Than what hath fallen, I have good cause to lookBravely on fate.Clytemnestra.Nay, but my good lord will notIn 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 fearOf 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 mayYield with a grace.Agamemnon.And thou in this vain strifeMust 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,n65That are the prostrate subjects to my feet,When I do tread; for with shod feet I neverMay leave my print on the sea-purple, lestSome god with jealous eye look from afarAnd mark me. Much I fear with insolent footTo trample wealth, and rudely soil the webWhose precious threads the pure-veined silver buys.So much for this. As for this maid, receiveThe stranger kindly: the far-seeing godsLook down with love on him who mildly sways.For never yet was yoke of slavery borneBy willing neck; of all the captive maidsThe 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 depthsIs 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 spreadThe path of many triumphs, had a godGiven me such ’hest oracular to buyThe ransom of thy life. We have thee now,Both root and trunk, a tree rich leafage spreadingTo shade this mansion from the Sirian dog.Welcome, thou double blessing! to this hearthThat bringest heat against keen winter’s cold,And coolness when the sweltering Jove preparesWine from the crudeness of the bitter grape;Enter the house, made perfect by thy presence.Jove, Jove, the perfecter! perfect thou my vow,n66And 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 unhiredn67Notes of dark prophecy?Blithe confidence, my bosom’s lord,f19That swayed the doubtful theme,Arise, and with thy clear commandChase the vain-vexing dream!Long years have rolled; and still I fear,As when the Argive bandUnloosed their cables from the shore,n68And eager plied the frequent oarTo the far Ilian strand.ANTISTROPHE I.Now they return: my vouching eyesTo 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 HopeHath left my heart all drear;And my thought, not idly tossed within,Feels evil creeping near.For the heart hath scent of things to comeAnd prophesies by fear;And yet I pray, may all conspireTo prove my boding heart a liar,And me a foolish seer.STROPHE II.Full-blooded health, that in the veinsWith lusty pulses hotly wells,Shall soon have check. Disease beside itWall to wall, ill-sundered, dwells.The proud trireme, with sudden shock,In its mid career, on a sunken rockStrikes, and all is lost.Yet there is hope; the ship may reinIts plunge, from whelming ruin free,If with wise sling the merchant flingInto the greedy seaA part to save the whole. And thusJove, 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.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 wiseCould raise the dead,f20but, from the skies,Struck by Jove, he ceased.But cease my song. Were link with linkIn the chain of things not bound togethern69That 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 waitThe unravelling hour; while sparks of fateFlit through my darksome mind.EnterClytemnestra.Clytemnestra.Come thou, too, in; this maid, I mean; Cassandra!For not in wrath Jove sent thee here to shareOur family lustrations, and to stand,With many slaves, beside the household altar.n70Step from this car, nor bear thy spirit proudlyAbove thy fate, for even Alcmena’s son,To slavery sold, once bore the hated yoke.What must be, must be; rather thank the chanceThat gave thee to an old and wealthy house;For they who reap an unexpected growthOf wealth, are harsh to slaves beyond the lineOf a well-tempered rule. Here thou shalt findThe common use of bondage.Chorus.Plainly she speaks;And thou within Fate’s iron toils once caughtWert wise to go—if go thou wilt—but, soothly,Thou hast no willing look.Clytemnestra.Nay! an’ she be notBarbarian to the bone, and speaking noughtSave swallow jabber,f21she shall hear my voice.I’ll pierce her marrow with it.Chorus.Captive maid,Obey! thou shouldst; ’tis best; be thou persuadedTo leave thy chariot-seat and follow her.Clytemnestra.No time have I to stand without the gatePrating with her. Within, on the central hearth,The fire burns bright, the sheep’s fat slaughter waiting,To furnish forth a banquet that transcendsThe topmost of our hopes. Wilt thou obey,Obey me quickly! If with stubborn senseThou 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 counselsIs deaf; she comes from the new-captured city,Untaught to bear the Argive bit with patience,But foams and dashes bloody froth. I will notMake 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?f22is heA 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 criesUpon the god least fit to wait on woe.STROPHE II.Cassandra.Apollo! Apollo!My way-god, my leader Apollo!n71Apollo the destroyer!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.ANTISTROPHE II.Cassandra.Apollo! Apollo!Apollo, my leader, whither hast thou led me?n72My 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!f23Well 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 renownedHave reached us, but we wish no prophets here.STROPHE IV.Cassandra.Ha! ha! what plots she now!A new sorrow, a new snareTo 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 marAll 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.ANTISTROPHE IV.Cassandra.Ha! woman wilt thou dare?Thy bed’s partner and thy mateIn the warm refreshing bathShall he find his bloody fate?How shall I dare to sayWhat comes and will not stay?See, to do her heart’s commandWhere she stretches her red hand!Chorus.Not yet I understand: through riddles darkAnd 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 placef24Shout 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 placeShall shout vengeance o’er the race?Such strange words I hate to hear.The blithe blood, that crimson rann73In my veins, runs pale and wanWith the taint of yellow fear,As when in the mortal anguish,n74Life’s last fitful glimpses languishAnd Fate, as now, is near!ANTISTROPHE V.Cassandra.Ha! ha! the work proceeds!From the bull keep back the cow!Lo! now she seizes himBy the strong black horn,n75and nowShe hath wrapt him round with slaughter;She strikes! and in the waterOf the bath he falls. Mark well,In the bath doth murder dwell.ANTISTROPHE VI.Chorus.No prophetic gift is mineThe dark saying to divine,But this sounds like evil quite;For to mortal man was neverThe diviner’s voice the giverOf 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 theeThy 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 theeThat hath music, but no glee.Like a dun-plumed nightingale,f25That, with never-sated wail,Crieth Itys! Itys! aye,n76As it scatters, in sweet flow,The thick blossoms of its woe,n77So singest thou to-day.ANTISTROPHE VII.Cassandra.Ah! the clear-toned nightingale!Mellow bird, thou dost not wail,f26For the good gods gave to theeA light shape of fleetest winging,A bright life of sweetest singing,But a sharp-edged death to me.ANTISTROPHE VIII.Chorus.By a god thou art possessed,And he goads thee without rest,And he racks thy throbbing brainWith a busy-beating pain,And he presses from thy throatThe 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 woeOf 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 shoreOf 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 spokenTo a very child are clear.She hath pierced me to the marrow;And her cry of shrieking sorrowAh! 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 vainHath my pious father slainMany meadow-cropping kine,To appease the wrath divine.Where it lieth it shall lie,Ancient Ilium: and IOn the ground, when all is past,Soon my reeking heart shall cast.n78ANTISTROPHE X.Chorus.Ah! the mighty god, wrath-laden,He hath smote the burdened maidenWith 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 brideShall from a veil peep forth, but like a windWaves shall it dash from the west in the sun’s face,n79And curl high-crested surges of fierce woes,That far outbillow mine. I’ll speak no moreIn 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 BacchanalsCling to their place of revels. The sister’d FuriesSit on these roofs, and hymn the prime offenceOf this crime-burthened race; the brother’s sinThat trod the brother’s bed.f27Speak! do I hitThe mark, a marksman true? or do I beatYour doors, a babbling beggar prophesyingFalse dooms for hire? Be ye my witnesses,And with an oath avouch, how well I knowThe hoary sins that hang upon these walls.Chorus.Would oaths make whole our ills, though I should wedge themAs stark as ice?n80But I do marvel muchThat 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 prosperityMisfortune opens.Cassandra.Like a wrestler heStrove 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.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 lookOnly too like the truth.Cassandra.Ah me! woe! woe!Again strong divination’s troublous whirlSeizes my soul, and stirs my labouring breastWith 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, andIn their own hands their proper bowels they bear,Banquet abhorred, and their own father eats it.f28This deed a lion, not a lion-heartedShall punish; wantonly in her bed, whose lordShall pay the heavy forfeit, he shall roll,And snare my master—woe’s me, evenmymaster,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 weaveHis secret ruin. This a woman dares;The female mars the male. Where shall I findA name to name such monster? dragon dire,Rock-lurking Scylla, the vexed seaman’s harm,Mother of Hades, murder’s Mænad, breathingImplacable breath of curses on her kin.n81All-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 knowFull soon, with piteous witness in your eyes,How true, and very true, Cassandra spake.Chorus.Thyestes’ banquet, and his children’s fleshI know, and shudder; strange that she should knowThe horrors of that tale; but for the restShe runs beyond my following.Cassandra.Thus I said;Thine eyes shall witness Agamemnon’s deathChorus.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 aman: 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 breastBurns the Lycéan god.f29Ah me! pain! pain!A lioness two-footed with a wolfIs bedded, when the noble lion roamedFar from his den; and she will murder me.She crowns the cup of wrath; she whets the knifeAgainst the neck of the man, and he must payThe price of capture, I of being captive.Vain gauds, that do but mock my grief, farewell!This laurel-rod, and this diviner’s wreathAbout 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 nowDoff this diviner’s garb, the self-same weedsHe 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 besideMy father’s altar doomed to die! the blockFrom my hot life shall drink the purple stain.But we shall fall not unavenged: the godsA mother-murdering shoot shall send from farTo avenge his sire; the wanderer shall returnTo pile the cope-stone on these towering woes.The gods in heaven a mighty oath have sworn,To raise anew the father’s prostrate fateBy the son’s arm.—But why stand here, and beatThe air with cries, seeing what I have seen;When Troy hath fallen, suffering what it suffered,And they who took the city by the doomOf righteous gods faring as they shall fare?I will endure to die, and greet these gatesOf Hades gaping for me. Grant me, ye gods,A mortal stroke well-aimed, and a light fallFrom cramped convulsion free! Let the red bloodFlow smoothly from its fount, that I may closeThese 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 fateEven as an ox, whom favouring gods inspireTo 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 notSuch commendations.n82Chorus.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 thiswoe? 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 withinTo wail for Agamemnon and myself.I’ve done with life. Farewell! My vouchers ye,Not with vain screaming, like a fluttering bird,n83Above the bush I cry. Yourselves shall know itThen when, for me a woman, a woman dies,And for a man ill-wived a man shall fallTrust me in this. Your honest faith is allThe Trojan guest, the dying woman, craves.Chorus.O wretched maid! O luckless prophetess!Cassandra.Yet will I speak one other word, beforeI 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 bloomA shadow blights; and, in their evil day,An oozy sponge blots out their fleeting prints,And they are seen no more. From bad to worseOur changes run, and with the worst we end.n84[Exit.Chorus.Men crave increase of riches everWith insatiate craving. NeverFrom the finger-pointed hallsOf envied wealth their owner calls,“Enter no more! I have enough!”This man the gods with honour crowned;He hath levelled with the groundPriam’s city, and in triumphGlorious home returns;But if doomed the fine to payOf ancient guilt, and death with deathTo guerdon in the end,Who of mortals will not pray,n85From 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.n861st 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 proveThe murderer with the freshly-dripping blade.3rd Chorus.I add my pebble to thine. It is not wellThat we delay. Fate hangs upon the moment.4th Chorus.The event is plain, with this prelusive bloodThey hang out signs of tyranny to Argos.5th Chorus.Then why stay we? Procrastination theyTramp underfoot; they sleep not with their hands.6th Chorus.Not so. When all is dark, shall we unwiselyRush blindfold on an unconsulted deed?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 lifeBeneath 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 groanGives 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.n87With full-voiced assentInquire we first how Agamemnon fares.[The scene opens from behind, and discoversClytemnestrastanding over the dead bodies ofAgamemnonandCassandra.Clytemnestra.I spoke to you before; and what I spokeSuited the time; nor shames me now to speakMine own refutal. For how shall we entrapOur foe, our seeming friend, in scapeless ruin,Save that we fence him round with nets too highFor his o’erleaping? What I did, I didNot 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:n88the 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 roundWith bountiful destruction; twice I struck him,And twice he groaning fell with limbs diffusedUpon the ground; and as he fell, I gaveThe third blow, sealing him a votive giftTo 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 dewBedashed me; I delighted nothing lessThan doth the flowery calix, full surchargedWith fruity promise, when Jove’s welkin downDistils 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 meetTo pour libations to the dead, he hath themIn 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 marvelTo 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 blameIs one to me. Here Agamemnon lies,My husband, dead, the work of this right hand—The hand of a true workman. Thus it stands.STROPHE.Chorus.Woman! what food on wide earth growingHast thou eaten of? What draughtFrom the briny ocean quaffed,That for such deed the popular breathOf Argos should with curses crown thee,As a victim crowned for death?Thou hast cast off: thou hast cut offThine own husband:n89thou shalt beFrom the city of the freeThyself a cast-off: justly hatedWith staunch hatred unabated.Clytemnestra.My sentence thou hast spoken; shameful flight,The citizens’ hate, the people’s vengeful curse:For him thou hast no curse, the bloody manWho, when the fleecy flocks innumerous pastured,Passed the brute by, and sacrificed my child,My best-beloved, fruit of my throes, to lullThe Thracian blasts asleep. Why did thy wrath,In righteous guerdon of this foulest crime,Not chase this man from Greece? A greedy earAnd a harsh tongue thou hast for me alone.But mark my words,n90threats 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.ANTISTROPHE.Chorus.Thou art high and haughty-hearted,And from lofty thoughts within theeMighty words are brimming o’er:For thy sober sense is maddedWith the purple-dripping gore;And thine eyes with fatness swelln91From 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 knowStroke for stroke, and blow for blow.Clytemnestra.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 treadThe threshold of pale Fear, the while doth liveÆgisthus, 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 feeOf her own sin, and like a swan hath sungHer mortal song beside him. She hath beenRare seasoning added to my banquet rare.STROPHE I.n92Chorus.O would some stroke of Fate—no dull diseaseLife’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 handsOf woman falling.STROPHE II.O Helen! Helen! phrenzied Helen,Many hearts of thee are tellingDamned destruction thou hast done,There where thousands fell for one’Neath the walls of Troy!ANTISTROPHE II.Bloomed from thee the blossom goryOf famous Agamemnon’s glory;Thou hast roused the slumbering strife,From age to age, with eager knife,Watching to destroy.STROPHE III.Clytemnestra.Death invoke not to relieve theeFrom 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 hallsn93With might prevailest,Weak woman’s breast to do thy headlong willWith murder mailest!O’er his dead body, like a boding raven,Thou tak’st thy station,Piercing my marrow with thy savage hymnOf exultation.ANTISTROPHE III.Clytemnestra.
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?
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 unhiredn67
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,
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,f20but, from the skies,
Struck by Jove, he ceased.
But cease my song. Were link with link
In the chain of things not bound togethern69
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.
EnterClytemnestra.
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
Save swallow jabber,f21she 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?f22is 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.
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.
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 placef24
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 rann73
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,n75and 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.
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.
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
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.f27Speak! 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?n80But 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.
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, evenmymaster,
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.n81
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!
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 aman: 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.f29Ah 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
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 thiswoe? 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
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?
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.n87With full-voiced assent
Inquire we first how Agamemnon fares.
[The scene opens from behind, and discoversClytemnestrastanding over the dead bodies ofAgamemnonandCassandra.
Clytemnestra.
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:n88the 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
To pour libations to the dead, he hath them
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 Agamemnon lies,
My husband, dead, the work of this right hand—
The hand of a true workman. Thus it stands.
STROPHE.Chorus.
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:n89thou shalt be
From the city of the free
Thyself a cast-off: justly hated
With staunch hatred unabated.
Clytemnestra.
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,n90threats 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.
ANTISTROPHE.Chorus.
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 swelln91
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.
Clytemnestra.
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.
STROPHE I.n92Chorus.
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.
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!
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.
STROPHE III.Clytemnestra.
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 hallsn93
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.
ANTISTROPHE III.Clytemnestra.