Chapter III: Part 3

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, {52} 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[n36] They live, and through the watchless night prolong Sound slumbers. Happy if the native gods They reverence, and the captured altars spare,[n37] 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,[n38] The course's other half they must mete out, Ere home receive them safe. Their ships must brook The chances of the sea; and, these being scaped, If they have sinned[n39] 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.

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.
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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.

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,[n40] 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.
Self-will fell Até's daughter,[n41] 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
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By dints of trial.
Even as a boy in wanton sport,[n42]
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.

STROPHE II.
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,[n43]
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,[n44]
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[f16] leanly.

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ANTISTROPHE II.
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.

STROPHE III.
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; thin 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;
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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.
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[f17]
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[n45]
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.
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,
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Is a light chance may fitly fall,
Where women wield the spear.[n46]
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.

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.

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. I greet thee, native land! thee, shining sun! 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![n47] And you, all gods that guide the chance of fight, I here revoke; 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,[n48] If ever erst, now on this happy day, With these bright-beaming eyes, duly receive {58} 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;[n49] his hand hath reaped Clean bare the harvest of all bliss from Troy. 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.

HERALD. 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, {59} 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. Why should I tell bird-killing winter's sorrows, 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.[n50] 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 Told the deep downfall of the captured Troy; 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, {60} 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.[n51]

HERALD. A boast like this, instinct with very truth, Comes from a noble lady without blame.

CHORUS. 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?

HERALD. 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[n52] Be grief's recital. When with gloomy visage An ugly tale the herald's voice unfolds, At once a general wound, and private grief, {61} An army lost, the sons of countless houses Death-doomed by the double scourge so dear to Ares,[f18] 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,[n53] Made friendly league to sweep the Achæan host With swift destruction pitiless. Forth rushed The tyrannous Thracian blasts, and wave chased wave, 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,[n54] 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.[n55] 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,[n56] 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_.

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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![n57] 'tis plain to see
A taker of ships, a taker of men,
A taker of cities she.
From the soft-curtained chamber of Hymen she fled,
By the breath of giant[n58] 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.
For the gods sent a bride,
Kin but not kind,[n59]
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.

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STROPHE II.
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. 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,[n60] Some god hath taught them to cherish.

STROPHE III.
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.
'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,
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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 lust, though his wealth like a river
Flow down, shall be scathless: his house shall rejoice
In an offspring of beauty for ever.

STROPHE IV.
The heart of the haughty delights to beget
A haughty heart.[n61] 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.
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.

CHORUS.
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
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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.[n62]
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
All finished. Thou shalt know anon
What friends do serve thee truly,
And who in thy long absence used
Their stewardship unduly.

[_Enter_ AGAMEMNON. _with attendants_; CASSANDRA _behind_.

AGAMEMNON. 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 wails, {66} 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 With such rich store of love, to see a friend 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--has 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 an 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 Was camping far at Ilium, I at home 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, {67} He might have boasted of a triple coil[n63] 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,[n64] 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 So woe-worn lived, the fountains of my grief 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 {68} 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.

AGAMEMNON. 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.

CLYTEMNESTRA. 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.

AGAMEMNON. And thou in this vain strife Must be perforce the conqueror; is it so?

{69}

CLYTEMNESTRA. 'Tis even so: for once give me the reins.

AGAMEMNON. Thou hast thy will. Come, boy, unbind these sandals,[n65] 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, A tincture ever-fresh for countless robes. 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,[n66] 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[n67]
{70}
Notes of dark prophecy?
Blithe confidence, my bosom's lord,[f19]
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,[n68]
And eager plied the frequent oar
To the far Ilian strand.

ANTISTROPHE I.
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.
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,
{71}
Heap gifts on gifts from yearly furrows,
And save the house from swamping sorrows,
And lean starvation's jaws.

ANTISTROPHE II.
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,[f20] 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[n69]
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.

[_Enter_ CLYTEMNESTRA.

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.[n70] 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 {72} Save swallow jabber,[f21] she shall hear my voice. 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, But foams and dashes bloody froth. I will not 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.

STROPHE I. CASSANDRA. Ah! ah! woe's me! woe! woe! Apollo! O Apollo!

CHORUS. Why dost thou waft to Loxias?[f22] is he A gloomy god that he should list sad tales?

ANTISTROPHE I. CASSANDRA. Ah! ah! woe's me! woe! woe! Apollo! O Apollo!

CHORUS. Again with evil-omened voice she cries Upon the god least fit to wait on woe.

STROPHE II. CASSANDRA. Apollo! Apollo! My way-god, my leader Apollo![n71] Apollo the destroyer! Thou with light labour hast destroyed me quite.

{73}

CHORUS. Strange oracles against herself she speaks; Ev'n in the bondsman's bosom dwells the god.

ANTISTROPHE II. CASSANDRA. Apollo! Apollo! Apollo, my leader, whither hast thou led me?[n72] 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.

STROPHE III. CASSANDRA. Ha! the house of the Atridæ![f23] 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.

CHORUS. She scents out slaughter, mark me, like a hound, And tracks the spot where she shall feast on blood.

ANTISTROPHE III. CASSANDRA. 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.

STROPHE IV.
CASSANDRA.
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.

{74}

CHORUS. Nay now I'm lost and mazed in vain surmise. What first she said I knew--the common rumour.

ANTISTROPHE IV.
CASSANDRA.
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.

STROPHE V.
CASSANDRA.
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[f24]
Shout for vengeance o'er the race,
Whose offence cries for atoning,
With a heavy death of stoning!

STROPHE VI.
CHORUS.
What black Fury of the place
Shall shout vengeance o'er the race?
Such strange words I hate to hear.
The blithe blood, that crimson ran[n73]
In my veins, runs pale and wan
With the taint of yellow fear,
As when in the mortal anguish,[n74]
Life's last fitful glimpses languish
And Fate, as now, is near!

ANTISTROPHE V.
CASSANDRA.
Ha! ha! the work proceeds!
From the bull keep back the cow!
Lo! now she seizes him
By the strong black horn,[n75] 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.

{75}

ANTISTROPHE VI.
CHORUS.
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.

STROPHE VII.
CASSANDRA.
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?

STROPHE VIII.
CHORUS.
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,[f25]
That, with never-sated wail,
Crieth Itys! Itys! aye,[n76]
As it scatters, in sweet flow,
The thick blossoms of its woe,[n77]
So singest thou to-day.

ANTISTROPHE VII.
CASSANDRA.
Ah! the clear-toned nightingale!
Mellow bird, thou dost not wail,[f26]
For the good gods gave to thee
A light shape of fleetest winging,
A bright life of sweetest singing,
But a sharp-edged death to me.

{76}

ANTISTROPHE VIII.
CHORUS.
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?

STROPHE IX.
CASSANDRA.
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.

STROPHE X.
CHORUS.
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.

ANTISTROPHE IX.
CASSANDRA.
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
{77}
On the ground, when all is past,
Soon my reeking heart shall cast.[n78]

ANTISTROPHE X. CHORUS. 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 stratus she singeth, And I wait the end in fear.

CASSANDRA. 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,[n79] 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.[f27] 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?[n80] But I do marvel much That thou, a stranger born, from distant seas, 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.

{78}

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.

CHORUS. 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.[f28] 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, Troy's leveller, how a hateful bitch's tongue, 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.[f81] 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; {79} Thine eyes shall witness Agamemnon's death

CHORUS. Hush, wretched maiden! lull thy tongue to rest, And cease from evil-boding words!

CASSANDRA. 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.[f29] Ah me! pain! pain! A lioness two-footed with a wolf 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 {80} The air with cries, seeing what I have seen; 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.

CASSANDRA. Bravely thou praisest: but the happy hear not Such commendations.[n82]

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.

CASSANDRA. 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,[n83] 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 {81} 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, And they are seen no more. From bad to worse Our changes run, and with the worst we end.[n84] [_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,[n85] 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!

CHORUS. 'Tis the king that groans; the work, the bloody work, I fear, is doing. Weave we counsel now together, and concert a sure design.[n86]

1st CHORUS. I give my voice to lift the loud alarm, And rouse the city to besiege the doors.

2nd CHORUS. Rather forthwith go in ourselves, and prove The murderer with the freshly-dripping blade.

3rd CHORUS. I add my pebble to thine. It is not well That we delay. Fate hangs upon the moment.

4th CHORUS. The event is plain, with this prelusive blood They hang out signs of tyranny to Argos.

5th CHORUS. Then why stay we? Procrastination they Tramp underfoot; they sleep not with their hands.

6th CHORUS. Not so. When all is dark, shall we unwisely Rush blindfold on an unconsulted deed?

{82}

7th CHORUS. Thou speakest well. If he indeed be dead, Our words are vain to bring him back from Hades.

8th CHORUS. Shall we submit to drag a weary life Beneath the shameless tyrants of this house?

9th CHORUS. Unbearable! and better far to die! Death is a gentler lord than tyranny.

10th CHORUS. First ask we this, if to have heard a groan Gives a sure augury that the man is dead.

11th CHORUS. Wisdom requires to probe the matter well: To guess is one thing, and to know another.

12th CHORUS. So wisely spoken.[n87] 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.