Their parents' folly,
Who flushed with wealth, with insolence flown,
The sober bliss of man outgrown,
The trump of Mars unchastened blew,
And stirred red strife without the hue
Of justice wholly.
Live wiselier thou; not waxing gross
With gain, thou shalt be free from loss.
Weak is his tower, with pampering wealth
In brief alliance
30
With damned defiance;
Him the deep hell shall claim, and shame
His vain reliance.
Self-will fell Até's daughter, still
Fore-counselling ruin,
Shall spur him on resistless borne
To his undoing.
Fined with sharp loss beyond repairing,
His misery like a beacon flaring,
Shall shine to all. Like evil brass,
That tested shows a coarse black mass,
His deep distemper he shall show
By dints of trial.
Even as a boy in wanton sport,
Chasing a bird to his own hurt,
And to the state's redeemless loss,
Whom, when he prays, the gods shall cross
With sheer denial,
And sweep the lewd and lawless liver
From earth's fair memory for ever;
Thus to the Atridans' palace came,
False Alexander,
And shared the hospitable board,
A bold offender,
Filching his host's fair wife away
To far Scamander.
Fore-counselling ruin,
Shall spur him on resistless borne
To his undoing.
Fined with sharp loss beyond repairing,
His misery like a beacon flaring,
Shall shine to all. Like evil brass,
That tested shows a coarse black mass,
His deep distemper he shall show
By dints of trial.
Even as a boy in wanton sport,
Chasing a bird to his own hurt,
And to the state's redeemless loss,
Whom, when he prays, the gods shall cross
With sheer denial,
And sweep the lewd and lawless liver
From earth's fair memory for ever;
Thus to the Atridans' palace came,
False Alexander,
And shared the hospitable board,
A bold offender,
Filching his host's fair wife away
To far Scamander.
31
She went, and to the Argive city left
Squadrons shield-bearing,
Battle preparing,
Swords many-flashing,
Oars many-plashing;
She went, destruction for her dowry bearing,
To the Sigean shore;
Light with swift foot she brushed the doorstead, daring
A deed undared before.
The prophets of the house loud wailing,
Cried with sorrow unavailing,
“Woe to the Atridans! woe!
The lofty palaces fallen low!
The marriage and the marriage bed,
The steps once faithful, fond to follow
There where the faithful husband led!”
He silent stood in sadness, not in wrath,
His own eye scarce believing,
As he followed her flight beyond the path
Of the sea-wave broadly heaving.
And phantoms sway each haunt well known,
Which the lost loved one wont to own,
And the statued forms that look from their seats
With a cold smile serenely,
He loathes to look on; in his eye
Pines Aphrodité leanly.
Squadrons shield-bearing,
Battle preparing,
Swords many-flashing,
Oars many-plashing;
She went, destruction for her dowry bearing,
To the Sigean shore;
Light with swift foot she brushed the doorstead, daring
A deed undared before.
The prophets of the house loud wailing,
Cried with sorrow unavailing,
“Woe to the Atridans! woe!
The lofty palaces fallen low!
The marriage and the marriage bed,
The steps once faithful, fond to follow
There where the faithful husband led!”
He silent stood in sadness, not in wrath,
His own eye scarce believing,
As he followed her flight beyond the path
Of the sea-wave broadly heaving.
And phantoms sway each haunt well known,
Which the lost loved one wont to own,
And the statued forms that look from their seats
With a cold smile serenely,
He loathes to look on; in his eye
Pines Aphrodité leanly.
32
In vain he sleeps; for in the fretful night
Shapes of fair seeming
Flit through his dreaming,
Soothing him sweetly,
Leaving him fleetly
Of bliss all barren. The shape fond fancy weaves him
His eager grasp would keep,
In vain; it cheats the hand; and leaves him, sweeping
Swift o'er the paths of sleep.
These sorrows pierce the Atridan chiefs,
And, worse than these, their private griefs,
But general Greece that to the fray
Sent her thousands, mourns to-day;
And Grief stout-hearted at each door
Sits to bear the burden sore
Of deathful news from the Trojan shore.
Ah! many an Argive heart to-day
Is pricked with wail and mourning,
Knowing how many went to Troy,
From Troy how few returning!
The mothers of each house shall wait
To greet their sons at every gate;
But, alas! not men, but dust of men
Each sorrowing house receiveth,
The urn in which the fleshly case
Its cindered ruin leaveth.
Shapes of fair seeming
Flit through his dreaming,
Soothing him sweetly,
Leaving him fleetly
Of bliss all barren. The shape fond fancy weaves him
His eager grasp would keep,
In vain; it cheats the hand; and leaves him, sweeping
Swift o'er the paths of sleep.
These sorrows pierce the Atridan chiefs,
And, worse than these, their private griefs,
But general Greece that to the fray
Sent her thousands, mourns to-day;
And Grief stout-hearted at each door
Sits to bear the burden sore
Of deathful news from the Trojan shore.
Ah! many an Argive heart to-day
Is pricked with wail and mourning,
Knowing how many went to Troy,
From Troy how few returning!
The mothers of each house shall wait
To greet their sons at every gate;
But, alas! not men, but dust of men
Each sorrowing house receiveth,
The urn in which the fleshly case
Its cindered ruin leaveth.
33
For Mars doth market bodies, and for gold
Gives dust, and in the battle of the bold
Holds the dread scales of Fate.
Burnt cinders, a light burden, but to friends
A heavy freight,
He sends from Troy; the beautiful vase he sends
With dust, for hearts, well lined, on which descends
The frequent tear.
And friends do wail their praise; this here
Expert to wield the pointed spear,
And this who cast his life away,
Nobly in ignoble fray,
For a strange woman's sake.
And in their silent hearts hate burns;
Against the kings
The moody-muttered grudge creeps forth,
And points its stings.
Others they mourn who 'neath Troy's wall
Entombed, dark sleep prolong,
Low pressed beneath the hostile sod,
The beautiful, the strong!
ANTISTROPHE III.Gives dust, and in the battle of the bold
Holds the dread scales of Fate.
Burnt cinders, a light burden, but to friends
A heavy freight,
He sends from Troy; the beautiful vase he sends
With dust, for hearts, well lined, on which descends
The frequent tear.
And friends do wail their praise; this here
Expert to wield the pointed spear,
And this who cast his life away,
Nobly in ignoble fray,
For a strange woman's sake.
And in their silent hearts hate burns;
Against the kings
The moody-muttered grudge creeps forth,
And points its stings.
Others they mourn who 'neath Troy's wall
Entombed, dark sleep prolong,
Low pressed beneath the hostile sod,
The beautiful, the strong!
O hard to bear, when evil murmurs fly,
Is a nation's hate; unblest on whom doth lie
A people's curse!
My heart is dark, in my fear-procreant brain
Bad begets worse.
For not from heaven the gods behold in vain
Hands red with slaughter. The black-mantled train
Who watch and wait,
In their own hour shall turn to bane
The bliss that grew from godless gain.
The mighty man with heart elate
Shall fall; even as the sightless shades,
The great man's glory fades.
Sweet to the ear is the popular cheer
Forth billowed loudly;
But the bolt from on high shall blast his eye
That looketh proudly.
Be mine the sober bliss, and far
From fortune's high strung rapture;
Not capturing others, may I never
See my own city's capture!
EPODE.Is a nation's hate; unblest on whom doth lie
A people's curse!
My heart is dark, in my fear-procreant brain
Bad begets worse.
34
Hands red with slaughter. The black-mantled train
Who watch and wait,
In their own hour shall turn to bane
The bliss that grew from godless gain.
The mighty man with heart elate
Shall fall; even as the sightless shades,
The great man's glory fades.
Sweet to the ear is the popular cheer
Forth billowed loudly;
But the bolt from on high shall blast his eye
That looketh proudly.
Be mine the sober bliss, and far
From fortune's high strung rapture;
Not capturing others, may I never
See my own city's capture!
Swift-winged with thrilling note it came,
The blithe news from the courier-flame;
But whether true and witnessed well,
Or if some god hath forged a lie,
What tongue can tell?
Who is so young, so green of wit,
That his heart should blaze with a fever fit,
At a tale of this fire-courier's telling,
When a new rumour swiftly swelling,
May turn him back to dole? To lift the note
Of clamorous triumph ere the fight be fought,
Is a light chance may fitly fall,
Where women wield the spear.
A wandering word by woman's fond faith sped
Swells and increases,
But with dispersion swift a woman's tale
Is lost and ceases.
The blithe news from the courier-flame;
But whether true and witnessed well,
Or if some god hath forged a lie,
What tongue can tell?
Who is so young, so green of wit,
That his heart should blaze with a fever fit,
At a tale of this fire-courier's telling,
When a new rumour swiftly swelling,
May turn him back to dole? To lift the note
Of clamorous triumph ere the fight be fought,
Is a light chance may fitly fall,
35
A wandering word by woman's fond faith sped
Swells and increases,
But with dispersion swift a woman's tale
Is lost and ceases.
Enter Clytemnestra.
Soon shall we know if the light-bearing lamps
And the bright signals of the fiery changes
Spake true or, dream-like, have deceived our sense
With smiling semblance. For, behold, where comes,
Beneath the outspread olive's branchy shade,
A herald from the beach; and thirsty dust,
Twin-sister of the clay, attests his speed.
Not voiceless he, nor with the smoking flame
Of mountain pine will bring uncertain news.
His heraldry gives increase to our joy,
Or—but to speak ill-omened words I shun;—
May fair addition fair beginning follow!
CHORUS.
Whoso fears evil where no harm appears,
Reap first himself the fruit of his own fears.
Enter Herald.
Hail Argive land! dear fatherland, all hail!
This tenth year's light doth shine on my return!
And now this one heart's hope from countless wrecks
I save! Scarce hoped I e'er to lay my bones
Within the tomb where dearest dust is stored.
36
Thee, the land's Sovereign, Jove! thee, Pythian King,
Shooting no more thy swift-winged shafts against us.
Enough on red Scamander's banks we knew
Thee hostile; now our saviour-god be thou,
Apollo, and our healer from much harm!
And you, all gods that guide the chance of fight,
I here invoke; and thee, my high protector,
Loved Hermes, of all heralds most revered.
And you, all heroes that sent forth our hosts,
Bring back, I pray, our remnant with good omens.
O kingly halls! O venerated seats!
O dear-loved roofs, and ye sun-fronting gods,
If ever erst, now on this happy day,
With these bright-beaming eyes, duly receive
Your late returning king; for Agamemnon
Comes, like the sun, a common joy to all.
Greet him with triumph, as beseems the man,
Who with the mattock of justice-bringing Jove
Hath dug the roots of Troy, hath made its altars
Things seen no more, its towering temples razed,
And caused the seed of the whole land to perish.
Such yoke on Ilium's haughty neck the elder
Atridan threw, a king whom gods have blessed
And men revere, 'mongst mortals worthy most
Of honour; now nor Paris, nor in the bond
Partner'd with him, old Troy more crime may boast
Than penalty; duly in the court of fight,
In the just doom of rape and robbery damned,
His pledge is forfeited; his hand hath reaped
37
Doubly they suffer for a double crime.
CHORUS.
Hail soldier herald, how farest thou?
HERALD.
Right well!
So well that I could bless the gods and die.
CHORUS.
Doubtless thy love of country tried thy heart?
HERALD.
To see these shores I weep for very joy.
CHORUS.
And that soul-sickness sweetly held thee?
HERALD.
How?
Instruct my wit to comprehend thy words.
CHORUS.
Smitten with love of them that much loved thee.
HERALD.
Say'st thou? loved Argos us as we loved Argos?
CHORUS.
Ofttimes we sorrowed from a sunless soul.
38
How so? Why should the thought of the host have clouded
Thy soul with sadness?
CHORUS.
Sorrow not causeless came;
But I have learned to drug all woes by silence.
HERALD.
Whom should'st thou quail before, the chiefs away?
CHORUS.
I could have used thy phrase, and wished to die.
HERALD.
Die now, an' thou wilt, for joy! The rolling years
Have given all things a prosperous end, though some
Were hard to bear; for who, not being a god,
Can hope to live long years of bliss unbroken?
A weary tale it were to tell the tithe
Of all our hardships; toils by day, by night,
Harsh harbourage, hard hammocks, and scant sleep.
No sun without new troubles, and new groans,
Shone on our voyage; and when at length we landed,
Our woes were doubled; 'neath the hostile walls,
On marshy meads night-sprinkled by the dews,
We slept, our clothes rotted with drenching rain,
And like wild beasts with shaggy-knotted hair.
39
Long months of suffering from Idéan snows,
Then summer's scorching heat, when noon beheld
The waveless sea beneath the windless air
In sleep diffused; these toils have run their hour.
The dead care not to rise; their roll our grief
Would muster o'er in vain; and we who live
Vainly shall fret at the cross strokes of fate.
Henceforth to each harsh memory of the past
Farewell! we who survive this long-drawn war
Have gains to count that far outweigh the loss.
Well may we boast in the face of the shining sun,
O'er land and sea our winged tidings wafting,
The Achæan host hath captured Troy; and now
On the high temples of the gods we hang
These spoils, a shining grace, there to remain
An heritage for ever. These things to hear
Shall men rejoice, and with fair praises laud
The state and its great generals, laud the grace
Of Jove the Consummator. I have said.
CHORUS.
I own thy speech the conqueror; for a man
Can never be too old to learn good news,
And though thy words touch Clytemnestra most,
Joy to the Atridan's halls is wealth to me.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
I lifted first the shout of jubilee,
Then when the midnight sign of the courier fire
40
But one then mocked my faith, that I believed
The fire-sped message in so true a tale.
'Tis a light thing to buoy a woman's heart
With hopeful news, they cried; and with these words
They wildered my weak wit. And yet I sped
The sacrifice, and raised the welcoming shout
In woman's wise, and at a woman's word
Forthwith from street to street uprose to the gods
Well-omened salutations, and glad hymns,
Lulling the fragrant incense-feeding flame.
What needs there more? The event has proved me right,
Himself—my lord—with his own lips shall speak
The weighty tale; myself will go make ready
With well-earned honour to receive the honoured.
What brighter bliss on woman's lot may beam,
Than when a god gives back her spouse from war,
To ope the gates of welcome. Tell my husband,
To his loved home, desired of all, to haste.
A faithful wife, even as he left her, here
He'll find expectant, like a watch-dog, gentle
To him and his, to all that hate him harsh.
The seals that knew his stamp, when hence he sailed,
Unharmed remain, untouched; and for myself
Nor praise nor blame from other man I know,
No more than dyer's art can tincture brass.
HERALD.
A boast like this, instinct with very truth,
Comes from a noble lady without blame.
41
Wise words she spake, and words that need no comment
To ears that understand. But say, good Herald,
Comes Menelaus safe back from the wars,
His kindly sway in Argos to resume?
HERALD.
I cannot gloss a lie with fair pretence;
The best told lie bears but a short-lived fruit.
CHORUS.
Speak the truth plainly, if thou canst not pleasantly;
These twain be seldom wedded; and here, alas!
They stand out sundered with too clear a mark.
HERALD.
The man is vanished from the Achæan host,
He and his vessel. Thou hast heard the truth.
CHORUS.
Sailed he from Ilium separate from the fleet?
Or did the tempest part him from his friends?
HERALD.
Like a good marksman thou hast hit the mark,
In one short sentence summing many sorrows.
CHORUS.
Alive is he or dead? What word hath reached you?
What wandering rumour from sea-faring men?
42
This none can tell, save yon bright sun aloft,
That cherishes all things with his friendly light.
CHORUS.
How came the storm on the fleet? or how was ended
The wrath of the gods?
HERALD.
Not well it suits to blot
With black rehearsal this auspicious day.
Far from the honors of the blissful gods
Be grief's recital. When with gloomy visage
An ugly tale the herald's voice unfolds,
At once a general wound, and private grief,
An army lost, the sons of countless houses
Death-doomed by the double scourge so dear to Ares,
A twin-speared harm, a yoke of crimson slaughter:
A herald saddled with such woes may sing
A pæan to the Erinnyes. But I,
Who to this city blithe and prosperous
Brought the fair news of Agamemnon's safety,
How shall I mingle bad with good, rehearsing
The wintry wrath sent by the gods to whelm us?
Fire and the sea, sworn enemies of old,
Made friendly league to sweep the Achæan host
With swift destruction pitiless. Forth rushed
43
Fierce 'neath the starless night, and ship on ship
Struck clashing; beak on butting beak was driven;
The puffing blast, the beat of boiling billows,
The whirling gulph (an evil pilot) wrapt them
In sightless death. And when the shining sun
Shone forth again, we see the Ægean tide
Strewn with the purple blossoms of the dead,
And wrecks of shattered ships. Us and our bark
Some god, no man, the storm-tost hull directing,
Hath rescued scathless, stealing us from the fray,
Or with a prayer begging our life from Fate.
Kind Fortune helmed us further, safely kept
From yeasty ferment in the billowy bay,
Nor dashed on far-ledged rocks. Thus having 'scaped
That ocean hell, scarce trusting our fair fortune,
We hailed the lucid day; but could we hope,
The chance that saved ourselves had saved our friends?
Our fearful hearts with thoughts of them we fed,
Far-labouring o'er the loosely-driving main.
And doubtless they, if yet live breath they breathe,
Deem so of us, as we must fear of them,
That they have perished. But I hope the best.
And first and chief expect ye the return
Of Menelaus. If the sun's blest ray
Yet looks on him, where he beholds the day
By Jove's devising, not yet willing wholly
To uproot the race of Atreus, hope may be
He yet returns. Thou hast my tale; and I
Have told the truth untinctured with a lie.
[Exit.
44
CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Who gave her a name
So true to her fame?
Does a Providence rule in the fate of a word?
Sways there in heaven a viewless power
O'er the chance of the tongue in the naming hour?
Who gave her a name,
This daughter of strife, this daughter of shame,
The spear-wooed maid of Greece?
Helen the taker! 'tis plain to see
A taker of ships, a taker of men,
A taker of cities is she.
From the soft-curtained chamber of Hymen she fled,
By the breath of giant Zephyr sped,
And shield-bearing throngs in marshalled array
Hounded her flight o'er the printless way,
Where the swift-plashing oar
The fair booty bore
To swirling Simois' leafy shore,
And stirred the crimson fray.
ANTISTROPHE I.So true to her fame?
Does a Providence rule in the fate of a word?
Sways there in heaven a viewless power
O'er the chance of the tongue in the naming hour?
Who gave her a name,
This daughter of strife, this daughter of shame,
The spear-wooed maid of Greece?
Helen the taker! 'tis plain to see
A taker of ships, a taker of men,
A taker of cities is she.
From the soft-curtained chamber of Hymen she fled,
By the breath of giant Zephyr sped,
And shield-bearing throngs in marshalled array
Hounded her flight o'er the printless way,
Where the swift-plashing oar
The fair booty bore
To swirling Simois' leafy shore,
And stirred the crimson fray.
For the gods sent a bride,
Kin but not kind,
Ripe with the counsel of wrath to Troy,
In the fulness of years, the offender to prove,
And assert the justice of Jove;
For great Jove is lord
Of the rights of the hearth and the festal board.
The sons of Priam sang
A song to the praise of the bride:
From jubilant throats they praised her then,
The bride from Hellas brought;
But now the ancient city hath changed
Her hymn to a doleful note.
She weeps bitter tears; she curses the head
Of the woe-wedded Paris; she curses the bed
Of the beautiful bride
That crossed the flood,
And filched the life of her sons, and washed
Her wide-paved streets with blood.
STROPHE II.Kin but not kind,
Ripe with the counsel of wrath to Troy,
In the fulness of years, the offender to prove,
And assert the justice of Jove;
For great Jove is lord
Of the rights of the hearth and the festal board.
45
A song to the praise of the bride:
From jubilant throats they praised her then,
The bride from Hellas brought;
But now the ancient city hath changed
Her hymn to a doleful note.
She weeps bitter tears; she curses the head
Of the woe-wedded Paris; she curses the bed
Of the beautiful bride
That crossed the flood,
And filched the life of her sons, and washed
Her wide-paved streets with blood.
Whoso nurseth the cub of a lion
Weaned from the dugs of its dam, where the draught
Of its mountain-milk was free,
Finds it gentle at first and tame.
It frisks with the children in innocent game,
And the old man smiles to see;
It is dandled about like a babe in the arm,
It licketh the hand that fears no harm,
And when hunger pinches its fretful maw,
It fawns with an eager glee.
ANTISTROPHE II.Weaned from the dugs of its dam, where the draught
Of its mountain-milk was free,
Finds it gentle at first and tame.
It frisks with the children in innocent game,
And the old man smiles to see;
It is dandled about like a babe in the arm,
It licketh the hand that fears no harm,
And when hunger pinches its fretful maw,
It fawns with an eager glee.
But it grows with the years; and soon reveals
The fount of fierceness whence it came:
And, loathing the food of the tame,
It roams abroad, and feasts in the fold,
On feasts forbidden, and stains the floor
Of the house that nursed it with gore.
A curse they nursed for their own undoing,
A mouth by which their own friends shall perish;
A servant of Até, a priest of Ruin,
Some god hath taught them to cherish.
STROPHE III.The fount of fierceness whence it came:
And, loathing the food of the tame,
It roams abroad, and feasts in the fold,
46
Of the house that nursed it with gore.
A curse they nursed for their own undoing,
A mouth by which their own friends shall perish;
A servant of Até, a priest of Ruin,
Some god hath taught them to cherish.
Thus to Troy came a bride of the Spartan race,
With a beauty as bland as a windless calm,
Prosperity's gentlest grace;
And mild was love's blossom that rayed from her eye,
The soft-winged dart that with pleasing pain
Thrills heart and brain.
But anon she changed: herself fulfilled
Her wedlock's bitter end;
A fatal sister, a fatal bride,
Her fateful head she rears;
Herself the Erinnys from Jove to avenge
The right of the injured host, and change
The bridal joy to tears.
ANTISTROPHE III.With a beauty as bland as a windless calm,
Prosperity's gentlest grace;
And mild was love's blossom that rayed from her eye,
The soft-winged dart that with pleasing pain
Thrills heart and brain.
But anon she changed: herself fulfilled
Her wedlock's bitter end;
A fatal sister, a fatal bride,
Her fateful head she rears;
Herself the Erinnys from Jove to avenge
The right of the injured host, and change
The bridal joy to tears.
'Twas said of old, and 'tis said to-day,
That wealth to prosperous stature grown
Begets a birth of its own:
That a surfeit of evil by good is prepared,
And sons must bear what allotment of woe
Their sires were spared.
But this I rebel to believe: I know
That impious deeds conspire
To beget an offspring of impious deeds
Too like their ugly sire.
But whoso is just, though his wealth like a river
Flow down, shall be scathless: his house shall rejoice
In an offspring of beauty for ever.
STROPHE IV.That wealth to prosperous stature grown
Begets a birth of its own:
That a surfeit of evil by good is prepared,
And sons must bear what allotment of woe
Their sires were spared.
But this I rebel to believe: I know
47
To beget an offspring of impious deeds
Too like their ugly sire.
But whoso is just, though his wealth like a river
Flow down, shall be scathless: his house shall rejoice
In an offspring of beauty for ever.
The heart of the haughty delights to beget
A haughty heart. From time to time
In children's children recurrent appears
The ancestral crime.
When the dark hour comes that the gods have decreed,
And the Fury burns with wrathful fires,
A demon unholy, with ire unabated,
Lies like black night on the halls of the fated:
And the recreant son plunges guiltily on
To perfect the guilt of his sires.
ANTISTROPHE IV.A haughty heart. From time to time
In children's children recurrent appears
The ancestral crime.
When the dark hour comes that the gods have decreed,
And the Fury burns with wrathful fires,
A demon unholy, with ire unabated,
Lies like black night on the halls of the fated:
And the recreant son plunges guiltily on
To perfect the guilt of his sires.
But Justice shines in a lowly cell;
In the homes of poverty, smoke-begrimed,
With the sober-minded she loves to dwell.
But she turns aside
From the rich man's house with averted eye,
The golden-fretted halls of pride
Where hands with lucre are foul, and the praise
Of counterfeit goodness smoothly sways;
And wisely she guides in the strong man's despite
All things to an issue of RIGHT.
In the homes of poverty, smoke-begrimed,
With the sober-minded she loves to dwell.
But she turns aside
From the rich man's house with averted eye,
The golden-fretted halls of pride
Where hands with lucre are foul, and the praise
Of counterfeit goodness smoothly sways;
And wisely she guides in the strong man's despite
All things to an issue of RIGHT.
48
But, hail the king! the city-taking
Seed of Atreus' race.
How shall I accost thee! How
With beseeming reverence greet thee?
Nor above the mark, nor sinking
Beneath the line of grace?
Many of mortal men there be,
'Gainst the rule of right preferring
Seeming to substance; tears are free
In the eye when woe its tale rehearseth,
But the sting of sorrow pierceth
No man's liver; many force
Lack-laughter faces to relax
Into the soft lines traced by joy.
But the shepherd true and wise
Knows the faithless man, whose eyes,
With a forward friendship twinkling,
Fawn with watery love.
For me, I nothing hide. O King,
In my fancy's picturing,
From the Muses far I deemed thee,
And thy soul not wisely helming
When thou drew'st the knife
For Helen's sake, a woman, whelming
Thousands in ruin, rushing rashly
On unwelcome strife.
But now all's well. No shallow smiles
We wear for thee, thy weary toils
49
What friends do serve thee truly,
And who in thy long absence used
Their stewardship unduly.
Enter AGAMEMNON with attendants; CASSANDRA behind.
First Argos hail! and ye, my country's gods,
Who worked my safe return, and nerved my arm
With vengeance against Priam! for the gods,
Taught by no glozing tongue, but by the sight
Of their own eyes knew justice; voting ruin
And men-destroying death to ancient Troy,
Their fatal pebbles in the bloody urn
Not doubtingly they dropt; the other vase,
Unfed with hope of suffrage-bearing hand,
Stood empty. Now the captured city's smoke
Points where it fell. Raves Ruin's storm; the winds
With crumbled dust and dissipated gold
Float grossly laden. To the immortal gods
These thanks, fraught with rich memory of much good,
We pay; they taught our hands to spread the net
With anger-whetted wit; a woman's frailty
Laid bare old Ilium to the Argive bite,
And with the setting Pleiads outleapt a birth
Of strong shield-bearers from the fateful horse.
A fierce flesh-tearing lion leapt their walls,
And licked a surfeit of tyrannic blood.
This prelude to the gods. As for thy words
Of friendly welcome, I return thy greeting,
And as your thought, so mine; for few are gifted
50
Preferred and feel no envy; 'tis a disease
Possessing mortal men, a poison lodged
Close by the heart, eating all joy away
With double barb—his own mischance who suffers
And bliss of others sitting at his gate,
Which when he sees he groans. I know it well;
They who seemed most my friends, and many seemed,
Were but the mirrored show, the shadowy ghost
Of something like to friendship, substanceless.
Ulysses only, most averse to sail,
Was still most ready in the yoke with me
To bear the harness; living now or dead,
This praise I frankly give him. For the rest,
The city and the gods, we will take counsel
In full assembly freely. What is good
We will give heed that it be lasting; where
Disease the cutting or the caustic cure
Demands, we will apply it. I, meanwhile,
My hearth and home salute, and greet the gods,
Who, as they sent me to the distant fray,
Have brought me safely back. Fair victory,
Once mine, may she dwell with me evermore!
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Men! Citizens! ye reverend Argive seniors,
No shame feel I, even in your face, to tell
My husband-loving ways. Long converse lends
Boldness to bashfulness. No foreign griefs,
Mine own self-suffered woes I tell. While he
51
Sat all forlorn, uncherished by the mate
Whom I had chosen; this was woe enough
Without enforcement; but, to try me further,
A host of jarring rumours stormed my doors,
Each fresh recital with a murkier hue
Than its precedent; and I must hear all,
If this my lord, had borne as many wounds
In battle as the bloody fame recounted,
He had been pierced throughout even as a net;
And had he died as oft as Rumour slew him,
He might have boasted of a triple coil
Like the three-bodied Geryon, while on earth
(Of him below I speak not), and like him
Been three times heaped with a cloak of funeral dust.
Thus fretted by cross-grained reports, oft-times
The knotted rope high-swung had held my neck,
But that my friends with forceful aid prevented.
Add that my son, pledge of our mutual vows,
Orestes is not here; nor think it strange.
Thy Phocian spear-guest, the most trusty Strophius,
Took him in charge, a twofold danger urging
First thine beneath the walls of Troy, and further
The evil likelihood that, should the Greeks
Be worsted in the strife, at home the voice
Of many-babbling anarchy might cast
The council down, and as man's baseness is,
At fallen greatness insolently spurn.
Moved by these thoughts I parted with my boy,
And for no other cause. Myself the while
52
To their last drop were with much weeping drained;
And far into the night my watch I've kept
With weary eyes, while in my lonely room
The night-torch faintly glimmered. In my dream
The buzzing gnat, with its light-brushing wing,
Startled the fretful sleeper; thou hast been
In waking hours, as in sleep's fitful turns,
My only thought. But having bravely borne
This weight of woe, now with blithe heart I greet
Thee, my heart's lord, the watch-dog of the fold,
The ship's sure mainstay, pillared shaft whereon
Rests the high roof, fond parent's only child,
Land seen by sailors past all hope, a day
Lovely to look on when the storm hath broken,
And to the thirsty wayfarer the flow
Of gushing rill. O sweet it is, how sweet
To see an end of the harsh yoke that galled us!
These greetings to my lord; nor grudge me, friends,
This breadth of welcome; sorrows we have known
Ample enough. And now, thou precious head,
Come from thy car; nay, do not set thy foot,
The foot that trampled Troy, on common clay.
What ho! ye laggard maids! why lags your task
Behind the hour? Spread purple where he treads.
Fitly the broidered foot-cloth marks his path,
Whom Justice leadeth to his long-lost home
With unexpected train. What else remains
Our sleepless zeal, with favour of the gods,
Shall order as befits.
53
Daughter of Leda, guardian of my house!
Almost thou seem'st to have spun thy welcome out
To match my lengthened absence; but I pray thee
Praise with discretion, and let other mouths
Proclaim my pæans. For the rest, abstain
From delicate tendance that would turn my manhood
To woman's temper. Not in barbaric wise
With prostrate reverence base, kissing the ground,
Mouth sounding salutations; not with purple,
Breeder of envy, spread my path. Such honors
Suit the immortal gods; me, being mortal,
To tread on rich-flowered carpetings wise fear
Prohibits. As a man, not as a god,
Let me be honored. Not the less my fame
Shall be far blazoned, that on common earth
I tread untapestried. A sober heart
Is the best gift of God; call no man happy
Till death hath found him prosperous to the close.
For me, if what awaits me fall not worse
Than what hath fallen, I have good cause to look
Bravely on fate.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Nay, but my good lord will not
In this gainsay my heart's most warm desire.
AGAMEMNON.
My wish and will thou shalt not lightly mar.
54
Hast thou a vow belike, and fear'st the gods?
AGAMEMNON.
If e'er man knew, I know my will in this.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Had Priam conquered, what had Priam done?
AGAMEMNON.
His feet had trod the purple; doubt it not.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
What Priam would, thou may'st, unless the fear
Of popular blame make Agamemnon quail.
AGAMEMNON.
But popular babble strengthens Envy's wing.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Thou must be envied if thou wilt be great.
AGAMEMNON.
Is it a woman's part to hatch contention?
CLYTEMNESTRA.
For once be conquered; they who conquer may
Yield with a grace.
55
And thou in this vain strife
Must be perforce the conqueror; is it so?
CLYTEMNESTRA.
'Tis even so: for once give me the reins.
AGAMEMNON.
Thou hast thy will. Come, boy, unbind these sandals,
That are the prostrate subjects to my feet,
When I do tread; for with shod feet I never
May leave my print on the sea-purple, lest
Some god with jealous eye look from afar
And mark me. Much I fear with insolent foot
To trample wealth, and rudely soil the web
Whose precious threads the pure-veined silver buys.
So much for this. As for this maid, receive
The stranger kindly: the far-seeing gods
Look down with love on him who mildly sways.
For never yet was yoke of slavery borne
By willing neck; of all the captive maids
The choicest flower she to my portion fell.
And now, since thou art victor o'er my will,
I tread the purple to my father's hall.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
The wide sea flows; and who shall dry it up?
The ocean flows, and in its vasty depths
Is brewed the purple's die, as silver precious,
56
But Agamemnon's house is not a beggar;
With this, and with much more the gods provide us;
And purple I had vowed enough to spread
The path of many triumphs, had a god
Given me such 'hest oracular to buy
The ransom of thy life. We have thee now,
Both root and trunk, a tree rich leafage spreading
To shade this mansion from the Sirian dog.
Welcome, thou double blessing! to this hearth
That bringest heat against keen winter's cold,
And coolness when the sweltering Jove prepares
Wine from the crudeness of the bitter grape;
Enter the house, made perfect by thy presence.
Jove, Jove, the perfecter! perfect thou my vow,
And thine own counsels quickly perfect thou!
[Exeunt.
CHORAL HYMN.
STROPHE I.
Whence these shapes of fear that haunt me?
These hovering portents why?
Is my heart a seer inspired,
To chaunt unbidden and unhired
Notes of dark prophecy?
Blithe confidence, my bosom's lord,
That swayed the doubtful theme,
Arise, and with thy clear command
Chase the vain-vexing dream!
Long years have rolled; and still I fear,
As when the Argive band
Unloosed their cables from the shore,
And eager plied the frequent oar
To the far Ilian strand.
ANTISTROPHE. I.These hovering portents why?
Is my heart a seer inspired,
To chaunt unbidden and unhired
Notes of dark prophecy?
Blithe confidence, my bosom's lord,
57
Arise, and with thy clear command
Chase the vain-vexing dream!
Long years have rolled; and still I fear,
As when the Argive band
Unloosed their cables from the shore,
And eager plied the frequent oar
To the far Ilian strand.
Now they return: my vouching eyes
To prop my faith conspire,
And yet my heart, in self-taught hymns,
As with a Fury's burden brims,
And will not own the lyre.
I fear, I fear: the bold-faced Hope
Hath left my heart all drear;
And my thought, not idly tossed within,
Feels evil creeping near.
For the heart hath scent of things to come,
And prophesies by fear;
And yet I pray, may all conspire
To prove my boding heart a liar,
And me a foolish seer.
STROPHE II.To prop my faith conspire,
And yet my heart, in self-taught hymns,
As with a Fury's burden brims,
And will not own the lyre.
I fear, I fear: the bold-faced Hope
Hath left my heart all drear;
And my thought, not idly tossed within,
Feels evil creeping near.
For the heart hath scent of things to come,
And prophesies by fear;
And yet I pray, may all conspire
To prove my boding heart a liar,
And me a foolish seer.
Full-blooded health, that in the veins
With lusty pulses hotly wells,
Shall soon have check. Disease beside it
Wall to wall, ill-sundered, dwells.
The proud trireme, with sudden shock,
In its mid career, on a sunken rock
Strikes, and all is lost.
Yet there is hope; the ship may rein
Its plunge, from whelming ruin free,
If with wise sling the merchant fling
Into the greedy sea
A part to save the whole. And thus
Jove, that two-handed stores for us,
In our mid woe may pause,
Heap gifts on gifts from yearly furrows,
And save the house from swamping sorrows,
And lean starvation's jaws.
ANTISTROPHE II.With lusty pulses hotly wells,
Shall soon have check. Disease beside it
Wall to wall, ill-sundered, dwells.
58
In its mid career, on a sunken rock
Strikes, and all is lost.
Yet there is hope; the ship may rein
Its plunge, from whelming ruin free,
If with wise sling the merchant fling
Into the greedy sea
A part to save the whole. And thus
Jove, that two-handed stores for us,
In our mid woe may pause,
Heap gifts on gifts from yearly furrows,
And save the house from swamping sorrows,
And lean starvation's jaws.
But, oh! when black blood stains the ground,
And the mortal mortal lies,
Shall the dead hear when thou chauntest?
To thy charming shall he rise?
Once there was a leech so wise
Could raise the dead, but, from the skies,
Struck by Jove, he ceased.
But cease my song. Were link with link
In the chain of things not bound together
That each event must wait its time,
Nor one dare trip the other,
My tongue had played the prophet's part,
And rolled the burden from my heart;
But now, to doubt resigned,
With smothered fears, all dumb I wait
The unravelling hour; while sparks of fate
Flit through my darksome mind.
And the mortal mortal lies,
Shall the dead hear when thou chauntest?
To thy charming shall he rise?
Once there was a leech so wise
Could raise the dead, but, from the skies,
Struck by Jove, he ceased.
But cease my song. Were link with link
In the chain of things not bound together
That each event must wait its time,
Nor one dare trip the other,
My tongue had played the prophet's part,
And rolled the burden from my heart;
59
With smothered fears, all dumb I wait
The unravelling hour; while sparks of fate
Flit through my darksome mind.
Enter CLYTEMNESTRA.
Come thou, too, in; this maid, I mean; Cassandra!
For not in wrath Jove sent thee here to share
Our family lustrations, and to stand,
With many slaves, beside the household altar.
Step from this car, nor bear thy spirit proudly
Above thy fate, for even Alcmena's son,
To slavery sold, once bore the hated yoke.
What must be, must be; rather thank the chance
That gave thee to an old and wealthy house;
For they who reap an unexpected growth
Of wealth, are harsh to slaves beyond the line
Of a well-tempered rule. Here thou shalt find
The common use of bondage.
CHORUS.
Plainly she speaks;
And thou within Fate's iron toils once caught
Wert wise to go—if go thou wilt—but, soothly,
Thou hast no willing look.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Nay! an' she be not
Barbarian to the bone, and speaking nought
60
I'll pierce her marrow with it.
CHORUS.
Captive maid,
Obey! thou shouldst; 'tis best; be thou persuaded
To leave thy chariot-seat and follow her.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
No time have I to stand without the gate
Prating with her. Within, on the central hearth,
The fire burns bright, the sheep's fat slaughter waiting,
To furnish forth a banquet that transcends
The topmost of our hopes. Wilt thou obey,
Obey me quickly! If with stubborn sense
Thou hast nor ear to hear, nor voice to speak,
Answer my sign with thy barbarian hand.
CHORUS.
A wise interpreter the maid demands;
Like a wild beast new caught, even so she stands.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Ay! she is mad; her wit to sober counsels
Is deaf; she comes from the new-captured city,
Untaught to bear the Argive bit with patience,
61
Make myself base by wasting words on her.
[Exit.
CHORUS.
Poor maid, I may not blame; I pity thee.
Come, leave thy seat; for, though the yoke be strange,
Necessity compels, and thou must bear it
CASSANDRA.
Strophe I.
—Ah! ah! woes me! woe! woe!
Apollo! O Apollo!
CHORUS.
Why dost thou wail to Loxias? is he
A gloomy god that he should list sad tales?
CASSANDRA.
Antistrophe I.
—Ah! Ah! woes me! woe! woe!
Apollo! O Apollo!
CHORUS.
Again with evil-omened voice she cries
Upon the god least fit to wait on woe.
CASSANDRA.
Strophe II.
—Apollo! Apollo!
My way-god, my leader Apollo!
62
Thou with light labour hast destroyed me quite.
CHORUS.
Strange oracles against herself she speaks;
Ev'n in the bondsman's bosom dwells the god.
CASSANDRA.
Antistrophe II.
—Apollo! Apollo!
Apollo, my leader, whither hast thou led me?
My way-god, Apollo?
What homes receive thy captive prophetess?
CHORUS.
The Atridæ's homes. This, an' thou knowst it not,
I tell thee; and the words I speak are true.
CASSANDRA.
Strophe III.
—Ha! the house of the Atridæ!
Well the godless house I know,
With the dagger and the rope,
And the self-inflicted blow!
Where red blood is on the floor,
And black murder at the door—
This house—this house I know.
63
She scents out slaughter, mark me, like a hound,
And tracks the spot where she shall feast on blood.
CASSANDRA.
Antistrophe III.
—Ay! I scent a truthful scent,
And the thing I say I know.
See! see! these weeping children,
How they vouch the monstrous woe!
Their red wounds are bleeding fresh,
And their father eats their flesh,
This bloody house I know.
CHORUS.
The fame of thy divinings far-renowned
Have reached us, but we wish no prophets here.
CASSANDRA.
Strophe IV.
—Ha! ha! what plots she now!
A new sorrow, a new snare
To the house of the Atridæ,
And a burden none may bear!
A black harm to all and each,
A disease that none may leech,
And the evil plot to mar
All help and hope is far.
CHORUS.
Nay now I'm lost and mazed in vain surmise.
What first she said I knew—the common rumour.
64
Antistrophe IV.
—Ha! woman wilt thou dare?
Thy bed's partner and thy mate
In the warm refreshing bath
Shall he find his bloody fate?
How shall I dare to say
What comes and will not stay?
See, to do her heart's command
Where she stretches her red hand!
CHORUS.
Not yet I understand: through riddles dark.
And cloudy oracles my wits are wandering.
CASSANDRA.
Strophe V.
—Ha! what bloody sight is this!
'Tis a net of Hades spread—
'Tis a snare to snare her lord,
The fond sharer of her bed.
The black chorus of the place
Shout for vengeance o'er the race,
Whose offence cries for atoning,
With a heavy death of stoning!
CHORUS.
Strophe VI.
—What black Fury of the place
Shall shout vengeance o'er the race?
65
The blithe blood, that crimson ran
In my veins, runs pale and wan
With the taint of yellow fear,
As when in the mortal anguish,
Life's last fitful glimpses languish,
And Fate, as now, is near!
CASSANDRA.
Antistrophe V.
—Ha! ha! the work proceeds!
From the bull keep back the cow!
Lo! now she seizes him
By the strong black horn, and now
She hath wrapt him round with slaughter;
She strikes! and in the water
Of the bath he falls. Mark well,
In the bath doth murder dwell.
CHORUS.
Antistrophe VI.
—No prophetic gift is mine
The dark saying to divine,
But this sounds like evil quite;
For to mortal man was never
The diviner's voice the giver
Of a message of delight,
But in words of mazy mourning,
Comes the prophet's voice of warning,
With a lesson of affright.
66
Strophe VII.
—Fill the cup, and brim the woe!
'Tis my own heart's blood must flow.
Me! miserable me!
From old Troy why didst thou bring me,
Poor captive maid, to sing thee
Thy dirge, and die with thee?
CHORUS.
Strophe VIII.
—By a god thou art possessed,
And he raveth in thy breast,
And he sings a song of thee
That hath music, but no glee.
Like a dun-plumed nightingale,
That, with never-sated wail,
Crieth Itys! Itys! aye,
As it scatters, in sweet flow,
The thick blossoms of its woe,
So singest thou to-day.
CASSANDRA.
Antistrophe VII.
—Ah! the clear-toned nightingale!
Mellow bird, thou dost not wail,
67
A light shape of fleetest winging,
A bright life of sweetest singing,
But a sharp-edged death to me.
CHORUS.
Antistrophe VIII.
—By a god thou art possessed,
And he goads thee without rest,
And he racks thy throbbing brain
With a busy-beating pain,
And he presses from thy throat
The heavy struggling note,
And the cry that rends the air.
Who bade her tread this path,
With the prophecy of wrath,
And the burden of despair?
CASSANDRA.
Strophe IX.
—O the wedlock and the woe
Of the evil Alexander,
To his chiefest friends a foe!
O my native stream Scamander,
Where in youth I wont to wander,
And was nursed for future woes,
Where thy swirling current flows!
But now on sluggish shore
Of Cocytus I shall pour,
'Mid the Acherusian glades,
My divinings to the shades.
68
Strophe X.
—Nothing doubtful is the token;
For the words the maid hath spoken
To a very child are clear.
She hath pierced me to the marrow;
And her cry of shrieking sorrow
Ah! it crushes me to hear.
CASSANDRA.
Antistrophe IX.
—The proud city lieth lowly,
Nevermore to rise again!
It is lost and ruined wholly;
And before the walls in vain
Hath my pious father slain
Many meadow-cropping kine,
To appease the wrath divine.
Where it lieth it shall lie,
Ancient Ilium: and I
On the ground, when all is past,
Soon my reeking heart shall cast.
CHORUS.
Antistrophe X.
—Ah! the mighty god, wrath-laden,
He hath smote the burdened maiden
With a weighty doom severe.
From her heart sharp cries he wringeth,
Dismal, deathful strains she singeth,
And I wait the end in fear.
69
No more my prophecy, like a young bride
Shall from a veil peep forth, but like a wind
Waves shall it dash from the west in the sun's face,
And curl high-crested surges of fierce woes,
That far outbillow mine. I'll speak no more
In dark enigmas. Ye my vouchers be,
While with keen scent I snuff the breath of the past,
And point the track of monstrous crimes of eld.
There is a choir, to destiny well-tuned,
Haunts these doomed halls, no mellow-throated choir,
And they of human blood have largely drunk:
And by that wine made bold, the Bacchanals
Cling to their place of revels. The sister'd Furies
Sit on these roofs, and hymn the prime offence
Of this crime-burthened race; the brother's sin
That trod the brother's bed. Speak! do I hit
The mark, a marksman true? or do I beat
Your doors, a babbling beggar prophesying
False dooms for hire? Be ye my witnesses,
And with an oath avouch, how well I know
The hoary sins that hang upon these walls.
CHORUS.
Would oaths make whole our ills, though I should wedge them
As stark as ice? But I do marvel much
70
Dost know our city as it were thine own.
CASSANDRA.
Even this to know, Apollo stirred my breast.
CHORUS.
Apollo! didst thou strike the god with love?
CASSANDRA.
Till now I was ashamed to hint the tale.
CHORUS.
The dainty lips of nice prosperity
Misfortune opens.
CASSANDRA.
Like a wrestler he
Strove for my love; he breathed his grace upon me.
CHORUS.
And hast thou children from divine embrace?
CASSANDRA.
I gave the word to Loxias, not the deed.
CHORUS.
Hadst thou before received the gift divine?
CASSANDRA.
I had foretold my countrymen all their woes.
71
Did not the anger of the god pursue thee?
CASSANDRA.
It did; I warned, but none believed my warning.
CHORUS.
To us thou seem'st to utter things that look
Only too like the truth.
CASSANDRA.
Ah me! woe! woe!
Again strong divination's troublous whirl
Seizes my soul, and stirs my labouring breast
With presages of doom. Lo! where they sit,
These pitiful young ones on the fated roof,
Like to the shapes of dreams! The innocent babes,
Butchered by friends that should have blessed them, and
In their own hands their proper bowels they bear,
Banquet abhorred, and their own father eats it.
This deed a lion, not a lion-hearted
Shall punish; wantonly in her bed, whose lord
Shall pay the heavy forfeit, he shall roll,
And snare my master—woe's me, even my master,
For slavery's yoke my neck must learn to own.
Ah! little weens the leader of the ships,
72
With long-drawn phrase, and broad-sown smile, doth weave
His secret ruin. This a woman dares;
The female mars the male. Where shall I find
A name to name such monster? dragon dire,
Rock-lurking Scylla, the vexed seaman's harm,
Mother of Hades, murder's Mænad, breathing
Implacable breath of curses on her kin.
All-daring woman! shouting in her heart,
As o'er the foe, when backward rolls the fight,
Yet hymning kindliest welcome with her tongue.
Ye look mistrustful; I am used to that.
That comes which is to come; and ye shall know
Full soon, with piteous witness in your eyes,
How true, and very true, Cassandra spake.
CHORUS.
Thyestes' banquet, and his children's flesh
I know, and shudder; strange that she should know
The horrors of that tale; but for the rest
She runs beyond my following.
CASSANDRA.
Thus I said;
Thine eyes shall witness Agamemnon's death.
CHORUS.
Hush, wretched maiden! lull thy tongue to rest,
And cease from evil-boding words!
73
Alas!
The gods that heal all evil, heal not this.
CHORUS.
If it must be; but may the gods forefend!
CASSANDRA.
Pray thou, and they will have more time to kill.
CHORUS.
What man will dare to do such bloody deed?
CASSANDRA.
I spake not of a man: thy thoughts shoot wide.
CHORUS.
The deed I heard, but not whose hand should do it.
CASSANDRA.
And yet I spake good Greek with a good Greek tongue.
CHORUS.
Thou speakest Apollo's words: true, but obscure.
CASSANDRA.
Ah me! the god! like fire within my breast
Burns the Lycéan god. Ah me! pain! pain!
74
Is bedded, when the noble lion roamed
Far from his den; and she will murder me.
She crowns the cup of wrath; she whets the knife
Against the neck of the man, and he must pay
The price of capture, I of being captive.
Vain gauds, that do but mock my grief, farewell!
This laurel-rod, and this diviner's wreath
About my neck, should they outlive the wearer?
Away! As ye have paid me, I repay.
Make rich some other prophetess with woe!
Lo! where Apollo looks, and sees me now
Doff this diviner's garb, the self-same weeds
He tricked me erst withal, to live for him,
The public scorn, the scoff of friends and foes,
The mark of every ribald jester's tongue,
The homeless girl, the raving mountebank,
The beggar'd, wretched, starving maniac.
And now who made the prophetess unmakes her,
And leads me to my doom—ah! not beside
My father's altar doomed to die! the block
From my hot life shall drink the purple stain.
But we shall fall not unavenged: the gods
A mother-murdering shoot shall send from far
To avenge his sire; the wanderer shall return
To pile the cope-stone on these towering woes.
The gods in heaven a mighty oath have sworn,
To raise anew the father's prostrate fate
By the son's arm.—But why stand here, and beat
75
When Troy hath fallen, suffering what it suffered,
And they who took the city by the doom
Of righteous gods faring as they shall fare?
I will endure to die, and greet these gates
Of Hades gaping for me. Grant me, ye gods,
A mortal stroke well-aimed, and a light fall
From cramped convulsion free! Let the red blood
Flow smoothly from its fount, that I may close
These eyes in peaceful death.
CHORUS.
O hapless maid!
And wise as hapless! thou hast spoken long!
But if thou see'st the harm, why rush on fate
Even as an ox, whom favouring gods inspire
To stand by the altar's steps, and woo the knife.
CASSANDRA.
I'm in the net. Time will not break the meshes.
CHORUS.
But the last moment of sweet life is honoured.
CASSANDRA.
My hour is come; what should I gain by flight?
CHORUS.
Thou with a stout heart bravely look'st on fate.
76
Bravely thou praisest: but the happy hear not
Such commendations.
CHORUS.
Yet if death must come,
His fame is fair who nobly fronts the foe.
CASSANDRA.
Woe's me, the father and his noble children!
CHORUS.
Whither now? What father and what children? Speak.
CASSANDRA.
—(Approaching and starting back from the house.)
Woe! woe!
CHORUS.
What means this WOE? What horrid fancy scares thee?
CASSANDRA.
Blood-dripping murder reeks from yonder house.
CHORUS.
How? 'Tis the scent of festal sacrifice.
77
The scent of death—a fragrance from the grave.
CHORUS.
Soothly no breath of Syrian nard she names.
CASSANDRA.
But now the time is come. I go within
To wail for Agamemnon and myself.
I've done with life. Farewell! My vouchers ye,
Not with vain screaming, like a fluttering bird,
Above the bush I cry. Yourselves shall know it
Then when, for me a woman, a woman dies,
And for a man ill-wived a man shall fall.
Trust me in this. Your honest faith is all
The Trojan guest, the dying woman, craves.
CHORUS.
O wretched maid! O luckless prophetess!
CASSANDRA.
Yet will I speak one other word, before
I leave this light. Hear thou my vows, bright sun,
And, though a slave's death be a little thing,
Send thou the avenging hand with full requital,
To pay my murderers back, as they have paid.
Alas! the fates of men! their brightest bloom
A shadow blights; and, in their evil day,
An oozy sponge blots out their fleeting prints,
78
Our changes run, and with the worst we end.
[Exit.
CHORUS.
Men crave increase of riches ever
With insatiate craving. Never
From the finger-pointed halls
Of envied wealth their owner calls,
“Enter no more! I have enough!”
This man the gods with honour crowned;
He hath levelled with the ground
Priam's city, and in triumph
Glorious home returns;
But if doomed the fine to pay
Of ancient guilt, and death with death
To guerdon in the end,
Who of mortals will not pray,
From high perched Fortune's favour far,
A blameless life to spend.
AGAMEMNON.
(From within.)
O I am struck! struck with a mortal blow!
CHORUS.
Hush! what painful voice is speaking there of strokes and mortal blows.
AGAMEMNON.
O struck again! struck with a mortal blow!
79
'Tis the king that groans; the work, the bloody work, I fear, is doing.
Weave we counsel now together, and concert a sure design.
FIRST CHORUS.
I give my voice to lift the loud alarm,
And rouse the city to besiege the doors.
SECOND CHORUS.
Rather forthwith go in ourselves, and prove
The murderer with the freshly-dripping blade.
THIRD CHORUS.
I add my pebble to thine. It is not well
That we delay. Fate hangs upon the moment.
FOURTH CHORUS.
The event is plain, with this prelusive blood
They hang out signs of tyranny to Argos.
FIFTH CHORUS.
Then why stay we? Procrastination they
Tramp underfoot; they sleep not with their hands.
SIXTH CHORUS.
Not so. When all is dark, shall we unwisely
Rush blindfold on an unconsulted deed?
80
Thou speakest well. If he indeed be dead,
Our words are vain to bring him back from Hades.
EIGHTH CHORUS.
Shall we submit to drag a weary life
Beneath the shameless tyrants of this house?
NINTH CHORUS.
Unbearable! and better far to die!
Death is a gentler lord than tyranny.
TENTH CHORUS.
First ask we this, if to have heard a groan
Gives a sure augury that the man is dead.
ELEVENTH CHORUS.
Wisdom requires to probe the matter well:
To guess is one thing, and to know another.
TWELFTH CHORUS.
So wisely spoken. With full-voiced assent
Inquire we first how Agamemnon fares.
[The scene opens from behind, and discovers Clytemnestra standing over the dead bodies of Agamemnon and Cassandra.]
81
I spoke to you before; and what I spoke
Suited the time; nor shames me now to speak
Mine own refutal. For how shall we entrap
Our foe, our seeming friend, in scapeless ruin,
Save that we fence him round with nets too high
For his o'erleaping? What I did, I did
Not with a random inconsiderate blow,
But from old Hate, and with maturing Time.
Here, where I struck, I take my rooted stand,
Upon the finished deed: the blow so given,
And with wise forethought so by me devised,
That flight was hopeless, and to ward it vain.
With many-folding net, as fish are caught,
I drew the lines about him, mantled round
With bountiful destruction; twice I struck him,
And twice he groaning fell with limbs diffused
Upon the ground; and as he fell, I gave
The third blow, sealing him a votive gift
To gloomy Hades, saviour of the dead.
And thus he spouted forth his angry soul,
Bubbling a bitter stream of frothy slaughter,
And with the dark drops of the gory dew
Bedashed me; I delighted nothing less
Than doth the flowery calix, full surcharged
With fruity promise, when Jove's welkin down
Distils the rainy blessing. Men of Argos,
Rejoice with me in this, or, if ye will not,
Then do I boast alone. If e'er 'twas meet
82
In justest measure. By most righteous doom,
Who drugged the cup with curses to the brim,
Himself hath drunk damnation to the dregs.
CHORUS.
Thou art a bold-mouthed woman. Much we marvel
To hear thee boast thy husband's murder thus.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Ye tempt me as a woman, weak, unschooled.
But what I say, ye know, or ought to know,
I say with fearless heart. Your praise or blame
Is one to me. Here Agamemenon lies,
My husband, dead, the work of this right hand—
The hand of a true workman. Thus it stands.
CHORUS.
Strophe.
—Woman! what food on wide earth growing
Hast thou eaten of? What draught
From the briny ocean quaffed,
That for such deed the popular breath
Of Argos should with curses crown thee,
As a victim crowned for death?
Thou hast cast off: thou hast cut off
Thine own husband: thou shalt be
From the city of the free
Thyself a cast-off: justly hated
With staunch hatred unabated.
83
My sentence thou hast spoken; shameful flight,
The citizens' hate, the people's vengeful curse:
For him thou hast no curse, the bloody man
Who, when the fleecy flocks innumerous pastured,
Passed the brute by, and sacrificed my child,
My best-beloved, fruit of my throes, to lull
The Thracian blasts asleep. Why did thy wrath,
In righteous guerdon of this foulest crime,
Not chase this man from Greece? A greedy ear
And a harsh tongue thou hast for me alone.
But mark my words, threats I repay with threats;
If that thou canst subdue me in fair fight,
Subdue me; but if Jove for me decide,
Thou shalt be wise, when wisdom comes too late.
CHORUS.
Antistrophe.
—Thou art high and haughty-hearted,
And from lofty thoughts within thee
Mighty words are brimming o'er:
For thy sober sense is madded
With the purple-dripping gore;
And thine eyes with fatness swell
From bloody feasts: but mark me well,
Time shall come, avenging Time,
And hunt thee out, and track thy crime:
Then thou, when friends are far, shalt know
Stroke for stroke, and blow for blow.
84
Hear thou this oath, that seals my cause with right:
By sacred Justice, perfecting revenge,
By Até, and the Erinnys of my child,
To whom I slew this man, I shall not tread
The threshold of pale Fear, the while doth live
Ægisthus, now, as he hath been, my friend,
Stirring the flame that blazes on my hearth,
My shield of strong assurance. For the slain,
Here lieth he that wronged a much-wronged woman,
Sweet honey-lord of Trojan Chryseids.
And for this spear-won maid, this prophetess,
This wise diviner, well-beloved bed-fellow,
And trusty messmate of great Agamemnon,
She shares his fate, paying with him the fee
Of her own sin, and like a swan hath sung
Her mortal song beside him. She hath been
Rare seasoning added to my banquet rare.
CHORUS.
Strophe I.
—O would some stroke of Fate—no dull disease
Life's strings slow-rending,
No bed-bound pain—might bring, my smart to soothe,
The sleep unending!
For he, my gracious lord, my guide, is gone,
Beyond recalling;
Slain for a woman's cause, and by the hands
Of woman falling.
—O would some stroke of Fate—no dull disease
Life's strings slow-rending,
No bed-bound pain—might bring, my smart to soothe,
The sleep unending!
For he, my gracious lord, my guide, is gone,
Beyond recalling;
Slain for a woman's cause, and by the hands
Of woman falling.
85
Strophe II.
—O Helen! Helen! phrenzied Helen,
Many hearts of thee are telling!
Damned destruction thou hast done,
There where thousands fell for one
'Neath the walls of Troy!
—O Helen! Helen! phrenzied Helen,
Many hearts of thee are telling!
Damned destruction thou hast done,
There where thousands fell for one
'Neath the walls of Troy!
Antistrophe II.
—Bloomed from thee the blossom gory
Of famous Agamemnon's glory;
Thou hast roused the slumbering strife,
From age to age, with eager knife,
Watching to destroy.
—Bloomed from thee the blossom gory
Of famous Agamemnon's glory;
Thou hast roused the slumbering strife,
From age to age, with eager knife,
Watching to destroy.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Strophe III.
—Death invoke not to relieve thee
From the ills that vainly grieve thee!
Nor, with ire indignant swelling,
Blame the many-murdering Helen!
Damned destruction did she none,
There, where thousands fell for one,
'Neath the walls of Troy.
—Death invoke not to relieve thee
From the ills that vainly grieve thee!
Nor, with ire indignant swelling,
Blame the many-murdering Helen!
Damned destruction did she none,
There, where thousands fell for one,
'Neath the walls of Troy.
Antistrophe I.
—O god that o'er the doomed Atridan halls
With might prevailest,
Weak woman's breast to do thy headlong will
With murder mailest!
O'er his dead body, like a boding raven,
Thou tak'st thy station,
Piercing my marrow with thy savage hymn
Of exultation.
—O god that o'er the doomed Atridan halls
With might prevailest,
Weak woman's breast to do thy headlong will
With murder mailest!
O'er his dead body, like a boding raven,
Thou tak'st thy station,
Piercing my marrow with thy savage hymn
Of exultation.
86
Antistrophe III.
—Nay, but now thou speakest wisely;
This thrice-potent god precisely
Works our woe, and weaves our sorrow.
He with madness stings the marrow,
And with greed that thirsts for blood;
Ere to-day's is dry, the flood
Flows afresh to-morrow.
CHORUS.
Strophe IV.
—Him, even him, this terrible god, to bear
These walls are fated;
From age to age he worketh wildly there
With wrath unsated.
Not without Jove, Jove cause and end of all,
Nor working vainly.
Comes no event but with high sway the gods
Have ruled it plainly.
CHORUS.
Strophe V.
—O the king! the king! for thee
Tears in vain my cheek shall furrow,
Words in vain shall voice my sorrow!
As in a spider's web thou liest;
Godless meshes spread for thee,
An unworthy death thou diest!
87
Strophe VI.
—There, even there thou liest, woe's me, outstretched
On couch inglorious;
O'er thee the knife prevailed, keen-edged, by damned
Deceit victorious.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Strophe VII.
—Nay, be wise, and understand;
Say not Agamemnon's wife
Wielded in this human hand
The fateful knife.
But a god, my spirit's master,
The unrelenting old Alastor
Chose this wife, his incarnation,
To avenge the desecration
Of foul-feasting Atreus; he
Gave, to work his wrath's completion,
To the babes this grown addition.
CHORUS.
Antistrophe IV.
—Thy crime is plain: bear thou what thou hast merited,
Guilt's heavy lading;
But that fell Spirit, from sire to son inherited,
Perchance was aiding.
Black-mantled Mars through consanguineous gore
Borne onwards blindly,
Old horrors to atone, fresh Murder's store
Upheaps unkindly.
—Thy crime is plain: bear thou what thou hast merited,
Guilt's heavy lading;
But that fell Spirit, from sire to son inherited,
Perchance was aiding.
Black-mantled Mars through consanguineous gore
Borne onwards blindly,
Old horrors to atone, fresh Murder's store
Upheaps unkindly.
88
Antistrophe V.
—O the king! the king! for thee
Tears in vain my cheek shall furrow,
Words in vain shall voice my sorrow!
As in a spider's web thou liest;
Godless meshes spread for thee,
An unworthy death thou diest.
—O the king! the king! for thee
Tears in vain my cheek shall furrow,
Words in vain shall voice my sorrow!
As in a spider's web thou liest;
Godless meshes spread for thee,
An unworthy death thou diest.
CHORUS.
Antistrophe VI.
—There, even there, thou liest, woe's me, outstretched
On couch inglorious!
O'er thee the knife prevailed, keen-edged, by damned
Deceit victorious.
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Antistrophe VII.
—Say not thou that he did die
By unworthy death inglorious;
Erst himself prevailed by damned
Deceit victorious,
Then when he killed the deep-lamented
Iphigenía, nor relented
When for my body's fruit with weeping
I besought him. Springs his reaping
From what seed he sowed. Not he
In Hades housed shall boast to-day;
So slain by steel as he did slay.
CHORUS.
Strophe VIII.
—I'm tossed with doubt, on no sure counsel grounded,
With fear confounded.
89
Upon the crazy house, that was my tower,
Comes wildly sweeping,
On a new whetstone whets her blade the Fate
With eyes unweeping.
CHORUS.
Strophe IX.
—O Earth, O Earth, would thou hadst yawned,
And in thy black pit whelmed me wholly,
Ere I had seen my dear-loved lord
In the silver bath thus bedded lowly!
Who will bury him? and for him
With salt tears what eyes shall brim?
Wilt thou do it—thou the wife
That slew thy husband with the knife?
Wilt thou dare, with blushless face,
Thus to offer a graceless grace?
With false show of pious moaning,
Thine own damned deed atoning?
CHORUS.
Strophe X.
—What voice the praises of the godlike man
Shall publish clearly?
And o'er his tomb the tear from eyelids wan
Shall drop sincerely?
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Strophe XI.
—In vain thy doubtful heart is tried
With many sorrows. By my hand
Falling he fell, and dying died.
90
Of mourning men for him shall plain
In our Argive streets; but rather
In the land of sunless cheer
She shall be his convoy; she,
Iphigenía, his daughter dear.
By the stream of woes swift-flowing,
Round his neck her white arms throwing,
She shall meet her gentle father,
And greet him with a kiss.
CHORUS.
Antistrophe VIII.
—Crime quitting crime, and which the more profanely
Were questioned vainly;
'Tis robber robbed, and slayer slain, for, though
Oft-times it lag, with measured blow for blow
Vengeance prevaileth,
While great Jove lives. Who breaks the close-linked woe
Which Heaven entaileth?
CHORUS.
Antistrophe IX.
—O Earth, O Earth, would thou hadst yawned,
And in thy black pit whelmed me wholly,
91
In the silver bath thus bedded lowly!
Who will bury him? and for him
With salt tears, what eyes shall brim?
Wilt thou do it? thou, the wife
That killed thy husband with the knife?
Wilt thou dare, with blushless face,
Thus to offer a graceless grace?
With false show of pious moaning
Thine own damned deed atoning?
CHORUS.
Antistrophe X.
—What voice the praises of the god-like man
Shall publish clearly?
And o'er his tomb the tear from eyelids wan
Shall drop sincerely?
CLYTEMNESTRA.
Antistrophe XI.
—Cease thy cries. Where Heaven entaileth,
Thyself didst say, woe there prevaileth.
But for this tide enough hath been
Of bloody work. My score is clean.
Now to the ancient stern Alastor,
That crowns the Pleisthenids with disaster,
I vow, having reaped his crop of woe
From me, to others let him go,
92
Of horrid murders suicidal!
Myself, my little store amassed
Shall freely use, while it may last,
From murdering madness healed.
Enter Ægisthus.
O blessed light! O happy day proclaiming
The justice of the gods! Now may I say
The Olympians look from heaven sublime, to note
Our woes, and right our wrongs, seeing as I see
In the close meshes of the Erinnyes tangled
This man—sweet sight to see!—prostrate before me,
Having paid the forfeit of his father's crime.
For Atreus, ruler of this Argive land,
This dead man's father—to be plain—contending
About the mastery, banished from the city
Thyestes, his own brother and my father.
In suppliant guise back to his hearth again
The unhappy prince returned, content if he
Might tread his native acres, not besprent
With his own blood. Him with a formal show
Of hospitality—not love—received
The father of this dead, the godless Atreus;
And to my father for the savoury use
Of festive viands gave his children's flesh
To feed on; in a separate dish concealed
Were legs and arms, and the fingers' pointed tips,
Broke from the body. These my father saw not;
But what remained, the undistinguished flesh,
He with unwitting greed devoured, and ate
93
Disowned the unholy feast, and with a groan
Back-falling he disgorged it. Then he vowed
Dark doom to the Pelopidae, and woes
Intolerable, while with his heel he spurned
The supper, and thus voiced the righteous curse:
Thus perish all the race of Pleisthenes!
See here the cause why Agamemnon died,
And why his death most righteous was devised
By me; for I, Thyestes' thirteenth son,
While yet a swaddled babe, was driven away
To houseless exile with my hapless sire.
But me avenging Justice nursed, and taught me,
Safer by distance, with invisible hand
To reach this man, and weave the brooded plot,
That worked his sure destruction. Now 'tis done;
And gladly might I die, beholding him,
There as he lies where Vengeance trapped his crimes.
CHORUS.
Ægisthus, that thou wantonest in the woe
Worked by thy crime I praise not. Thou alone
Didst slay this man, and planned the piteous slaughter
With willing heart. So say'st thou: but mark well,
Justice upon thy head the stony curse
Shall bring avoidless from the people's hand.
ÆGISTHUS.
How? Thou who sittest on the neathmost bench,
Speak'st thus to me who ply the upper oar?
'Tis a hard task to teach an old man wisdom,
94
But chains and hunger's pangs sure leeches are,
And no diviner vends more potent balms
To drug a doting wit. Have eyes, and see,
Kick not against the pricks, nor vainly beat
Thy head on rocks.
CHORUS
(to Clytemnestra).
Woman, how couldst thou dare,
On thine own hearth to plot thy husband's death;
First having shamed his bed, to welcome him
With murder from the wars?
ÆGISTHUS.
Speak on; each word shall be a fount of tears,
I'll make thy tongue old Orpheus' opposite.
He with sweet sounds led wild beasts where he would,
Thou where thou wilt not shalt be led, confounding
The woods with baby cries. Thou barkest now,
But, being bound, the old man shall be tame.
CHORUS.
A comely king wert thou to rule the Argives!
Whose wit had wickedness to plan the deed,
But failed the nerve in thy weak hand to do it.
ÆGISTHUS.
'Twas wisely schemed with woman's cunning wit
To snare him. I, from ancient date his foe,
Stood in most just suspicion. Now, 'tis done;
95
To hold the reins full tightly. Who rebels
Shall not with corn be fatted for my traces,
But, stiffly haltered, he shall lodge secure
In darkness, with starvation for his mate.
CHORUS.
Hear me yet once. Why did thy dastard hand
Shrink from the deed? But now his wife hath done it,
Tainting this land with murder most abhorred,
Polluting Argive gods. But still Orestes
Looks on the light; him favouring Fortune shall
Nerve, with one stroke to smite this guilty pair.
ÆGISTHUS.
Nay, if thou for brawls art eager, and for battle, thou shalt know—
CHORUS.
Ho! my gallant co-mates, rouse ye! 'tis an earnest business now!
Quick, each hand with sure embracement hold the dagger by the hilt!
ÆGISTHUS.
I can also hold a hilted dagger—not afraid to die.
CHORUS.
Die!—we catch the word thou droppest; lucky chance, if thou wert dead!
96
Not so, best-beloved! there needeth no enlargement to our ills.
We have reaped a liberal harvest, gleaned a crop of fruitful woes,
Gained a loss in brimming measure: blood's been shed enough to-day.
Peacefully, ye hoary Elders, enter now your destined homes,
Ere mischance o'ertake you, deeming WHAT IS DONE HATH SO BEEN DONE,
As it behoved to be, contented if the dread god add no more,
He that now the house of Pelops smiteth in his anger dire.
Thus a woman's word doth warn ye, if that ye have wit to hear.
ÆGISTHUS.
Babbling fools are they; and I forsooth must meekly bear the shower,
Flowers of contumely cast from doting drivellers, tempting fate!
O! if length of hoary winters brought discretion, ye should know
Where the power is; wisely subject you the weak to me the strong.
97
Ill beseems our Argive mettle to court a coward on a throne.
ÆGISTHUS.
Shielded now, be brave with words; my deeds expect some future day.
CHORUS.
Ere that day belike some god shall bring Orestes to his home.
ÆGISTHUS.
Feed, for thou hast nothing better, thou and he, on empty hope.
CHORUS.
Glut thy soul, a lusty sinner, with sin's fatness, while thou may'st.
ÆGISTHUS.
Thou shalt pay the forfeit, greybeard, of thy braggart tongue anon.
CHORUS.
Oh, the cock beside its partlet now may crow right valiantly!
98
Heed not thou these brainless barkings. While to folly folly calls,
Thou and I with wise command shall surely sway these Argive halls.
| Agamemnon | |