AGAMEMNON

Chorus:'Tis sweet for one in grief to knowThat he but feels a common woe;1010And lighter falls the stroke of careWhich all with equal sorrow bear;For selfish and malign is human grief1015Which in the tears of others finds relief.Remove all men to fortune born,And none will think himself forlorn;Remove rich acres spreading wide,1020With grazing herds on every side:Straight will the poor man's drooping soul revive,For none are poor if all in common thrive.1025The mariner his fate bewails,Who in a lonely vessel sails,And, losing all his scanty store,With life alone attains the shore;But with a stouter heart the gale he braves,That sinks a thousand ships beneath the waves.1030When Phrixus fled in days of oldUpon the ram with fleece of gold,His sister Helle with him faredAnd all his exiled wanderings shared;But when she fell and left him quite alone,Then nothing could for Helle's loss atone.1035Not so they wept, that fabled pair,Deucalion and Pyrrha fair,When 'midst the boundless sea they stoodThe sole survivors of the flood;For though their lot was hard and desolate,They shared their sorrow—'twas a common fate.1040Too soon our grieving companyShall scatter on the rolling sea,Where swelling sails and bending oars1045Shall speed us on to distant shores.Oh, then how hard shall be our wretched plight,When far away our country lies,And round us heaving billows rise,And lofty Ida's summit sinks from sight.Then mother shall her child embrace,1050And point with straining eyes the placeWhere Ilium's smouldering ruins lie,Far off beneath the eastern sky:"See there, my child, our Trojan ashes glow,Where wreathing smoke in murky cloudsThe distant, dim horizon shrouds;And by that sign alone our land we know."1055FOOTNOTES:[50]Reading,haud regibus.ACT VMessenger[entering]: Oh, cruel fate, Oh, piteous, horrible!What sight so fell and bloody have we seenIn ten long years of war? Between thy woes,Andromache, and thine, O Hecuba,I halt, and know not which to weep the more.Hecuba:Weep whosesoe'er thou wilt—thou weepest mine.1060While others bow beneath their single cares,I feel the weight of all. All die to me;Whatever grief there is, is Hecuba's.Messenger:The maid is slain, the boy dashed from the walls.But each has met his death with royal soul.Andromache:Expound the deed in order, and display1065The twofold crime. My mighty grief is fainTo hear the gruesome narrative entire.Begin thy tale, and tell it as it was.Messenger:One lofty tower of fallen Troy is left,Well known to Priam, on whose battlementsHe used to sit and view his warring hosts.1070Here in his arms his grandson he would holdWith kind embrace, and bid the lad admireHis father's warlike deeds upon the field,Where Hector, armed with fire and sword, pursuedThe frightened Greeks. Around this lofty tower1075Which lately stood, the glory of the walls,But now a lonely crag, the people pour,A motley, curious throng of high and low.For some, a distant hill gives open view;While others seek a cliff, upon whose edge1080The crowd in tiptoed expectation stand.The beech tree, laurel, pine, each has its load;The whole wood bends beneath its human fruit.One climbs a smouldering roof; unto anotherA crumbling wall precarious footing gives;1085While others (shameless!) stand on Hector's tomb.Now through the thronging crowd with stately treadUlysses makes his way, and by the handHe leads the little prince of Ilium.With equal pace the lad approached the wall;1090But when he reached the lofty battlement,He stood and gazed around with dauntless soul.And as the savage lion's tender young,Its fangless jaws, all powerless to harm,Still snaps with helpless wrath and swelling heart;1095So he, though held in that strong foeman's grasp,Stood firm, defiant. Then the crowd of men,And leaders, and Ulysses' self, were moved.But he alone wept not of all the throngWho wept for him. And now Ulysses spakeIn priestly wise the words of fate, and prayed,1100And summoned to the rite the savage gods;When suddenly, on self-destruction bent,The lad sprang o'er the turret's edge, and plungedInto the depths below.—Andromache:What Colchian, what wandering Scythian,What lawless race that dwells by Caspia's sea1105Could do or dare a crime so hideous?No blood of helpless children ever stainedBusiris' altars, monster though he was;Nor did the horses of the Thracian kingE'er feed on tender limbs. Where is my boy?Who now will take and lay him in the tomb?1110Messenger:Alas, my lady, how can aught remainFrom such a fall, but broken, scattered bones,Dismembered limbs, and all those noble signsIn face and feature of his royal birth,Confused and crushed upon the ragged ground?Who was thy son lies now a shapeless corse.1115Andromache:Thus also is he like his noble sire.Messenger:When headlong from the tower the lad had sprung,And all the Grecian throng bewailed the crimeWhich it had seen and done; that selfsame throngReturned to witness yet another crime1120Upon Achilles' tomb. The seaward sideIs beaten by Rhoeteum's lapping waves;While on the other sides a level space,And rounded, gently sloping hills beyond,Encompass it, and make a theater.Here rush the multitude and fill the place1125With eager throngs. A few rejoice that nowTheir homeward journey's long delay will end,And that another prop of fallen TroyIs stricken down. But all the common herdLook on in silence at the crime they hate.The Trojans, too, attend the sacrifice,1130And wait with quaking hearts the final sceneOf Ilium's fall. When suddenly there shoneThe gleaming torches of the wedding march;And, as the bride's attendant, Helen cameWith drooping head. Whereat the Trojans prayed:"Oh, may Hermione be wed like this,1135With bloody rites; like this may HelenaReturn unto her lord." Then numbing dreadSeized Greeks and Trojans all, as they beheldThe maid. She walked with downcast, modest eyes,But on her face a wondrous beauty glowedIn flaming splendor, as the setting sunLights up the sky with beams more beautiful,1140When day hangs doubtful on the edge of night.All gazed in wonder. Some her beauty moved,And some her tender age and hapless fate;But all, her dauntless courage in the face1145Of death. Behind the maid grim Pyrrhus came;And as they looked, the souls of all were filledWith quaking terror, pity, and amaze.But when she reached the summit of the moundAnd stood upon the lofty sepulcher,1150Still with unfaltering step the maid advanced.And now she turned her to the stroke of deathWith eyes so fierce and fearless that she smoteThe hearts of all, and, wondrous prodigy,E'en Pyrrhus' bloody hand was slow to strike.But soon, his right hand lifted to the stroke,1155He drove the weapon deep within her breast;And straight from that deep wound the blood burst forthIn sudden streams. But still the noble maidDid not give o'er her bold and haughty mien,Though in the act of death. For in her fallShe smote the earth with angry violence,As if to make it heavy for the dead.Then flowed the tears of all. The Trojans groaned1160With secret woe, since fear restrained their tongues;But openly the victors voiced their grief.And now the savage rite was done. The bloodStood not upon the ground, nor flowed away;But downward all its ruddy stream was sucked,As if the tomb were thirsty for the draught.Hecuba:Now go, ye Greeks, and seek your homes in peace.1165With spreading sails your fleet in safety nowMay cleave the welcome sea; the maid and boyAre slain, the war is done. Oh, whither nowShall I betake me in my wretchedness?Where spend this hateful remnant of my life?My daughter or my grandson shall I mourn,1170My husband, country—or myself alone?O death, my sole desire, for boys and maidsThou com'st with hurried step and savage mien;But me alone of mortals dost thou fearAnd shun; through all that dreadful night of Troy,I sought thee 'midst the swords and blazing brands,1175But all in vain my search. No cruel foe,Nor crumbling wall, nor blazing fire, could giveThe death I sought. And yet how near I stoodTo agéd Priam's side when he was slain!Messenger:Ye captives, haste you to the winding shore;The sails are spread, our long delay is o'er.AGAMEMNONAGAMEMNONDRAMATIS PERSONAEAgamemnonKing of Argos, and leader of all the Greeks in their war against Troy.Ghost of ThyestesReturned to earth to urge on his son to the vengeance which he was born to accomplish.AegisthusSon of Thyestes by an incestuous union with his daughter; paramour of Clytemnestra.ClytemnestraWife of Agamemnon, who has been plotting with Aegisthus against her husband, in his absence at Troy.ChorusOf Argive women.EurybatesMessenger of Agamemnon.CassandraDaughter of Priam, captive of Agamemnon.ElectraDaughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra.StrophiusKing of Phocis.OrestesSon of Agamemnon (persona muta).PyladesSon of Strophius (persona muta).BandOf captive Trojan women.The sceneis laid partly within and partly without the palace of Agamemnon at Argos or Mycenae, on the day of the return of the king from his long absence at Troy, beginning in the period of darkness just preceding the dawn.The blood-feud between Atreus and Thyestes was not ended with the terrible vengeance which Atreus wreaked upon his brother. It was yet in fate that Thyestes should live to beget upon his own daughter a son, Aegisthus, who should slay Atreus and bring ruin and death upon the great Atrides, Agamemnon.The Trojan war is done. And now the near approach of the victorious king, bringing his captives and treasure home to Argos, has been announced. But little does he dream to what a home he is returning. For Clytemnestra, enraged at Agamemnon because he had sacrificed her daughter Iphigenia at Aulis to appease the winds, and full of jealousy because he brings Cassandra as her rival home, estranged also by the long-continued absence of her lord, but most estranged by her own guilty union with Aegisthus, is now plotting to slay Agamemnon on his return, gaining thus at once revenge and safety from his wrath.ACT IGhost of Thyestes:Escaped from gloomy Pluto's murky realmAnd leaving Tartara's deep pit I come,All doubting which abode I hate the more;That world I flee, but this I put to flight.My soul shrinks back, my limbs do quake with fear.5I see my father's house—my brother's too!Here is the ancient seat of Pelop's race;In this proud hall it is Pelasgians' wontTo crown their kings; here sit those overlordsWhose hands the kingdom's haughty scepter wield;10Here is their council chamber—here they feast!Let me go hence. Were it not better farTo sit beside the dark, sad pools of Styx,And see the hell-hound's black and tossing mane?Where one, bound fast upon a whirling wheel,15Back to himself is borne; where fruitless toilIs mocked forever by the rolling stone;Where living vitals glut the vulture's greed,Consumed but e'er renewed; and one old man,By mocking waves surrounded, seeks in vain20To sate his burning thirst, dire punishmentFor that he strove to trick th' immortal gods.But, ranked with mine, how slight that old man's sin!Take count of all whose impious deeds on earthMake them to tremble at the bar of hell:By my dread crimes will I outdo them all;—25But not my brother's crimes. Three sons of mineLie buried in me, yea, mine own dear fleshHave I consumed. Nor this the only blotWith which dire fortune's hand hath stained my soul;But, daring greater sin, she bade me seek(Oh, foul impiety!) my daughter's arms.30Bold for revenge, I dared and did the deed,And so fearful cycle was complete:As sons the sire, so sire the daughter filled.Then were the laws of nature backward turned:I mingled sire with grandsire, sons with grandsons;Yea, monstrous! husband and father did I join,35And drove the day back to the shades of night.But fate at last, though doubtful, long deferred,Hath had regard unto my evil plight,And brought the day of vengeance near; for lo,This king of kings, this leader of the Greeks,This Agamemnon comes, whose royal flag40A thousand Grecian vessels followingOnce filled the Trojan waters with their sails.Now ten bright suns have run their course, and TroyHas been o'erthrown, and he is close at hand—To place his neck in Clytemnestra's power.Now, now, this house shall flow again with blood,But this of Atreus' stock! Swords, axes, darts45I see, and that proud head with murderous strokeAsunder cleft; now impious crimes are near,Now treachery, slaughter, blood; the feast is spread.The cause, Aegisthus, of thy shameful birth,Is come at last. But why hangs down thy headIn shame? Why hesitates thy faltering hand50And sinks inactive? Why dost counsel takeWithin thy heart, and turn away, and askWhether this deed become thee? Do but thinkUpon thy mother; then wilt thou confessIt doth become thee well. But what drags outIn long delay this summer night's brief spanTo winter's hours of darkness? And what causePrevents the stars from sinking in the sky?55The sun shrinks from my face. I must away,That so he may bring back the light of day.[Exit.]Chorus of Argive women:On fortune's headlong brink they standWho hold the scepter in their hand;No safe assurance can they know60Who on too lofty pathways go:But care on care pursues them to the last,Their souls assailed and vexed by every blast.As seas on Libya's sandy shoreTheir waves in ceaseless billows pour;65As Euxine's swelling waters riseBeneath the lowering northern skies,Where bright Boötes wheels his teamHigh o'er the ocean's darksome stream:70With such assaults, by such wild tempests blown,Does fortune batter at a kingly throne!Who would be feared, in fear must live.No kindly night can refuge give;Nor sleep, that comforts all the rest,75Can bring care-freedom to his breast.What throne so safe, on such foundation stands,That may not be destroyed by impious hands?For justice, shame, the virtues all,E'en wifely faith, soon flee the hall80Where courtiers dwell. Within, there standsBellona dire with bloody hands;Erinys too, the dogging fate,Of them who hold too high estate,Which any hour from high to low may bring.85Though arms be lacking, wiles be none,Still is the will of fortune done:By force of his own greatness falls the king.'Tis ever thus: the bellying sail90Fears the o'erstrong though favoring gale;The tower feels rainy Auster's dreadIf to the clouds it rear its head;Huge oaks most feel the whirlwind's lash;95High mountains most with thunder crash;And while the common herd in safety feeds,Their mighty leader, marked for slaughter, bleeds.100Fate places us on high, that soTo surer ruin we may go.The meanest things in longest fortune live.Then happy he whose modest soulIn safety seeks a nearer goal;105Fearing to leave the friendly shore,He rows with unambitious oar,Content in low security to thrive.ACT IIClytemnestra:Why, sluggish soul, dost thou safe counsel seek?Why hesitate? Closed is the better way.Once thou couldst chastely guard thy widowed couch,110And keep thy husband's realm with wifely faith;But now, long since has faith thy palace fled,The homely virtues, honor, piety,And chastity, which goes, but ne'er returns.Loose be thy reins, swift speed thy wanton course;The safest way through crime is by the path115Of greater crime. Consider in thy heartAll woman's wiles, what faithless wives have done,Bereft of reason, blind and passion-driven;What bloody deeds stepmother's hands have dared;Or what she dared, ablaze with impious love,Who left her father's realm for Thessaly:120Dare sword, dare poison; else in stealthy flightMust thou go hence with him who shares thy guilt.But who would talk of stealth, of exile, flight?Such were thy sister's deeds: some greater crime,Some mightier deed of evil suits thy hand.Nurse:O Grecian queen, illustrious Leda's child,125What say'st thou there in whispered mutterings?Or what unbridled deeds within thy breast,By reckless passion tossed, dost meditate?Though thou be silent, yet thy face declaresThy hidden pain in speech more eloquent.Whate'er thy grief, take time and room for thought.Time often cures what reason cannot heal.130Clytemnestra:Too dire my grief to wait time's healing hand.My very soul is scorched with flaming pains:I feel the goads of fear and jealous rage,The throbbing pulse of hate, the pangs of love,Base love that presses hard his heavy yoke135Upon my heart, and holds me vanquished quite.And always, 'mid those flames that vex my soul,Though faint indeed, and downcast, all undone,Shame struggles on. By shifting seas I'm tossed:As when here wind, there tide impels the deep,The waves stand halting 'twixt the warring powers.140And so I'll strive no more to guide my bark.Where wrath, where grief, where hope shall bear me on,There will I speed my course; my helmless shipI've giv'n to be the sport of winds and floods.Where reason fails 'tis best to follow chance.Nurse:Oh, rash and blind, who follows doubtful chance.145Clytemnestra:Who fears a doubtful chance, if 'tis his last?Nurse:Thy fault may find safe hiding if thou wilt.Clytemnestra:Nay, faults of royal homes proclaim themselves.Nurse:Dost thou repent the old, yet plan the new?Clytemnestra:To stop midway in sin is foolishness.150Nurse:His fears increase, who covers crime with crime.Clytemnestra:But iron and fire oft aid the healer's art.Nurse:Yet desperate measures no one first attempts.Clytemnestra:The path of sin is headlong from the first.Nurse:Still let thy wifely duty hold thee back.155Clytemnestra:What long-deserted wife regards her lord?Nurse:Your common children—hast no thought of them?Clytemnestra:I do think on my daughter's wedding rites,High-born Achilles, and my husband's lies.Nurse:She freed our Grecian fleet from long delay,160And waked from their dull calm the sluggish seas.Clytemnestra:Oh, shameful thought! that I, the heaven-born childOf Tyndarus, should give my daughter upTo save the Grecian fleet! I see once moreIn memory my daughter's wedding day,Whichhemade worthy of base Pelops' house,165When, with his pious face, this father stoodBefore the altar fires—Oh, monstrous rites!E'en Calchas shuddered at his own dread wordsAnd backward-shrinking fires. O bloody house,That ever wades through crime to other crime!With blood we soothe the winds, with blood we war.170Nurse:Yet by that blood a thousand vessels sailed.Clytemnestra:But not with favoring omens did they sail;The port of Aulis fairly drave them forth.So launched in war, he still no better fared.Smit with a captive's love, unmoved by prayer,175He held as spoil the child of Phoebus' priest,E'en then, as now, a sacred maiden's thrall.Nor could the stern Achilles bend his will,Nor he whose eye alone can read the fates(A faithful seer to us, to captives mild),180Nor his pest-smitten camp and gleaming pyres.When baffled Greece stood tottering to her fall,This man with passion pined, had time for love,Thought ever on amours; and, lest his couchShould be of any Phrygian maid bereft,185He lusted for Achilles' beauteous bride,Nor blushed to tear her from her lover's arms.Fit foe for Paris! Now new wounds he feels,And burns, inflamed by mad Cassandra's love.And, now that Troy is conquered, home he comes,190A captive's husband, Priam's son-in-law!Arise, my soul; no easy task essay;Be swift to act. What dost thou, sluggish, waitTill Phrygian rivals wrest thy power away?Or do thy virgin daughters stay thy hand,195Or yet Orestes, image of his sire?Nay, 'tis for these thy children thou must act,Lest greater ills befall them; for, behold,A mad stepmother soon shall call them hers.Through thine own heart, if so thou must, prepareTo drive the sword, and so slay two in one.200Let thy blood flow with his; in slaying, die.For death is sweet if with a foeman shared.Nurse:My queen, restrain thyself, check thy wild wrath,And think how great thy task. Atrides comesWild Asia's conqueror and Europe's lord;205He leads Troy captive, Phrygia subdued.'Gainst him wouldst thou with sly assault prevail,Whom great Achilles slew not with his sword,Though he with angry hand the weapon drew;Nor Telamonian Ajax, crazed with rage;210Nor Hector, Troy's sole prop and war's delay;Nor Paris' deadly darts; nor Memnon black;Nor Xanthus, choked with corpses and with arms;Nor Simois' waves, empurpled with the slain;Nor Cycnus, snowy offspring of the sea;215Nor warlike Rhesus with his Thracian band;Nor that fierce maid who led the Amazons,Armed with the deadly battle-axe and shield?This hero, home returned, dost thou prepareTo slay, and stain thy hearth with impious blood?Would Greece, all hot from conquest, suffer this?220Bethink thee of the countless steeds and arms,The sea a-bristle with a thousand ships,The plains of Ilium soaked with streams of blood,Troy taken and in utter ruin laid:Remember this, I say, and check thy wrath,And bid thy thoughts in safer channels run.225[Exit.][EnterAegisthus.]Aegisthus:The fatal day which I was born to see,Toward which I've ever looked with dread, is here.Why dost thou fear, my soul, to face thy fate,And turn away from action scarce begun?Be sure that not thy hand is orderingThese dire events, but the relentless gods.230Then put thy shame-bought life in pawn to fateAnd let thy heart drain suffering to the dregs.To one of shameful birth death is a boon.[EnterClytemnestra.]Thou comrade of my perils, Leda's child,Be with me still in this; and thy false lord,235This valiant sire, shall pay thee blood for blood.But why does pallor blanch thy trembling cheeks?What bodes this softened face, this listless gaze?Clytemnestra:My husband's love has met and conquered me.Let us retrace our steps, while still there's room,240To that estate whence we should ne'er have come;Let even now fair fame be sought again;For never is it over late to mend.Who grieves for sin is counted innocent.Aegisthus:What madness this? Dost thou believe or hopeThat Agamemnon will be true to thee?245Though no grave fears, of conscious guilt begot,Annoyed thy soul with thoughts of punishment;Still would his swelling, o'er-inflated pride,Create in him a dour and headstrong mood.Harsh was he to his friends while Troy still stood;How, think'st thou, has the fall of Troy pricked on250His soul, by nature harsh, to greater harshness?Mycenae's king he went; he will returnHer tyrant. So doth fortune foster pride.With how great pomp this throng of rivals comes!But one of these, surpassing all the rest,Apollo's priestess, holds the king in thrall.255And wilt thou meekly share thy lord with her?But she will not. A wife's last infamy—To see her rival ruling in her stead.No throne nor bed can brook a rival mate.Clytemnestra:Aegisthus, why dost drive me headlong on,260And fan to flames again my dying wrath?For if the victor has his right employed,To work his will upon a captive maid,His wife should not complain or reck of this.The law that binds the man fits not the king.And why should I, myself in conscious guilt,265Make bold to sit in judgment on my lord?Let her forgive who most forgiveness needs.Aegisthus:In very truth there's room for mutual grace.But thou know'st naught of royal privilege.Thee will the king judge harshly, to himself270A milder law in gentler mood apply.And this they deem the highest pledge of power,If, what to common mortals is denied,Is given by general will to them alone.Clytemnestra:He pardoned Helen; home is she returned,To Menelaüs joined, though East and WestHave been engulfed for her in common woe.Aegisthus:But Menelaüs nursed no secret love,275Which closed his heart unto his lawful wife.Thy lord seeks charge against thee, cause of strife.Suppose thy heart and life were free from guilt:What boots an honest life, a stainless heart,When hate condemns the suppliant unheard?280Wilt thou seek Sparta's shelter, and returnUnto thy father's house? No shelter waitsThe scorned of kings; that hope were false indeed.Clytemnestra:None knows my sin save one most faithful friend.Aegisthus:In vain: no faith is found in royal courts.285Clytemnestra:But surely gifts will buy fidelity.Aegisthus:Faith bought by gifts is sold for other gifts.Clytemnestra:My strength and purity of soul revive.Why wouldst thou thwart me? Why, with cozening words,Wouldst thou persuade me to thy evil course?290Dost think that I would leave a king of kingsAnd stoop to wed an outcast wretch like thee?Aegisthus:What? seem I less than Atreus' son to thee,Who am Thyestes' son?Clytemnestra:Why, so thou art,And grandson too.Aegisthus:My getting shames me not;For Phoebus' self is voucher for my birth.Clytemnestra:Name Phoebus not with thine incestuous stock,295Who checked his flying steeds and fled the sky,Withdrawn in sudden night, lest he beholdThy father's feast. Wouldst thou besmirch the gods,Thou, trained to revel in unlawful love?Then get thee gone in haste, and rid mine eyes300Of that which doth disgrace this noble house;This home is waiting for its king and lord.Aegisthus:Exile is naught to me, for I am usedTo woe. At thy command I'll farther fleeThan from this house: I but await thy wordTo plunge my dagger in this woeful breast.305Clytemnestra[aside]: Shall I in cruel scorn desert him now?Who sin in company should suffer so.[ToAegisthus.]Nay, come with me; we will together waitThe issue of our dark and dangerous fate.[Exeunt into the palace.]Chorus:[51]Sing Phoebus' praise, O race renowned;310With festal laurel wreathe your heads;And let your virgin locks flow free,Ye Argive maids.And ye who drink of the cold Erasinus,Who dwell by Eurotas,315Who know the green banks of the silent IsmenusCome join in our singing;And do ye swell our chorus, ye far Theban daughters,Whom the child of Tiresias, Manto the seer,Once taught to bow down to the Delian gods.320Now peace has come:Unbend thy victorious bow, O Apollo,Lay down from thy shoulder thy quiver of arrows,And let thy tuneful lyre resoundTo the touch of thy swift-flying fingers.325No lofty strain be thine today,But such as on thy milder lyreThou art wont to sound when the learnéd museSurveys thy sports.And yet, an' thou wilt, strike a heavier strain,330As when thou didst sing of the Titans o'ercomeBy Jupiter's hurtling bolts;When mountain on lofty mountain piled,Pelion, Ossa, and pine-clad Olympus,Built high to the sky for the impious monsters335Their ladder's rocky rounds.Thou too be with us, Juno, queen,Who sharest the throne of heaven's lord.340Mycenae's altars blaze for thee.Thou alone dost protect us,Anxious and suppliant;Thou art the goddess of peace,And the issues of war are thine;345And thine are the laurels of victory twinedOn the brow of our king Agamemnon.To thee the boxwood flute resoundsIn solemn festival;To thee the maidens strike the harp350In sweetest song;To thee the votive torch is tossed;The gleaming heifer, all unmarredBy the plow's rough touchFalls at thy shrine.355And thou, child of the Thunderer,Pallas illustrious, hear;Before whose might the Dardanian wallsHave trembled and fallen to dust.Thee maidens and matrons in chorus united360Exalt and adore; at thy approachThy temple doors swing open wide,While the welcoming throng, with garlands bedecked,Rejoice at thy coming;And feeble, tottering elders comeTo pay their vows of thanks and praise,365And pour their offerings of wineWith trembling hands.And to thee with mindful lips we pray,Bright Trivia, Lucina called.Thy native Delos didst thou bidStand fast upon the sea, and float370No more, the wandering mock of winds.And now, with firmly fixéd root,It stands secure, defies the gale,And, wont of old to follow ships,Now gives them anchorage.Proud Niobe thy vengeance felt375Who thy divinity defied.Now, high on lonely Sipylus,She sits and weeps in stony grief;Though to insensate marble turned,Her tears flow fresh forevermore.And now both men and women join380In praise to the twin divinities.But thee, above all gods, we praise;Our father and our ruler thou,Lord of the hurtling thunderbolt,At whose dread nod the farthest polesDo quake and tremble.O Jove, thou founder of our race,385Accept our gifts, and have regardUnto thy faithful progeny.But lo, a warrior hither comes in haste,With wonted signs of victory displayed;For on his spear a laurel wreath he bears—390Eurybates, our king's own messenger.

Chorus:'Tis sweet for one in grief to know

That he but feels a common woe;1010

And lighter falls the stroke of care

Which all with equal sorrow bear;

For selfish and malign is human grief1015

Which in the tears of others finds relief.

Remove all men to fortune born,And none will think himself forlorn;Remove rich acres spreading wide,1020With grazing herds on every side:Straight will the poor man's drooping soul revive,For none are poor if all in common thrive.1025

Remove all men to fortune born,

And none will think himself forlorn;

Remove rich acres spreading wide,1020

With grazing herds on every side:

Straight will the poor man's drooping soul revive,

For none are poor if all in common thrive.1025

The mariner his fate bewails,Who in a lonely vessel sails,And, losing all his scanty store,With life alone attains the shore;But with a stouter heart the gale he braves,That sinks a thousand ships beneath the waves.1030

The mariner his fate bewails,

Who in a lonely vessel sails,

And, losing all his scanty store,

With life alone attains the shore;

But with a stouter heart the gale he braves,

That sinks a thousand ships beneath the waves.1030

When Phrixus fled in days of oldUpon the ram with fleece of gold,His sister Helle with him faredAnd all his exiled wanderings shared;But when she fell and left him quite alone,Then nothing could for Helle's loss atone.1035

When Phrixus fled in days of old

Upon the ram with fleece of gold,

His sister Helle with him fared

And all his exiled wanderings shared;

But when she fell and left him quite alone,

Then nothing could for Helle's loss atone.1035

Not so they wept, that fabled pair,Deucalion and Pyrrha fair,When 'midst the boundless sea they stoodThe sole survivors of the flood;For though their lot was hard and desolate,They shared their sorrow—'twas a common fate.1040

Not so they wept, that fabled pair,

Deucalion and Pyrrha fair,

When 'midst the boundless sea they stood

The sole survivors of the flood;

For though their lot was hard and desolate,

They shared their sorrow—'twas a common fate.1040

Too soon our grieving companyShall scatter on the rolling sea,Where swelling sails and bending oars1045Shall speed us on to distant shores.Oh, then how hard shall be our wretched plight,When far away our country lies,And round us heaving billows rise,And lofty Ida's summit sinks from sight.

Too soon our grieving company

Shall scatter on the rolling sea,

Where swelling sails and bending oars1045

Shall speed us on to distant shores.

Oh, then how hard shall be our wretched plight,

When far away our country lies,

And round us heaving billows rise,

And lofty Ida's summit sinks from sight.

Then mother shall her child embrace,1050And point with straining eyes the placeWhere Ilium's smouldering ruins lie,Far off beneath the eastern sky:"See there, my child, our Trojan ashes glow,Where wreathing smoke in murky cloudsThe distant, dim horizon shrouds;And by that sign alone our land we know."1055

Then mother shall her child embrace,1050

And point with straining eyes the place

Where Ilium's smouldering ruins lie,

Far off beneath the eastern sky:

"See there, my child, our Trojan ashes glow,

Where wreathing smoke in murky clouds

The distant, dim horizon shrouds;

And by that sign alone our land we know."1055

FOOTNOTES:[50]Reading,haud regibus.

[50]Reading,haud regibus.

Messenger[entering]: Oh, cruel fate, Oh, piteous, horrible!What sight so fell and bloody have we seenIn ten long years of war? Between thy woes,Andromache, and thine, O Hecuba,I halt, and know not which to weep the more.Hecuba:Weep whosesoe'er thou wilt—thou weepest mine.1060While others bow beneath their single cares,I feel the weight of all. All die to me;Whatever grief there is, is Hecuba's.Messenger:The maid is slain, the boy dashed from the walls.But each has met his death with royal soul.Andromache:Expound the deed in order, and display1065The twofold crime. My mighty grief is fainTo hear the gruesome narrative entire.Begin thy tale, and tell it as it was.Messenger:One lofty tower of fallen Troy is left,Well known to Priam, on whose battlementsHe used to sit and view his warring hosts.1070Here in his arms his grandson he would holdWith kind embrace, and bid the lad admireHis father's warlike deeds upon the field,Where Hector, armed with fire and sword, pursuedThe frightened Greeks. Around this lofty tower1075Which lately stood, the glory of the walls,But now a lonely crag, the people pour,A motley, curious throng of high and low.For some, a distant hill gives open view;While others seek a cliff, upon whose edge1080The crowd in tiptoed expectation stand.The beech tree, laurel, pine, each has its load;The whole wood bends beneath its human fruit.One climbs a smouldering roof; unto anotherA crumbling wall precarious footing gives;1085While others (shameless!) stand on Hector's tomb.Now through the thronging crowd with stately treadUlysses makes his way, and by the handHe leads the little prince of Ilium.With equal pace the lad approached the wall;1090But when he reached the lofty battlement,He stood and gazed around with dauntless soul.And as the savage lion's tender young,Its fangless jaws, all powerless to harm,Still snaps with helpless wrath and swelling heart;1095So he, though held in that strong foeman's grasp,Stood firm, defiant. Then the crowd of men,And leaders, and Ulysses' self, were moved.But he alone wept not of all the throngWho wept for him. And now Ulysses spakeIn priestly wise the words of fate, and prayed,1100And summoned to the rite the savage gods;When suddenly, on self-destruction bent,The lad sprang o'er the turret's edge, and plungedInto the depths below.—Andromache:What Colchian, what wandering Scythian,What lawless race that dwells by Caspia's sea1105Could do or dare a crime so hideous?No blood of helpless children ever stainedBusiris' altars, monster though he was;Nor did the horses of the Thracian kingE'er feed on tender limbs. Where is my boy?Who now will take and lay him in the tomb?1110Messenger:Alas, my lady, how can aught remainFrom such a fall, but broken, scattered bones,Dismembered limbs, and all those noble signsIn face and feature of his royal birth,Confused and crushed upon the ragged ground?Who was thy son lies now a shapeless corse.1115Andromache:Thus also is he like his noble sire.Messenger:When headlong from the tower the lad had sprung,And all the Grecian throng bewailed the crimeWhich it had seen and done; that selfsame throngReturned to witness yet another crime1120Upon Achilles' tomb. The seaward sideIs beaten by Rhoeteum's lapping waves;While on the other sides a level space,And rounded, gently sloping hills beyond,Encompass it, and make a theater.Here rush the multitude and fill the place1125With eager throngs. A few rejoice that nowTheir homeward journey's long delay will end,And that another prop of fallen TroyIs stricken down. But all the common herdLook on in silence at the crime they hate.The Trojans, too, attend the sacrifice,1130And wait with quaking hearts the final sceneOf Ilium's fall. When suddenly there shoneThe gleaming torches of the wedding march;And, as the bride's attendant, Helen cameWith drooping head. Whereat the Trojans prayed:"Oh, may Hermione be wed like this,1135With bloody rites; like this may HelenaReturn unto her lord." Then numbing dreadSeized Greeks and Trojans all, as they beheldThe maid. She walked with downcast, modest eyes,But on her face a wondrous beauty glowedIn flaming splendor, as the setting sunLights up the sky with beams more beautiful,1140When day hangs doubtful on the edge of night.All gazed in wonder. Some her beauty moved,And some her tender age and hapless fate;But all, her dauntless courage in the face1145Of death. Behind the maid grim Pyrrhus came;And as they looked, the souls of all were filledWith quaking terror, pity, and amaze.But when she reached the summit of the moundAnd stood upon the lofty sepulcher,1150Still with unfaltering step the maid advanced.And now she turned her to the stroke of deathWith eyes so fierce and fearless that she smoteThe hearts of all, and, wondrous prodigy,E'en Pyrrhus' bloody hand was slow to strike.But soon, his right hand lifted to the stroke,1155He drove the weapon deep within her breast;And straight from that deep wound the blood burst forthIn sudden streams. But still the noble maidDid not give o'er her bold and haughty mien,Though in the act of death. For in her fallShe smote the earth with angry violence,As if to make it heavy for the dead.Then flowed the tears of all. The Trojans groaned1160With secret woe, since fear restrained their tongues;But openly the victors voiced their grief.And now the savage rite was done. The bloodStood not upon the ground, nor flowed away;But downward all its ruddy stream was sucked,As if the tomb were thirsty for the draught.Hecuba:Now go, ye Greeks, and seek your homes in peace.1165With spreading sails your fleet in safety nowMay cleave the welcome sea; the maid and boyAre slain, the war is done. Oh, whither nowShall I betake me in my wretchedness?Where spend this hateful remnant of my life?My daughter or my grandson shall I mourn,1170My husband, country—or myself alone?O death, my sole desire, for boys and maidsThou com'st with hurried step and savage mien;But me alone of mortals dost thou fearAnd shun; through all that dreadful night of Troy,I sought thee 'midst the swords and blazing brands,1175But all in vain my search. No cruel foe,Nor crumbling wall, nor blazing fire, could giveThe death I sought. And yet how near I stoodTo agéd Priam's side when he was slain!Messenger:Ye captives, haste you to the winding shore;The sails are spread, our long delay is o'er.

Messenger[entering]: Oh, cruel fate, Oh, piteous, horrible!

What sight so fell and bloody have we seen

In ten long years of war? Between thy woes,

Andromache, and thine, O Hecuba,

I halt, and know not which to weep the more.

Hecuba:Weep whosesoe'er thou wilt—thou weepest mine.1060While others bow beneath their single cares,I feel the weight of all. All die to me;Whatever grief there is, is Hecuba's.

Hecuba:Weep whosesoe'er thou wilt—thou weepest mine.1060

While others bow beneath their single cares,

I feel the weight of all. All die to me;

Whatever grief there is, is Hecuba's.

Messenger:The maid is slain, the boy dashed from the walls.But each has met his death with royal soul.

Messenger:The maid is slain, the boy dashed from the walls.

But each has met his death with royal soul.

Andromache:Expound the deed in order, and display1065The twofold crime. My mighty grief is fainTo hear the gruesome narrative entire.Begin thy tale, and tell it as it was.

Andromache:Expound the deed in order, and display1065

The twofold crime. My mighty grief is fain

To hear the gruesome narrative entire.

Begin thy tale, and tell it as it was.

Messenger:One lofty tower of fallen Troy is left,Well known to Priam, on whose battlementsHe used to sit and view his warring hosts.1070Here in his arms his grandson he would holdWith kind embrace, and bid the lad admireHis father's warlike deeds upon the field,Where Hector, armed with fire and sword, pursuedThe frightened Greeks. Around this lofty tower1075Which lately stood, the glory of the walls,But now a lonely crag, the people pour,A motley, curious throng of high and low.For some, a distant hill gives open view;While others seek a cliff, upon whose edge1080The crowd in tiptoed expectation stand.The beech tree, laurel, pine, each has its load;The whole wood bends beneath its human fruit.One climbs a smouldering roof; unto anotherA crumbling wall precarious footing gives;1085While others (shameless!) stand on Hector's tomb.Now through the thronging crowd with stately treadUlysses makes his way, and by the handHe leads the little prince of Ilium.With equal pace the lad approached the wall;1090But when he reached the lofty battlement,He stood and gazed around with dauntless soul.And as the savage lion's tender young,Its fangless jaws, all powerless to harm,Still snaps with helpless wrath and swelling heart;1095So he, though held in that strong foeman's grasp,Stood firm, defiant. Then the crowd of men,And leaders, and Ulysses' self, were moved.But he alone wept not of all the throngWho wept for him. And now Ulysses spakeIn priestly wise the words of fate, and prayed,1100And summoned to the rite the savage gods;When suddenly, on self-destruction bent,The lad sprang o'er the turret's edge, and plungedInto the depths below.—

Messenger:One lofty tower of fallen Troy is left,

Well known to Priam, on whose battlements

He used to sit and view his warring hosts.1070

Here in his arms his grandson he would hold

With kind embrace, and bid the lad admire

His father's warlike deeds upon the field,

Where Hector, armed with fire and sword, pursued

The frightened Greeks. Around this lofty tower1075

Which lately stood, the glory of the walls,

But now a lonely crag, the people pour,

A motley, curious throng of high and low.

For some, a distant hill gives open view;

While others seek a cliff, upon whose edge1080

The crowd in tiptoed expectation stand.

The beech tree, laurel, pine, each has its load;

The whole wood bends beneath its human fruit.

One climbs a smouldering roof; unto another

A crumbling wall precarious footing gives;1085

While others (shameless!) stand on Hector's tomb.

Now through the thronging crowd with stately tread

Ulysses makes his way, and by the hand

He leads the little prince of Ilium.

With equal pace the lad approached the wall;1090

But when he reached the lofty battlement,

He stood and gazed around with dauntless soul.

And as the savage lion's tender young,

Its fangless jaws, all powerless to harm,

Still snaps with helpless wrath and swelling heart;1095

So he, though held in that strong foeman's grasp,

Stood firm, defiant. Then the crowd of men,

And leaders, and Ulysses' self, were moved.

But he alone wept not of all the throng

Who wept for him. And now Ulysses spake

In priestly wise the words of fate, and prayed,1100

And summoned to the rite the savage gods;

When suddenly, on self-destruction bent,

The lad sprang o'er the turret's edge, and plunged

Into the depths below.—

Andromache:What Colchian, what wandering Scythian,What lawless race that dwells by Caspia's sea1105Could do or dare a crime so hideous?No blood of helpless children ever stainedBusiris' altars, monster though he was;Nor did the horses of the Thracian kingE'er feed on tender limbs. Where is my boy?Who now will take and lay him in the tomb?1110

Andromache:What Colchian, what wandering Scythian,

What lawless race that dwells by Caspia's sea1105

Could do or dare a crime so hideous?

No blood of helpless children ever stained

Busiris' altars, monster though he was;

Nor did the horses of the Thracian king

E'er feed on tender limbs. Where is my boy?

Who now will take and lay him in the tomb?1110

Messenger:Alas, my lady, how can aught remainFrom such a fall, but broken, scattered bones,Dismembered limbs, and all those noble signsIn face and feature of his royal birth,Confused and crushed upon the ragged ground?Who was thy son lies now a shapeless corse.1115

Messenger:Alas, my lady, how can aught remain

From such a fall, but broken, scattered bones,

Dismembered limbs, and all those noble signs

In face and feature of his royal birth,

Confused and crushed upon the ragged ground?

Who was thy son lies now a shapeless corse.1115

Andromache:Thus also is he like his noble sire.

Messenger:When headlong from the tower the lad had sprung,And all the Grecian throng bewailed the crimeWhich it had seen and done; that selfsame throngReturned to witness yet another crime1120Upon Achilles' tomb. The seaward sideIs beaten by Rhoeteum's lapping waves;While on the other sides a level space,And rounded, gently sloping hills beyond,Encompass it, and make a theater.Here rush the multitude and fill the place1125With eager throngs. A few rejoice that nowTheir homeward journey's long delay will end,And that another prop of fallen TroyIs stricken down. But all the common herdLook on in silence at the crime they hate.The Trojans, too, attend the sacrifice,1130And wait with quaking hearts the final sceneOf Ilium's fall. When suddenly there shoneThe gleaming torches of the wedding march;And, as the bride's attendant, Helen cameWith drooping head. Whereat the Trojans prayed:"Oh, may Hermione be wed like this,1135With bloody rites; like this may HelenaReturn unto her lord." Then numbing dreadSeized Greeks and Trojans all, as they beheldThe maid. She walked with downcast, modest eyes,But on her face a wondrous beauty glowedIn flaming splendor, as the setting sunLights up the sky with beams more beautiful,1140When day hangs doubtful on the edge of night.All gazed in wonder. Some her beauty moved,And some her tender age and hapless fate;But all, her dauntless courage in the face1145Of death. Behind the maid grim Pyrrhus came;And as they looked, the souls of all were filledWith quaking terror, pity, and amaze.But when she reached the summit of the moundAnd stood upon the lofty sepulcher,1150Still with unfaltering step the maid advanced.And now she turned her to the stroke of deathWith eyes so fierce and fearless that she smoteThe hearts of all, and, wondrous prodigy,E'en Pyrrhus' bloody hand was slow to strike.But soon, his right hand lifted to the stroke,1155He drove the weapon deep within her breast;And straight from that deep wound the blood burst forthIn sudden streams. But still the noble maidDid not give o'er her bold and haughty mien,Though in the act of death. For in her fallShe smote the earth with angry violence,As if to make it heavy for the dead.Then flowed the tears of all. The Trojans groaned1160With secret woe, since fear restrained their tongues;But openly the victors voiced their grief.And now the savage rite was done. The bloodStood not upon the ground, nor flowed away;But downward all its ruddy stream was sucked,As if the tomb were thirsty for the draught.

Messenger:When headlong from the tower the lad had sprung,

And all the Grecian throng bewailed the crime

Which it had seen and done; that selfsame throng

Returned to witness yet another crime1120

Upon Achilles' tomb. The seaward side

Is beaten by Rhoeteum's lapping waves;

While on the other sides a level space,

And rounded, gently sloping hills beyond,

Encompass it, and make a theater.

Here rush the multitude and fill the place1125

With eager throngs. A few rejoice that now

Their homeward journey's long delay will end,

And that another prop of fallen Troy

Is stricken down. But all the common herd

Look on in silence at the crime they hate.

The Trojans, too, attend the sacrifice,1130

And wait with quaking hearts the final scene

Of Ilium's fall. When suddenly there shone

The gleaming torches of the wedding march;

And, as the bride's attendant, Helen came

With drooping head. Whereat the Trojans prayed:

"Oh, may Hermione be wed like this,1135

With bloody rites; like this may Helena

Return unto her lord." Then numbing dread

Seized Greeks and Trojans all, as they beheld

The maid. She walked with downcast, modest eyes,

But on her face a wondrous beauty glowed

In flaming splendor, as the setting sun

Lights up the sky with beams more beautiful,1140

When day hangs doubtful on the edge of night.

All gazed in wonder. Some her beauty moved,

And some her tender age and hapless fate;

But all, her dauntless courage in the face1145

Of death. Behind the maid grim Pyrrhus came;

And as they looked, the souls of all were filled

With quaking terror, pity, and amaze.

But when she reached the summit of the mound

And stood upon the lofty sepulcher,1150

Still with unfaltering step the maid advanced.

And now she turned her to the stroke of death

With eyes so fierce and fearless that she smote

The hearts of all, and, wondrous prodigy,

E'en Pyrrhus' bloody hand was slow to strike.

But soon, his right hand lifted to the stroke,1155

He drove the weapon deep within her breast;

And straight from that deep wound the blood burst forth

In sudden streams. But still the noble maid

Did not give o'er her bold and haughty mien,

Though in the act of death. For in her fall

She smote the earth with angry violence,

As if to make it heavy for the dead.

Then flowed the tears of all. The Trojans groaned1160

With secret woe, since fear restrained their tongues;

But openly the victors voiced their grief.

And now the savage rite was done. The blood

Stood not upon the ground, nor flowed away;

But downward all its ruddy stream was sucked,

As if the tomb were thirsty for the draught.

Hecuba:Now go, ye Greeks, and seek your homes in peace.1165With spreading sails your fleet in safety nowMay cleave the welcome sea; the maid and boyAre slain, the war is done. Oh, whither nowShall I betake me in my wretchedness?Where spend this hateful remnant of my life?My daughter or my grandson shall I mourn,1170My husband, country—or myself alone?O death, my sole desire, for boys and maidsThou com'st with hurried step and savage mien;But me alone of mortals dost thou fearAnd shun; through all that dreadful night of Troy,I sought thee 'midst the swords and blazing brands,1175But all in vain my search. No cruel foe,Nor crumbling wall, nor blazing fire, could giveThe death I sought. And yet how near I stoodTo agéd Priam's side when he was slain!

Hecuba:Now go, ye Greeks, and seek your homes in peace.1165

With spreading sails your fleet in safety now

May cleave the welcome sea; the maid and boy

Are slain, the war is done. Oh, whither now

Shall I betake me in my wretchedness?

Where spend this hateful remnant of my life?

My daughter or my grandson shall I mourn,1170

My husband, country—or myself alone?

O death, my sole desire, for boys and maids

Thou com'st with hurried step and savage mien;

But me alone of mortals dost thou fear

And shun; through all that dreadful night of Troy,

I sought thee 'midst the swords and blazing brands,1175

But all in vain my search. No cruel foe,

Nor crumbling wall, nor blazing fire, could give

The death I sought. And yet how near I stood

To agéd Priam's side when he was slain!

Messenger:Ye captives, haste you to the winding shore;The sails are spread, our long delay is o'er.

Messenger:Ye captives, haste you to the winding shore;

The sails are spread, our long delay is o'er.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

The sceneis laid partly within and partly without the palace of Agamemnon at Argos or Mycenae, on the day of the return of the king from his long absence at Troy, beginning in the period of darkness just preceding the dawn.

The blood-feud between Atreus and Thyestes was not ended with the terrible vengeance which Atreus wreaked upon his brother. It was yet in fate that Thyestes should live to beget upon his own daughter a son, Aegisthus, who should slay Atreus and bring ruin and death upon the great Atrides, Agamemnon.

The Trojan war is done. And now the near approach of the victorious king, bringing his captives and treasure home to Argos, has been announced. But little does he dream to what a home he is returning. For Clytemnestra, enraged at Agamemnon because he had sacrificed her daughter Iphigenia at Aulis to appease the winds, and full of jealousy because he brings Cassandra as her rival home, estranged also by the long-continued absence of her lord, but most estranged by her own guilty union with Aegisthus, is now plotting to slay Agamemnon on his return, gaining thus at once revenge and safety from his wrath.

Ghost of Thyestes:Escaped from gloomy Pluto's murky realmAnd leaving Tartara's deep pit I come,All doubting which abode I hate the more;That world I flee, but this I put to flight.My soul shrinks back, my limbs do quake with fear.5I see my father's house—my brother's too!Here is the ancient seat of Pelop's race;In this proud hall it is Pelasgians' wontTo crown their kings; here sit those overlordsWhose hands the kingdom's haughty scepter wield;10Here is their council chamber—here they feast!Let me go hence. Were it not better farTo sit beside the dark, sad pools of Styx,And see the hell-hound's black and tossing mane?Where one, bound fast upon a whirling wheel,15Back to himself is borne; where fruitless toilIs mocked forever by the rolling stone;Where living vitals glut the vulture's greed,Consumed but e'er renewed; and one old man,By mocking waves surrounded, seeks in vain20To sate his burning thirst, dire punishmentFor that he strove to trick th' immortal gods.But, ranked with mine, how slight that old man's sin!Take count of all whose impious deeds on earthMake them to tremble at the bar of hell:By my dread crimes will I outdo them all;—25But not my brother's crimes. Three sons of mineLie buried in me, yea, mine own dear fleshHave I consumed. Nor this the only blotWith which dire fortune's hand hath stained my soul;But, daring greater sin, she bade me seek(Oh, foul impiety!) my daughter's arms.30Bold for revenge, I dared and did the deed,And so fearful cycle was complete:As sons the sire, so sire the daughter filled.Then were the laws of nature backward turned:I mingled sire with grandsire, sons with grandsons;Yea, monstrous! husband and father did I join,35And drove the day back to the shades of night.But fate at last, though doubtful, long deferred,Hath had regard unto my evil plight,And brought the day of vengeance near; for lo,This king of kings, this leader of the Greeks,This Agamemnon comes, whose royal flag40A thousand Grecian vessels followingOnce filled the Trojan waters with their sails.Now ten bright suns have run their course, and TroyHas been o'erthrown, and he is close at hand—To place his neck in Clytemnestra's power.Now, now, this house shall flow again with blood,But this of Atreus' stock! Swords, axes, darts45I see, and that proud head with murderous strokeAsunder cleft; now impious crimes are near,Now treachery, slaughter, blood; the feast is spread.The cause, Aegisthus, of thy shameful birth,Is come at last. But why hangs down thy headIn shame? Why hesitates thy faltering hand50And sinks inactive? Why dost counsel takeWithin thy heart, and turn away, and askWhether this deed become thee? Do but thinkUpon thy mother; then wilt thou confessIt doth become thee well. But what drags outIn long delay this summer night's brief spanTo winter's hours of darkness? And what causePrevents the stars from sinking in the sky?55The sun shrinks from my face. I must away,That so he may bring back the light of day.

Ghost of Thyestes:Escaped from gloomy Pluto's murky realm

And leaving Tartara's deep pit I come,

All doubting which abode I hate the more;

That world I flee, but this I put to flight.

My soul shrinks back, my limbs do quake with fear.5

I see my father's house—my brother's too!

Here is the ancient seat of Pelop's race;

In this proud hall it is Pelasgians' wont

To crown their kings; here sit those overlords

Whose hands the kingdom's haughty scepter wield;10

Here is their council chamber—here they feast!

Let me go hence. Were it not better far

To sit beside the dark, sad pools of Styx,

And see the hell-hound's black and tossing mane?

Where one, bound fast upon a whirling wheel,15

Back to himself is borne; where fruitless toil

Is mocked forever by the rolling stone;

Where living vitals glut the vulture's greed,

Consumed but e'er renewed; and one old man,

By mocking waves surrounded, seeks in vain20

To sate his burning thirst, dire punishment

For that he strove to trick th' immortal gods.

But, ranked with mine, how slight that old man's sin!

Take count of all whose impious deeds on earth

Make them to tremble at the bar of hell:

By my dread crimes will I outdo them all;—25

But not my brother's crimes. Three sons of mine

Lie buried in me, yea, mine own dear flesh

Have I consumed. Nor this the only blot

With which dire fortune's hand hath stained my soul;

But, daring greater sin, she bade me seek

(Oh, foul impiety!) my daughter's arms.30

Bold for revenge, I dared and did the deed,

And so fearful cycle was complete:

As sons the sire, so sire the daughter filled.

Then were the laws of nature backward turned:

I mingled sire with grandsire, sons with grandsons;

Yea, monstrous! husband and father did I join,35

And drove the day back to the shades of night.

But fate at last, though doubtful, long deferred,

Hath had regard unto my evil plight,

And brought the day of vengeance near; for lo,

This king of kings, this leader of the Greeks,

This Agamemnon comes, whose royal flag40

A thousand Grecian vessels following

Once filled the Trojan waters with their sails.

Now ten bright suns have run their course, and Troy

Has been o'erthrown, and he is close at hand—

To place his neck in Clytemnestra's power.

Now, now, this house shall flow again with blood,

But this of Atreus' stock! Swords, axes, darts45

I see, and that proud head with murderous stroke

Asunder cleft; now impious crimes are near,

Now treachery, slaughter, blood; the feast is spread.

The cause, Aegisthus, of thy shameful birth,

Is come at last. But why hangs down thy head

In shame? Why hesitates thy faltering hand50

And sinks inactive? Why dost counsel take

Within thy heart, and turn away, and ask

Whether this deed become thee? Do but think

Upon thy mother; then wilt thou confess

It doth become thee well. But what drags out

In long delay this summer night's brief span

To winter's hours of darkness? And what cause

Prevents the stars from sinking in the sky?55

The sun shrinks from my face. I must away,

That so he may bring back the light of day.

[Exit.]

Chorus of Argive women:On fortune's headlong brink they standWho hold the scepter in their hand;No safe assurance can they know60Who on too lofty pathways go:But care on care pursues them to the last,Their souls assailed and vexed by every blast.As seas on Libya's sandy shoreTheir waves in ceaseless billows pour;65As Euxine's swelling waters riseBeneath the lowering northern skies,Where bright Boötes wheels his teamHigh o'er the ocean's darksome stream:70With such assaults, by such wild tempests blown,Does fortune batter at a kingly throne!Who would be feared, in fear must live.No kindly night can refuge give;Nor sleep, that comforts all the rest,75Can bring care-freedom to his breast.What throne so safe, on such foundation stands,That may not be destroyed by impious hands?For justice, shame, the virtues all,E'en wifely faith, soon flee the hall80Where courtiers dwell. Within, there standsBellona dire with bloody hands;Erinys too, the dogging fate,Of them who hold too high estate,Which any hour from high to low may bring.85Though arms be lacking, wiles be none,Still is the will of fortune done:By force of his own greatness falls the king.'Tis ever thus: the bellying sail90Fears the o'erstrong though favoring gale;The tower feels rainy Auster's dreadIf to the clouds it rear its head;Huge oaks most feel the whirlwind's lash;95High mountains most with thunder crash;And while the common herd in safety feeds,Their mighty leader, marked for slaughter, bleeds.100Fate places us on high, that soTo surer ruin we may go.The meanest things in longest fortune live.Then happy he whose modest soulIn safety seeks a nearer goal;105Fearing to leave the friendly shore,He rows with unambitious oar,Content in low security to thrive.

Chorus of Argive women:On fortune's headlong brink they stand

Who hold the scepter in their hand;

No safe assurance can they know60

Who on too lofty pathways go:

But care on care pursues them to the last,

Their souls assailed and vexed by every blast.

As seas on Libya's sandy shoreTheir waves in ceaseless billows pour;65As Euxine's swelling waters riseBeneath the lowering northern skies,Where bright Boötes wheels his teamHigh o'er the ocean's darksome stream:70With such assaults, by such wild tempests blown,Does fortune batter at a kingly throne!

As seas on Libya's sandy shore

Their waves in ceaseless billows pour;65

As Euxine's swelling waters rise

Beneath the lowering northern skies,

Where bright Boötes wheels his team

High o'er the ocean's darksome stream:70

With such assaults, by such wild tempests blown,

Does fortune batter at a kingly throne!

Who would be feared, in fear must live.No kindly night can refuge give;Nor sleep, that comforts all the rest,75Can bring care-freedom to his breast.What throne so safe, on such foundation stands,That may not be destroyed by impious hands?

Who would be feared, in fear must live.

No kindly night can refuge give;

Nor sleep, that comforts all the rest,75

Can bring care-freedom to his breast.

What throne so safe, on such foundation stands,

That may not be destroyed by impious hands?

For justice, shame, the virtues all,E'en wifely faith, soon flee the hall80Where courtiers dwell. Within, there standsBellona dire with bloody hands;Erinys too, the dogging fate,Of them who hold too high estate,Which any hour from high to low may bring.85Though arms be lacking, wiles be none,Still is the will of fortune done:By force of his own greatness falls the king.

For justice, shame, the virtues all,

E'en wifely faith, soon flee the hall80

Where courtiers dwell. Within, there stands

Bellona dire with bloody hands;

Erinys too, the dogging fate,

Of them who hold too high estate,

Which any hour from high to low may bring.85

Though arms be lacking, wiles be none,

Still is the will of fortune done:

By force of his own greatness falls the king.

'Tis ever thus: the bellying sail90Fears the o'erstrong though favoring gale;The tower feels rainy Auster's dreadIf to the clouds it rear its head;Huge oaks most feel the whirlwind's lash;95High mountains most with thunder crash;And while the common herd in safety feeds,Their mighty leader, marked for slaughter, bleeds.100

'Tis ever thus: the bellying sail90

Fears the o'erstrong though favoring gale;

The tower feels rainy Auster's dread

If to the clouds it rear its head;

Huge oaks most feel the whirlwind's lash;95

High mountains most with thunder crash;

And while the common herd in safety feeds,

Their mighty leader, marked for slaughter, bleeds.100

Fate places us on high, that soTo surer ruin we may go.The meanest things in longest fortune live.Then happy he whose modest soulIn safety seeks a nearer goal;105Fearing to leave the friendly shore,He rows with unambitious oar,Content in low security to thrive.

Fate places us on high, that so

To surer ruin we may go.

The meanest things in longest fortune live.

Then happy he whose modest soul

In safety seeks a nearer goal;105

Fearing to leave the friendly shore,

He rows with unambitious oar,

Content in low security to thrive.

Clytemnestra:Why, sluggish soul, dost thou safe counsel seek?Why hesitate? Closed is the better way.Once thou couldst chastely guard thy widowed couch,110And keep thy husband's realm with wifely faith;But now, long since has faith thy palace fled,The homely virtues, honor, piety,And chastity, which goes, but ne'er returns.Loose be thy reins, swift speed thy wanton course;The safest way through crime is by the path115Of greater crime. Consider in thy heartAll woman's wiles, what faithless wives have done,Bereft of reason, blind and passion-driven;What bloody deeds stepmother's hands have dared;Or what she dared, ablaze with impious love,Who left her father's realm for Thessaly:120Dare sword, dare poison; else in stealthy flightMust thou go hence with him who shares thy guilt.But who would talk of stealth, of exile, flight?Such were thy sister's deeds: some greater crime,Some mightier deed of evil suits thy hand.Nurse:O Grecian queen, illustrious Leda's child,125What say'st thou there in whispered mutterings?Or what unbridled deeds within thy breast,By reckless passion tossed, dost meditate?Though thou be silent, yet thy face declaresThy hidden pain in speech more eloquent.Whate'er thy grief, take time and room for thought.Time often cures what reason cannot heal.130Clytemnestra:Too dire my grief to wait time's healing hand.My very soul is scorched with flaming pains:I feel the goads of fear and jealous rage,The throbbing pulse of hate, the pangs of love,Base love that presses hard his heavy yoke135Upon my heart, and holds me vanquished quite.And always, 'mid those flames that vex my soul,Though faint indeed, and downcast, all undone,Shame struggles on. By shifting seas I'm tossed:As when here wind, there tide impels the deep,The waves stand halting 'twixt the warring powers.140And so I'll strive no more to guide my bark.Where wrath, where grief, where hope shall bear me on,There will I speed my course; my helmless shipI've giv'n to be the sport of winds and floods.Where reason fails 'tis best to follow chance.Nurse:Oh, rash and blind, who follows doubtful chance.145Clytemnestra:Who fears a doubtful chance, if 'tis his last?Nurse:Thy fault may find safe hiding if thou wilt.Clytemnestra:Nay, faults of royal homes proclaim themselves.Nurse:Dost thou repent the old, yet plan the new?Clytemnestra:To stop midway in sin is foolishness.150Nurse:His fears increase, who covers crime with crime.Clytemnestra:But iron and fire oft aid the healer's art.Nurse:Yet desperate measures no one first attempts.Clytemnestra:The path of sin is headlong from the first.Nurse:Still let thy wifely duty hold thee back.155Clytemnestra:What long-deserted wife regards her lord?Nurse:Your common children—hast no thought of them?Clytemnestra:I do think on my daughter's wedding rites,High-born Achilles, and my husband's lies.Nurse:She freed our Grecian fleet from long delay,160And waked from their dull calm the sluggish seas.Clytemnestra:Oh, shameful thought! that I, the heaven-born childOf Tyndarus, should give my daughter upTo save the Grecian fleet! I see once moreIn memory my daughter's wedding day,Whichhemade worthy of base Pelops' house,165When, with his pious face, this father stoodBefore the altar fires—Oh, monstrous rites!E'en Calchas shuddered at his own dread wordsAnd backward-shrinking fires. O bloody house,That ever wades through crime to other crime!With blood we soothe the winds, with blood we war.170Nurse:Yet by that blood a thousand vessels sailed.Clytemnestra:But not with favoring omens did they sail;The port of Aulis fairly drave them forth.So launched in war, he still no better fared.Smit with a captive's love, unmoved by prayer,175He held as spoil the child of Phoebus' priest,E'en then, as now, a sacred maiden's thrall.Nor could the stern Achilles bend his will,Nor he whose eye alone can read the fates(A faithful seer to us, to captives mild),180Nor his pest-smitten camp and gleaming pyres.When baffled Greece stood tottering to her fall,This man with passion pined, had time for love,Thought ever on amours; and, lest his couchShould be of any Phrygian maid bereft,185He lusted for Achilles' beauteous bride,Nor blushed to tear her from her lover's arms.Fit foe for Paris! Now new wounds he feels,And burns, inflamed by mad Cassandra's love.And, now that Troy is conquered, home he comes,190A captive's husband, Priam's son-in-law!Arise, my soul; no easy task essay;Be swift to act. What dost thou, sluggish, waitTill Phrygian rivals wrest thy power away?Or do thy virgin daughters stay thy hand,195Or yet Orestes, image of his sire?Nay, 'tis for these thy children thou must act,Lest greater ills befall them; for, behold,A mad stepmother soon shall call them hers.Through thine own heart, if so thou must, prepareTo drive the sword, and so slay two in one.200Let thy blood flow with his; in slaying, die.For death is sweet if with a foeman shared.Nurse:My queen, restrain thyself, check thy wild wrath,And think how great thy task. Atrides comesWild Asia's conqueror and Europe's lord;205He leads Troy captive, Phrygia subdued.'Gainst him wouldst thou with sly assault prevail,Whom great Achilles slew not with his sword,Though he with angry hand the weapon drew;Nor Telamonian Ajax, crazed with rage;210Nor Hector, Troy's sole prop and war's delay;Nor Paris' deadly darts; nor Memnon black;Nor Xanthus, choked with corpses and with arms;Nor Simois' waves, empurpled with the slain;Nor Cycnus, snowy offspring of the sea;215Nor warlike Rhesus with his Thracian band;Nor that fierce maid who led the Amazons,Armed with the deadly battle-axe and shield?This hero, home returned, dost thou prepareTo slay, and stain thy hearth with impious blood?Would Greece, all hot from conquest, suffer this?220Bethink thee of the countless steeds and arms,The sea a-bristle with a thousand ships,The plains of Ilium soaked with streams of blood,Troy taken and in utter ruin laid:Remember this, I say, and check thy wrath,And bid thy thoughts in safer channels run.225

Clytemnestra:Why, sluggish soul, dost thou safe counsel seek?

Why hesitate? Closed is the better way.

Once thou couldst chastely guard thy widowed couch,110

And keep thy husband's realm with wifely faith;

But now, long since has faith thy palace fled,

The homely virtues, honor, piety,

And chastity, which goes, but ne'er returns.

Loose be thy reins, swift speed thy wanton course;

The safest way through crime is by the path115

Of greater crime. Consider in thy heart

All woman's wiles, what faithless wives have done,

Bereft of reason, blind and passion-driven;

What bloody deeds stepmother's hands have dared;

Or what she dared, ablaze with impious love,

Who left her father's realm for Thessaly:120

Dare sword, dare poison; else in stealthy flight

Must thou go hence with him who shares thy guilt.

But who would talk of stealth, of exile, flight?

Such were thy sister's deeds: some greater crime,

Some mightier deed of evil suits thy hand.

Nurse:O Grecian queen, illustrious Leda's child,125What say'st thou there in whispered mutterings?Or what unbridled deeds within thy breast,By reckless passion tossed, dost meditate?Though thou be silent, yet thy face declaresThy hidden pain in speech more eloquent.Whate'er thy grief, take time and room for thought.Time often cures what reason cannot heal.130

Nurse:O Grecian queen, illustrious Leda's child,125

What say'st thou there in whispered mutterings?

Or what unbridled deeds within thy breast,

By reckless passion tossed, dost meditate?

Though thou be silent, yet thy face declares

Thy hidden pain in speech more eloquent.

Whate'er thy grief, take time and room for thought.

Time often cures what reason cannot heal.130

Clytemnestra:Too dire my grief to wait time's healing hand.My very soul is scorched with flaming pains:I feel the goads of fear and jealous rage,The throbbing pulse of hate, the pangs of love,Base love that presses hard his heavy yoke135Upon my heart, and holds me vanquished quite.And always, 'mid those flames that vex my soul,Though faint indeed, and downcast, all undone,Shame struggles on. By shifting seas I'm tossed:As when here wind, there tide impels the deep,The waves stand halting 'twixt the warring powers.140And so I'll strive no more to guide my bark.Where wrath, where grief, where hope shall bear me on,There will I speed my course; my helmless shipI've giv'n to be the sport of winds and floods.Where reason fails 'tis best to follow chance.

Clytemnestra:Too dire my grief to wait time's healing hand.

My very soul is scorched with flaming pains:

I feel the goads of fear and jealous rage,

The throbbing pulse of hate, the pangs of love,

Base love that presses hard his heavy yoke135

Upon my heart, and holds me vanquished quite.

And always, 'mid those flames that vex my soul,

Though faint indeed, and downcast, all undone,

Shame struggles on. By shifting seas I'm tossed:

As when here wind, there tide impels the deep,

The waves stand halting 'twixt the warring powers.140

And so I'll strive no more to guide my bark.

Where wrath, where grief, where hope shall bear me on,

There will I speed my course; my helmless ship

I've giv'n to be the sport of winds and floods.

Where reason fails 'tis best to follow chance.

Nurse:Oh, rash and blind, who follows doubtful chance.145

Clytemnestra:Who fears a doubtful chance, if 'tis his last?

Nurse:Thy fault may find safe hiding if thou wilt.

Clytemnestra:Nay, faults of royal homes proclaim themselves.

Nurse:Dost thou repent the old, yet plan the new?

Clytemnestra:To stop midway in sin is foolishness.150

Nurse:His fears increase, who covers crime with crime.

Clytemnestra:But iron and fire oft aid the healer's art.

Nurse:Yet desperate measures no one first attempts.

Clytemnestra:The path of sin is headlong from the first.

Nurse:Still let thy wifely duty hold thee back.155

Clytemnestra:What long-deserted wife regards her lord?

Nurse:Your common children—hast no thought of them?

Clytemnestra:I do think on my daughter's wedding rites,High-born Achilles, and my husband's lies.

Clytemnestra:I do think on my daughter's wedding rites,

High-born Achilles, and my husband's lies.

Nurse:She freed our Grecian fleet from long delay,160And waked from their dull calm the sluggish seas.

Nurse:She freed our Grecian fleet from long delay,160

And waked from their dull calm the sluggish seas.

Clytemnestra:Oh, shameful thought! that I, the heaven-born childOf Tyndarus, should give my daughter upTo save the Grecian fleet! I see once moreIn memory my daughter's wedding day,Whichhemade worthy of base Pelops' house,165When, with his pious face, this father stoodBefore the altar fires—Oh, monstrous rites!E'en Calchas shuddered at his own dread wordsAnd backward-shrinking fires. O bloody house,That ever wades through crime to other crime!With blood we soothe the winds, with blood we war.170

Clytemnestra:Oh, shameful thought! that I, the heaven-born child

Of Tyndarus, should give my daughter up

To save the Grecian fleet! I see once more

In memory my daughter's wedding day,

Whichhemade worthy of base Pelops' house,165

When, with his pious face, this father stood

Before the altar fires—Oh, monstrous rites!

E'en Calchas shuddered at his own dread words

And backward-shrinking fires. O bloody house,

That ever wades through crime to other crime!

With blood we soothe the winds, with blood we war.170

Nurse:Yet by that blood a thousand vessels sailed.

Clytemnestra:But not with favoring omens did they sail;The port of Aulis fairly drave them forth.So launched in war, he still no better fared.Smit with a captive's love, unmoved by prayer,175He held as spoil the child of Phoebus' priest,E'en then, as now, a sacred maiden's thrall.Nor could the stern Achilles bend his will,Nor he whose eye alone can read the fates(A faithful seer to us, to captives mild),180Nor his pest-smitten camp and gleaming pyres.When baffled Greece stood tottering to her fall,This man with passion pined, had time for love,Thought ever on amours; and, lest his couchShould be of any Phrygian maid bereft,185He lusted for Achilles' beauteous bride,Nor blushed to tear her from her lover's arms.Fit foe for Paris! Now new wounds he feels,And burns, inflamed by mad Cassandra's love.And, now that Troy is conquered, home he comes,190A captive's husband, Priam's son-in-law!Arise, my soul; no easy task essay;Be swift to act. What dost thou, sluggish, waitTill Phrygian rivals wrest thy power away?Or do thy virgin daughters stay thy hand,195Or yet Orestes, image of his sire?Nay, 'tis for these thy children thou must act,Lest greater ills befall them; for, behold,A mad stepmother soon shall call them hers.Through thine own heart, if so thou must, prepareTo drive the sword, and so slay two in one.200Let thy blood flow with his; in slaying, die.For death is sweet if with a foeman shared.

Clytemnestra:But not with favoring omens did they sail;

The port of Aulis fairly drave them forth.

So launched in war, he still no better fared.

Smit with a captive's love, unmoved by prayer,175

He held as spoil the child of Phoebus' priest,

E'en then, as now, a sacred maiden's thrall.

Nor could the stern Achilles bend his will,

Nor he whose eye alone can read the fates

(A faithful seer to us, to captives mild),180

Nor his pest-smitten camp and gleaming pyres.

When baffled Greece stood tottering to her fall,

This man with passion pined, had time for love,

Thought ever on amours; and, lest his couch

Should be of any Phrygian maid bereft,185

He lusted for Achilles' beauteous bride,

Nor blushed to tear her from her lover's arms.

Fit foe for Paris! Now new wounds he feels,

And burns, inflamed by mad Cassandra's love.

And, now that Troy is conquered, home he comes,190

A captive's husband, Priam's son-in-law!

Arise, my soul; no easy task essay;

Be swift to act. What dost thou, sluggish, wait

Till Phrygian rivals wrest thy power away?

Or do thy virgin daughters stay thy hand,195

Or yet Orestes, image of his sire?

Nay, 'tis for these thy children thou must act,

Lest greater ills befall them; for, behold,

A mad stepmother soon shall call them hers.

Through thine own heart, if so thou must, prepare

To drive the sword, and so slay two in one.200

Let thy blood flow with his; in slaying, die.

For death is sweet if with a foeman shared.

Nurse:My queen, restrain thyself, check thy wild wrath,And think how great thy task. Atrides comesWild Asia's conqueror and Europe's lord;205He leads Troy captive, Phrygia subdued.'Gainst him wouldst thou with sly assault prevail,Whom great Achilles slew not with his sword,Though he with angry hand the weapon drew;Nor Telamonian Ajax, crazed with rage;210Nor Hector, Troy's sole prop and war's delay;Nor Paris' deadly darts; nor Memnon black;Nor Xanthus, choked with corpses and with arms;Nor Simois' waves, empurpled with the slain;Nor Cycnus, snowy offspring of the sea;215Nor warlike Rhesus with his Thracian band;Nor that fierce maid who led the Amazons,Armed with the deadly battle-axe and shield?This hero, home returned, dost thou prepareTo slay, and stain thy hearth with impious blood?Would Greece, all hot from conquest, suffer this?220Bethink thee of the countless steeds and arms,The sea a-bristle with a thousand ships,The plains of Ilium soaked with streams of blood,Troy taken and in utter ruin laid:Remember this, I say, and check thy wrath,And bid thy thoughts in safer channels run.225

Nurse:My queen, restrain thyself, check thy wild wrath,

And think how great thy task. Atrides comes

Wild Asia's conqueror and Europe's lord;205

He leads Troy captive, Phrygia subdued.

'Gainst him wouldst thou with sly assault prevail,

Whom great Achilles slew not with his sword,

Though he with angry hand the weapon drew;

Nor Telamonian Ajax, crazed with rage;210

Nor Hector, Troy's sole prop and war's delay;

Nor Paris' deadly darts; nor Memnon black;

Nor Xanthus, choked with corpses and with arms;

Nor Simois' waves, empurpled with the slain;

Nor Cycnus, snowy offspring of the sea;215

Nor warlike Rhesus with his Thracian band;

Nor that fierce maid who led the Amazons,

Armed with the deadly battle-axe and shield?

This hero, home returned, dost thou prepare

To slay, and stain thy hearth with impious blood?

Would Greece, all hot from conquest, suffer this?220

Bethink thee of the countless steeds and arms,

The sea a-bristle with a thousand ships,

The plains of Ilium soaked with streams of blood,

Troy taken and in utter ruin laid:

Remember this, I say, and check thy wrath,

And bid thy thoughts in safer channels run.225

[Exit.]

[EnterAegisthus.]

Aegisthus:The fatal day which I was born to see,Toward which I've ever looked with dread, is here.Why dost thou fear, my soul, to face thy fate,And turn away from action scarce begun?Be sure that not thy hand is orderingThese dire events, but the relentless gods.230Then put thy shame-bought life in pawn to fateAnd let thy heart drain suffering to the dregs.To one of shameful birth death is a boon.[EnterClytemnestra.]Thou comrade of my perils, Leda's child,Be with me still in this; and thy false lord,235This valiant sire, shall pay thee blood for blood.But why does pallor blanch thy trembling cheeks?What bodes this softened face, this listless gaze?Clytemnestra:My husband's love has met and conquered me.Let us retrace our steps, while still there's room,240To that estate whence we should ne'er have come;Let even now fair fame be sought again;For never is it over late to mend.Who grieves for sin is counted innocent.Aegisthus:What madness this? Dost thou believe or hopeThat Agamemnon will be true to thee?245Though no grave fears, of conscious guilt begot,Annoyed thy soul with thoughts of punishment;Still would his swelling, o'er-inflated pride,Create in him a dour and headstrong mood.Harsh was he to his friends while Troy still stood;How, think'st thou, has the fall of Troy pricked on250His soul, by nature harsh, to greater harshness?Mycenae's king he went; he will returnHer tyrant. So doth fortune foster pride.With how great pomp this throng of rivals comes!But one of these, surpassing all the rest,Apollo's priestess, holds the king in thrall.255And wilt thou meekly share thy lord with her?But she will not. A wife's last infamy—To see her rival ruling in her stead.No throne nor bed can brook a rival mate.Clytemnestra:Aegisthus, why dost drive me headlong on,260And fan to flames again my dying wrath?For if the victor has his right employed,To work his will upon a captive maid,His wife should not complain or reck of this.The law that binds the man fits not the king.And why should I, myself in conscious guilt,265Make bold to sit in judgment on my lord?Let her forgive who most forgiveness needs.Aegisthus:In very truth there's room for mutual grace.But thou know'st naught of royal privilege.Thee will the king judge harshly, to himself270A milder law in gentler mood apply.And this they deem the highest pledge of power,If, what to common mortals is denied,Is given by general will to them alone.Clytemnestra:He pardoned Helen; home is she returned,To Menelaüs joined, though East and WestHave been engulfed for her in common woe.Aegisthus:But Menelaüs nursed no secret love,275Which closed his heart unto his lawful wife.Thy lord seeks charge against thee, cause of strife.Suppose thy heart and life were free from guilt:What boots an honest life, a stainless heart,When hate condemns the suppliant unheard?280Wilt thou seek Sparta's shelter, and returnUnto thy father's house? No shelter waitsThe scorned of kings; that hope were false indeed.Clytemnestra:None knows my sin save one most faithful friend.Aegisthus:In vain: no faith is found in royal courts.285Clytemnestra:But surely gifts will buy fidelity.Aegisthus:Faith bought by gifts is sold for other gifts.Clytemnestra:My strength and purity of soul revive.Why wouldst thou thwart me? Why, with cozening words,Wouldst thou persuade me to thy evil course?290Dost think that I would leave a king of kingsAnd stoop to wed an outcast wretch like thee?Aegisthus:What? seem I less than Atreus' son to thee,Who am Thyestes' son?Clytemnestra:Why, so thou art,And grandson too.Aegisthus:My getting shames me not;For Phoebus' self is voucher for my birth.Clytemnestra:Name Phoebus not with thine incestuous stock,295Who checked his flying steeds and fled the sky,Withdrawn in sudden night, lest he beholdThy father's feast. Wouldst thou besmirch the gods,Thou, trained to revel in unlawful love?Then get thee gone in haste, and rid mine eyes300Of that which doth disgrace this noble house;This home is waiting for its king and lord.Aegisthus:Exile is naught to me, for I am usedTo woe. At thy command I'll farther fleeThan from this house: I but await thy wordTo plunge my dagger in this woeful breast.305Clytemnestra[aside]: Shall I in cruel scorn desert him now?Who sin in company should suffer so.[ToAegisthus.]Nay, come with me; we will together waitThe issue of our dark and dangerous fate.

Aegisthus:The fatal day which I was born to see,

Toward which I've ever looked with dread, is here.

Why dost thou fear, my soul, to face thy fate,

And turn away from action scarce begun?

Be sure that not thy hand is ordering

These dire events, but the relentless gods.230

Then put thy shame-bought life in pawn to fate

And let thy heart drain suffering to the dregs.

To one of shameful birth death is a boon.

[EnterClytemnestra.]

Thou comrade of my perils, Leda's child,

Be with me still in this; and thy false lord,235

This valiant sire, shall pay thee blood for blood.

But why does pallor blanch thy trembling cheeks?

What bodes this softened face, this listless gaze?

Clytemnestra:My husband's love has met and conquered me.Let us retrace our steps, while still there's room,240To that estate whence we should ne'er have come;Let even now fair fame be sought again;For never is it over late to mend.Who grieves for sin is counted innocent.

Clytemnestra:My husband's love has met and conquered me.

Let us retrace our steps, while still there's room,240

To that estate whence we should ne'er have come;

Let even now fair fame be sought again;

For never is it over late to mend.

Who grieves for sin is counted innocent.

Aegisthus:What madness this? Dost thou believe or hopeThat Agamemnon will be true to thee?245Though no grave fears, of conscious guilt begot,Annoyed thy soul with thoughts of punishment;Still would his swelling, o'er-inflated pride,Create in him a dour and headstrong mood.Harsh was he to his friends while Troy still stood;How, think'st thou, has the fall of Troy pricked on250His soul, by nature harsh, to greater harshness?Mycenae's king he went; he will returnHer tyrant. So doth fortune foster pride.With how great pomp this throng of rivals comes!But one of these, surpassing all the rest,Apollo's priestess, holds the king in thrall.255And wilt thou meekly share thy lord with her?But she will not. A wife's last infamy—To see her rival ruling in her stead.No throne nor bed can brook a rival mate.

Aegisthus:What madness this? Dost thou believe or hope

That Agamemnon will be true to thee?245

Though no grave fears, of conscious guilt begot,

Annoyed thy soul with thoughts of punishment;

Still would his swelling, o'er-inflated pride,

Create in him a dour and headstrong mood.

Harsh was he to his friends while Troy still stood;

How, think'st thou, has the fall of Troy pricked on250

His soul, by nature harsh, to greater harshness?

Mycenae's king he went; he will return

Her tyrant. So doth fortune foster pride.

With how great pomp this throng of rivals comes!

But one of these, surpassing all the rest,

Apollo's priestess, holds the king in thrall.255

And wilt thou meekly share thy lord with her?

But she will not. A wife's last infamy—

To see her rival ruling in her stead.

No throne nor bed can brook a rival mate.

Clytemnestra:Aegisthus, why dost drive me headlong on,260And fan to flames again my dying wrath?For if the victor has his right employed,To work his will upon a captive maid,His wife should not complain or reck of this.The law that binds the man fits not the king.And why should I, myself in conscious guilt,265Make bold to sit in judgment on my lord?Let her forgive who most forgiveness needs.

Clytemnestra:Aegisthus, why dost drive me headlong on,260

And fan to flames again my dying wrath?

For if the victor has his right employed,

To work his will upon a captive maid,

His wife should not complain or reck of this.

The law that binds the man fits not the king.

And why should I, myself in conscious guilt,265

Make bold to sit in judgment on my lord?

Let her forgive who most forgiveness needs.

Aegisthus:In very truth there's room for mutual grace.But thou know'st naught of royal privilege.Thee will the king judge harshly, to himself270A milder law in gentler mood apply.And this they deem the highest pledge of power,If, what to common mortals is denied,Is given by general will to them alone.

Aegisthus:In very truth there's room for mutual grace.

But thou know'st naught of royal privilege.

Thee will the king judge harshly, to himself270

A milder law in gentler mood apply.

And this they deem the highest pledge of power,

If, what to common mortals is denied,

Is given by general will to them alone.

Clytemnestra:He pardoned Helen; home is she returned,To Menelaüs joined, though East and WestHave been engulfed for her in common woe.

Clytemnestra:He pardoned Helen; home is she returned,

To Menelaüs joined, though East and West

Have been engulfed for her in common woe.

Aegisthus:But Menelaüs nursed no secret love,275Which closed his heart unto his lawful wife.Thy lord seeks charge against thee, cause of strife.Suppose thy heart and life were free from guilt:What boots an honest life, a stainless heart,When hate condemns the suppliant unheard?280Wilt thou seek Sparta's shelter, and returnUnto thy father's house? No shelter waitsThe scorned of kings; that hope were false indeed.

Aegisthus:But Menelaüs nursed no secret love,275

Which closed his heart unto his lawful wife.

Thy lord seeks charge against thee, cause of strife.

Suppose thy heart and life were free from guilt:

What boots an honest life, a stainless heart,

When hate condemns the suppliant unheard?280

Wilt thou seek Sparta's shelter, and return

Unto thy father's house? No shelter waits

The scorned of kings; that hope were false indeed.

Clytemnestra:None knows my sin save one most faithful friend.

Aegisthus:In vain: no faith is found in royal courts.285

Clytemnestra:But surely gifts will buy fidelity.

Aegisthus:Faith bought by gifts is sold for other gifts.

Clytemnestra:My strength and purity of soul revive.Why wouldst thou thwart me? Why, with cozening words,Wouldst thou persuade me to thy evil course?290Dost think that I would leave a king of kingsAnd stoop to wed an outcast wretch like thee?

Clytemnestra:My strength and purity of soul revive.

Why wouldst thou thwart me? Why, with cozening words,

Wouldst thou persuade me to thy evil course?290

Dost think that I would leave a king of kings

And stoop to wed an outcast wretch like thee?

Aegisthus:What? seem I less than Atreus' son to thee,Who am Thyestes' son?

Aegisthus:What? seem I less than Atreus' son to thee,

Who am Thyestes' son?

Clytemnestra:Why, so thou art,And grandson too.

Clytemnestra:Why, so thou art,

And grandson too.

Aegisthus:My getting shames me not;For Phoebus' self is voucher for my birth.

Aegisthus:My getting shames me not;

For Phoebus' self is voucher for my birth.

Clytemnestra:Name Phoebus not with thine incestuous stock,295Who checked his flying steeds and fled the sky,Withdrawn in sudden night, lest he beholdThy father's feast. Wouldst thou besmirch the gods,Thou, trained to revel in unlawful love?Then get thee gone in haste, and rid mine eyes300Of that which doth disgrace this noble house;This home is waiting for its king and lord.

Clytemnestra:Name Phoebus not with thine incestuous stock,295

Who checked his flying steeds and fled the sky,

Withdrawn in sudden night, lest he behold

Thy father's feast. Wouldst thou besmirch the gods,

Thou, trained to revel in unlawful love?

Then get thee gone in haste, and rid mine eyes300

Of that which doth disgrace this noble house;

This home is waiting for its king and lord.

Aegisthus:Exile is naught to me, for I am usedTo woe. At thy command I'll farther fleeThan from this house: I but await thy wordTo plunge my dagger in this woeful breast.305

Aegisthus:Exile is naught to me, for I am used

To woe. At thy command I'll farther flee

Than from this house: I but await thy word

To plunge my dagger in this woeful breast.305

Clytemnestra[aside]: Shall I in cruel scorn desert him now?Who sin in company should suffer so.[ToAegisthus.]Nay, come with me; we will together waitThe issue of our dark and dangerous fate.

Clytemnestra[aside]: Shall I in cruel scorn desert him now?

Who sin in company should suffer so.

[ToAegisthus.]

Nay, come with me; we will together wait

The issue of our dark and dangerous fate.

[Exeunt into the palace.]

Chorus:[51]Sing Phoebus' praise, O race renowned;310With festal laurel wreathe your heads;And let your virgin locks flow free,Ye Argive maids.And ye who drink of the cold Erasinus,Who dwell by Eurotas,315Who know the green banks of the silent IsmenusCome join in our singing;And do ye swell our chorus, ye far Theban daughters,Whom the child of Tiresias, Manto the seer,Once taught to bow down to the Delian gods.320Now peace has come:Unbend thy victorious bow, O Apollo,Lay down from thy shoulder thy quiver of arrows,And let thy tuneful lyre resoundTo the touch of thy swift-flying fingers.325No lofty strain be thine today,But such as on thy milder lyreThou art wont to sound when the learnéd museSurveys thy sports.And yet, an' thou wilt, strike a heavier strain,330As when thou didst sing of the Titans o'ercomeBy Jupiter's hurtling bolts;When mountain on lofty mountain piled,Pelion, Ossa, and pine-clad Olympus,Built high to the sky for the impious monsters335Their ladder's rocky rounds.Thou too be with us, Juno, queen,Who sharest the throne of heaven's lord.340Mycenae's altars blaze for thee.Thou alone dost protect us,Anxious and suppliant;Thou art the goddess of peace,And the issues of war are thine;345And thine are the laurels of victory twinedOn the brow of our king Agamemnon.To thee the boxwood flute resoundsIn solemn festival;To thee the maidens strike the harp350In sweetest song;To thee the votive torch is tossed;The gleaming heifer, all unmarredBy the plow's rough touchFalls at thy shrine.355And thou, child of the Thunderer,Pallas illustrious, hear;Before whose might the Dardanian wallsHave trembled and fallen to dust.Thee maidens and matrons in chorus united360Exalt and adore; at thy approachThy temple doors swing open wide,While the welcoming throng, with garlands bedecked,Rejoice at thy coming;And feeble, tottering elders comeTo pay their vows of thanks and praise,365And pour their offerings of wineWith trembling hands.And to thee with mindful lips we pray,Bright Trivia, Lucina called.Thy native Delos didst thou bidStand fast upon the sea, and float370No more, the wandering mock of winds.And now, with firmly fixéd root,It stands secure, defies the gale,And, wont of old to follow ships,Now gives them anchorage.Proud Niobe thy vengeance felt375Who thy divinity defied.Now, high on lonely Sipylus,She sits and weeps in stony grief;Though to insensate marble turned,Her tears flow fresh forevermore.And now both men and women join380In praise to the twin divinities.But thee, above all gods, we praise;Our father and our ruler thou,Lord of the hurtling thunderbolt,At whose dread nod the farthest polesDo quake and tremble.O Jove, thou founder of our race,385Accept our gifts, and have regardUnto thy faithful progeny.But lo, a warrior hither comes in haste,With wonted signs of victory displayed;For on his spear a laurel wreath he bears—390Eurybates, our king's own messenger.

Chorus:[51]Sing Phoebus' praise, O race renowned;310

With festal laurel wreathe your heads;

And let your virgin locks flow free,

Ye Argive maids.

And ye who drink of the cold Erasinus,

Who dwell by Eurotas,315

Who know the green banks of the silent Ismenus

Come join in our singing;

And do ye swell our chorus, ye far Theban daughters,

Whom the child of Tiresias, Manto the seer,

Once taught to bow down to the Delian gods.320

Now peace has come:

Unbend thy victorious bow, O Apollo,

Lay down from thy shoulder thy quiver of arrows,

And let thy tuneful lyre resound

To the touch of thy swift-flying fingers.325

No lofty strain be thine today,

But such as on thy milder lyre

Thou art wont to sound when the learnéd muse

Surveys thy sports.

And yet, an' thou wilt, strike a heavier strain,330

As when thou didst sing of the Titans o'ercome

By Jupiter's hurtling bolts;

When mountain on lofty mountain piled,

Pelion, Ossa, and pine-clad Olympus,

Built high to the sky for the impious monsters335

Their ladder's rocky rounds.

Thou too be with us, Juno, queen,

Who sharest the throne of heaven's lord.340

Mycenae's altars blaze for thee.

Thou alone dost protect us,

Anxious and suppliant;

Thou art the goddess of peace,

And the issues of war are thine;345

And thine are the laurels of victory twined

On the brow of our king Agamemnon.

To thee the boxwood flute resounds

In solemn festival;

To thee the maidens strike the harp350

In sweetest song;

To thee the votive torch is tossed;

The gleaming heifer, all unmarred

By the plow's rough touch

Falls at thy shrine.355

And thou, child of the Thunderer,

Pallas illustrious, hear;

Before whose might the Dardanian walls

Have trembled and fallen to dust.

Thee maidens and matrons in chorus united360

Exalt and adore; at thy approach

Thy temple doors swing open wide,

While the welcoming throng, with garlands bedecked,

Rejoice at thy coming;

And feeble, tottering elders come

To pay their vows of thanks and praise,365

And pour their offerings of wine

With trembling hands.

And to thee with mindful lips we pray,

Bright Trivia, Lucina called.

Thy native Delos didst thou bid

Stand fast upon the sea, and float370

No more, the wandering mock of winds.

And now, with firmly fixéd root,

It stands secure, defies the gale,

And, wont of old to follow ships,

Now gives them anchorage.

Proud Niobe thy vengeance felt375

Who thy divinity defied.

Now, high on lonely Sipylus,

She sits and weeps in stony grief;

Though to insensate marble turned,

Her tears flow fresh forevermore.

And now both men and women join380

In praise to the twin divinities.

But thee, above all gods, we praise;

Our father and our ruler thou,

Lord of the hurtling thunderbolt,

At whose dread nod the farthest poles

Do quake and tremble.

O Jove, thou founder of our race,385

Accept our gifts, and have regard

Unto thy faithful progeny.

But lo, a warrior hither comes in haste,

With wonted signs of victory displayed;

For on his spear a laurel wreath he bears—390

Eurybates, our king's own messenger.

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