FOOTNOTES:[51]The line arrangement of Schroeder has been followed in this Chorus.ACT III[EnterEurybateswith laurel-wreathed spear.]Eurybates:Ye shrines and altars of the heavenly gods,Ye Lares of my fathers, after longAnd weary wanderings, scarce trusting yetMy longing eyes, I give ye grateful thanks.Pay now your vows which you have vowed to heaven,Ye Argive people; for behold, your king,395The pride and glory of this land of Greece,Back to his father's house as victor comes.[EnterClytemnestrain time to hear the concluding words of the herald.]Clytemnestra:Oh, joyful tidings that I long to hear!But where delays my lord, whom I with griefFor ten long years have waited? Doth the seaStill stay his course, or hath he gained the land?Eurybates:Unharmed, by glory crowned, increased in praise,400He hath set foot upon the long-sought shore.Clytemnestra:Then hail this day with joy, and thank the godsWho, though their favoring aid was late bestowed,At last have smiled propitious on our cause.But tell me thou, does yet my brother live?Say, too, how fares my sister Helena?405Eurybates:If prayer and hope prevail, they yet survive;No surer tidings is it given to speakOf those who wander on the stormy sea.Scarce had the swollen highways of the deepReceived our fleet, when ship from kindred shipWas driven, and lost amid the gathering gloom.E'en Agamemnon's self in doubt and fear410Went wandering upon the trackless waste,And suffered more from Neptune's buffetingsThan he had e'er endured in bloody war.And now, a humble victor, home he comes,With but a shattered remnant of his fleet.Clytemnestra:But say what fate has swallowed up my ships,And scattered our great chieftains o'er the sea?415Eurybates:A sorry tale 'twould be: thou bid'st me mixThe bitter message with the sweet. But I,Alas, am sick at heart, and cannot tellFor very horror our most woeful tale.Clytemnestra:But tell it even so; for he who shrinksFrom knowledge of his woe has greater fear.And ills half seen are worse than certainty.420Eurybates:When Troy lies smouldering 'neath our Grecian firesWe quickly lot the spoil, and seek the seaIn eager haste. And now our weary sidesAre easéd of the falchion's wonted load;Our shields along the vessels' lofty sternsUnheeded hang, and once again our hands,Long used to swords, are fitted to the oar;425And all impatiently we wait the word.Then flashed from Agamemnon's ship the signThat bade us homeward speed, and clear and loudThe trumpet pealed upon our joyful ears;The flagship's gilded prow gleamed on ahead,The course directing for a thousand ships.430A kindly breeze first stole into our sailsAnd urged us softly on; the tranquil wavesScarce rippled with the Zephyr's gentle breath;The sea was all a-glitter with the fleetWhich lit e'en while it hid the watery way.'Tis sweet to see the empty shores of Troy,435The broad plains left in lonely solitude.The eager sailors ply the bending oars,Hands aiding sails, and move their sturdy armsWith rhythmic swing. The furrowed waters gleam,And sing along the sides, while rushing prows440Besprinkle all the sea with hoary spray.When fresher breezes fill our swelling sails,We cease from toil, and, stretched along the thwarts,We watch the far-off shores of Ilium,Fast fleeing as our vessels seaward fare;445Or tell old tales of war: brave Hector's threats,His corpse dishonored, and again restoredTo purchased honors of the funeral pyre;And Priam sprinkling with his royal bloodThe sacred altar of Hercean Jove.Then to and fro amid the briny seaThe dolphins sport, and leap the heaving waves450With arching backs; now race in circles wide,Now swim beside us in a friendly band,Now dash ahead or follow in our wake;Anon in wanton sport they smite our prows,And so our thousand rushing barks surround.455Now sinks the shore from view, the spreading plains;And far-off Ida seems a misty cloud.And now, what but the sharpest eye can see,Troy's rising smoke blurs dim the distant sky.The sun was bringing weary mortals rest,460And waning day was giving place to night;When clouds began to fill the western sky,And dim the luster of the sinking sun—The grim prognostic of a rising gale.Young night had spangled all the sky with stars,465And empty sails hung languid on the masts;When low, foreboding sighings of the windSpring from our landward side; the hidden shoreResounds afar with warning mutterings;The rising waves anticipate the storm;470The moon is blotted out, the stars are hid,The sea leaps skyward, and the sky is gone.Gloom broods o'er all, but not of night alone;For blinding mists add blackness to the night,And murky waves with murky sky contend.Then in concerted rush from every handThe winds fall roughly on the ravished sea,And heave its boiling billows from the depths;475While east with west wind struggles, south with north.Each wields his wonted arms to lash the sea:The fierce Strymonian blast with rattling hailRoars on, and Libyan Auster heaps the wavesUpon the seething sands. Nor those alone480Provoke the strife: for raving Notus firstGrows big with bursting clouds and swells the waves;And boisterous Eurus shakes the Orient,The far Arabian realms and morning seas.What dire disaster did fierce Corus work,His dark face gleaming forth upon the deep?We thought the very heavens would be rent,485The gods fall down from out the riven sky,And all revert to chaos as of old.The waves opposed the winds, the winds in turnHurled back the warring waves. Nor was the seaWithin itself contained; but, lifted high,It mingled with the streaming floods of heaven.490Nor were we solaced in our dreadful plightBy open view and knowledge of our ills;For darkness like the murky night of StyxHedged in our view. Yet was this darkness rent,When flashing lightnings cleft the inky clouds495With crashing bolts. Yet e'en this fearful gleamWas welcome to our eyes: so sweet it isTo those in evil plight to see their ills.The fleet assists its own destruction, too,Prow dashing hard on prow, and side on side;Now sinks it headlong in the yawning flood,And now, belched forth, it sees the air again.500One plunges down, of its own weight compelled;Another, through its gaping side, invitesDestruction from the raging floods; a thirdIs smothered by the tenth and mightiest wave.Here idly floats a mangled, shattered thing,Of all its boastful decoration shorn;And there a ship sans sails and oars and all.No lofty mast with hanging spars remains,505But, helpless hulks, the shattered vessels driftUpon the boundless sea. Amid such ills,Of what avail the hardy sailor's art?Cold horror holds our limbs. The sailors standIn dumb amaze, and all their tasks forget;While all, in abject terror, drop their oars,And turn their wretched souls to heaven for aid.510Now (marvel of the fates!) with common vowsThe Greeks and Trojans supplicate the skies.Now Pyrrhus envies great Achilles' fate;Ulysses, Ajax'; Menelaüs, Hector's;And Priam seems to Agamemnon blest:Yea all who perished on the plains of Troy,Whose lot it was to die by human hand,Are counted blest of heaven, secure in fame,515For they rest safely in the land they won."Shall winds and waves engulf in common fateThe faint of heart who nothing noble dare,And those brave souls who quit themselves like men?Must we for naught resign ourselves to death?O thou of gods who art not even yetWith these our evil fortunes satisfied,520At last have pity on our woeful plight,Which Ilium itself would weep to see.If still thine anger holds, and 'tis decreedThat we of Greece must perish utterly,Why doom these Trojans, for whose sake we die,To share our fate? Allay the raging sea:525For this our fleet bears Greeks and Trojans too."So prayed we, but in vain; our suppliant wordsWere swallowed by the raging storm. And lo,Another shape of death! For Pallas, armedWith those swift bolts her angry father wields,Essays what ruin dire her threatening spear,Her aegis set with stony Gorgon's head,530And these her father's thunderbolts, can work.Unconquered by his ills, with daring soul,Bold Ajax struggles on. Him, shortening sailWith halyards strained, a falling thunderboltSmote full; again the goddess poised her bolt535With hand far backward drawn, like Jove himself,And hurled it true with shock impetuous.Straight fell the bolt, and, piercing man and ship,It strewed them both in ruin on the sea.Still undismayed, he overtops the waves,All charred and blasted like some rugged cliff,540And bravely breasts the wildly raging sea.Still gleaming with the lightning's lurid glare,He shines amid the blackness like a torchWhich sheds its beams afar upon the deep.At length a jutting rock he gains, and shoutsIn madness: "Now have I o'ercome the sea,545The flames; 'tis sweet to conquer sky, and waves,The thunderbolts, and her who brandished them.I've braved the terrors of the god of war;With my sole arm I fronted Hector, huge,Nor did the darts of Phoebus frighten me.Those gods, together with their Phrygians,550I set at naught; and shall I quake at thee?Thou hurl'st with weakling's hand another's bolts:But what if Jove himself—"When madly thus he dared blaspheme the gods,Great Neptune with his trident smote the rock,And whelmed its tottering bulk beneath the sea.555So, falling with its fall, the madman liesBy earth and fire and billows overcome.But us, poor shipwrecked, hopeless mariners,A worse destruction waits. There is a reef,Low lying, treacherous with ragged shoals,Where false Caphereus hides his rocky footBeneath the whirling waters of the sea.560Above this reef the billows heave and dash,And madly seethe with each recurring wave.High o'er this spot a frowning crag projects,Which views on either side the spreading sea.There distant lie thine own Pelopian shores,And there the curving Isthmus, deep withdrawn,Shielding the broad Aegean from the west.565There blood-stained Lemnos looms; here Chalcis[52]lies;And yonder wind-locked Aulis' peaceful port.This lofty cliff old Nauplius occupied,With hate inspired for Palamedes' sake.There his accurséd hand a beacon raisedAnd lured us onward to the fatal spot.570Now hang our barks by jagged rocks transfixed,Or founder, wrecked and wrecking in the shoals;And where but now our vessels sought to land,They flee the land and choose the angry waves.575With dawn the sea's destructive rage was spent,And full atonement had been made to Troy.Then came the sun again; and brightening dayRevealed the awful havoc of the night.Clytemnestra:I know not which were better, grief or joy.I do rejoice to see my lord again,580And yet my kingdom's losses counsel tears.O father Jove, at whose august commandThe sounding heavens quake, regard our race,And bid the angry gods be merciful.Let every head be decked with festal wreath,The flute resound, and at the stately shrineLet snowy victims fall in sacrifice.585But lo, a grieving throng, with locks unkempt,The Trojan women come; and at their head,With step majestic, queenly, heaven inspired,Apollo's bride, with his own laurel tired.[Enter band ofTrojan women,led byCassandra.]Band of Trojan women:Alas, how bitter, yet how sweet a thing,This love of life we mortals cherish so!What madness, when the door stands open wide590That frees us from our ills, and death calls loudAnd welcomes us to everlasting rest!Who finds that refuge, fears no moreThese nameless terrors, these assaults,These insolent assaults of fate,And sidelong-glancing bolts of Jove.595Deep peace of death!No frenzied burgher-throng to fear,No victor's threatening madness here;No wild seas ruffled by the blast;No hosts in serried battle massed,Where whirling clouds of dust disclose600The savage riders to their foes;No nation falling with its city's fall,'Mid smouldering battlement and crumbling wall;No wasting fires,No burning pyres,And all the horrors impious war inspires.They from the servile bonds of fate605This human life emancipate,Who fickle fortune dare to brave,And face the terrors of the grave;Who joyful view the joyless Styx,And dare their mortal span to fix.How like a king, how like a god on highIs he who faces death nor fears to die!610In one dark night we saw our city doomed,When Doric fires the Dardan homes consumed;But not in battle, not by warlike arts,As once it fell beneath Alcides' darts.No son of Thetis dealt the blow615Which wrought our final overthrow,Nor his loved friend, Patroclus hight,When once, in borrowed armor dight,He put our Trojan chiefs to flight;Nor when Pelides' self gave o'er620The fierce resentment that he bore,And sped him forth on vengeance bent—Not even in such evils pent,Did Troy to cruel fortune bend,But struggled bravely to the end.Her bitter fate—for ten long years to stand,And fall at last by one vile trickster's hand.625In memory still we see the monstrous bulkOf that pretended and most fatal gift,The Grecian horse, which we, too credulous,With our own hands into our city led.The noisy-footed monster stumbled oft630Upon the threshold of the city gate,While in its roomy hold crouched kings and war.And we might well have turned their crafty artsTo work their own destruction. But alas,We neither saw nor heeded. OftentimesThe sound of clashing shields smote on our ears,And low and angry mutterings within635Where Pyrrhus 'gainst the shrewd Ulysses strove.Now free from fear our Trojan youthCrowd round to touch the sacred cordsWith joyous hands. AstyanaxHere leads his youthful playmates on,While 'midst the maidens gaily comesThe maid Polyxena, foredoomedTo bleed upon Achilles' tomb.640Mothers in festal garments bringTheir votive offerings to the gods,And sires press gaily round the shrines.645Throughout the town all faces tellOne tale of joy; e'en Hecuba,Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre,Had never ceased her tears, was glad.But now, unhappy grief, what first,What last, dost thou prepare to weep?650Our city walls in ruin laid,Though built by heavenly hands? our shrinesUpon their very gods consumed?Nay, nay; long since our weary eyesHave dried their tears for these. But nowWe weep, O father, king, for thee.655We saw, with our own eyes we saw,The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand,Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand.Cassandra:Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits,Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine.660Let each bewail her several woes; but IFor my own heavy grief have tears enough.Band:Yet 'tis a balm of grief to knowThat our own tears with others' flow;More sharply gnaws the hidden care665Which we with others may not share:And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief,Canst not in thine own weeping find relief.Though Philomel for Itys sing670Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring;Though Procne, with insistent din,Bewail her husband's hidden sin;675Not these, with all their passionate lament,Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent.Let Cycnus raise his dying song,And its soft, plaintive strains prolong;Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave,680A-flutter o'er the tossing wave;Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele685Their tears for Attis share with thee:Still would our tears in no such measure flow,690For sufferings like these no limits know.[Cassandralays aside her fillets.]But why dost lay aside the sacred wool?Most by the wretched should the gods be feared.Cassandra:But ills like mine o'erleap the bounds of fear.695I'll supplicate the heavenly gods no more,For now am I beyond their power to harm,And I have drained to dregs the cup of fate.No country have I left, no sister, sire;For tombs and altars have my blood consumed.700Where is that happy throng of brothers now?Departed all! And only weak old menRemain within the lonely palace wallsTo serve the wretched king; and these, alas,Throughout those stately chambered halls behold,Save Spartan Helen, none but widowed wives.And Hecuba, proud mother of a race705Of kings, herself the queen of Phrygia,Fecund for funeral pyres, became the mockOf fickle fate; and now in bestial form,Barks madly round the ruins of her home,Surviving Troy, son, husband, and herself.Band:Why falls this sudden silence on her? See710Her cheeks are pale, and fits of trembling fearPossess her frame; her locks in horror rise,And we can hear, though pent within her breast,The loud pulsations of her fluttering heart.Her glance uncertain wanders; and anonHer eyes seem backward turned into herself,715Then fix again and harshly stare abroad.Now higher than her wont she lifts her headAnd walks with stately step; and now she strivesTo open her reluctant lips. At last,Though struggling still against th' inspiring god,The maddened priestess speaks with muttered words.Cassandra:Why prick me on with fury's goads anew,720Ye sacred slopes of high Parnassus? WhyMust I, insensate, prophesy afresh?Away, thou prophet god! I am not thine.Subdue the fires that smoulder in my breast.Whose doom yet waits my frenzied prophecy?Now Troy is fallen—must I still rave on,725And speak unheeded words? Oh, where am I?The kindly light has fled, and deepest nightEnshrouds my face, and all the heavens lie wrappedIn deepest gloom. But see, with double sun,The day shines forth again; and doubled homesIn doubled Argos seem to stand. AgainI see Mount Ida's groves. The shepherd sits730Amid those awful goddesses to judge(Oh, fatal judgment!) twixt their rival charms.Ye mighty kings, I warn ye, fear the fruitOf stolen love; that rustic foundling soonShall overthrow your house.Beware the queen!Why does she madly in her woman's handThose naked weapons bear? Whom does she seek735With brandished battle-ax, though Spartan bred,Like some fierce warrior of the Amazons?What horrid vision next affronts mine eyes?A mighty Afric lion, king of beasts,Lies low, death-smitten by his cruel mate;While at his mangled[53]neck a low-born beast740Gnaws greedily.Why do ye summon me,Saved only of my house, ye kindred shades?I'll follow thee, my father, buried[54]deepBeneath the stones of Troy; and thee, O propOf Phrygia, the terror of the Greeks,I see, though not in brave and fair array,As once thou cam'st, still flushing with the glow745Of burning ships; but with thy members tornAnd foully mangled by the dragging thongs.And thee, O Troïlus, I follow too,Alas, too quickly met with Peleus' son!I see thy face, my poor Deïphobus,Past recognition scarred. Is this the giftOf thy new wife?750Ah me, 'tis sweet to goAlong the borders of the Stygian pool;To see the savage hound of Tartarus,The realms of greedy Dis, and Charon old,Whose dusky skiff shall bear two royal soulsAcross the murky Phlegethon today,The vanquished and the vanquisher. Ye shades,And thee, dread stream, by which the gods of heaven755Do swear their straightest oaths, I pray ye both:Withdraw the curtain of your hidden realm,That so yon shadowy throng of PhrygiansMay look upon Mycenae's woes. Behold,Poor souls; the wheel of fortune backward turns.See, see! the squalid sisters come,760Their bloody lashes brandishing,And smoking torches half consumed.A sickly pallor overspreadsTheir bloated cheeks; and dusky robesOf death begird their hollow loins.The gloomy night with fearsome cries765Resounds, and to my startled eyesDread sights appear: there lie the bonesOf that huge giant, far outstretched,Upon a slimy marsh's brinkAll white and rotting. Now I seeThat old man, wan with suffering,Forget awhile the mocking waves,770Forget his burning thirst, to grieveFor this disaster hoveringAbout his house;But Dardanus exults to seeHis foeman's baleful destiny.Band:Now has her rage prophetic spent itself,775And fall'n away; like some devoted bull,Which sinks with tottering knees before the shrineBeneath the sacrificial axe's stroke.Let us support her ere she faint and fall.But see, our Agamemnon comes at lastTo greet his gods, with bay of victory crowned;And, all in festal garb, with glad accord,780His consort welcomes her returning lord.FOOTNOTES:[52]Reading,hinc et Chalcida.[53]Reading,vexatus.[54]Reading,totâ Troiâ sepulte.ACT IV[EnterAgamemnon.He is met and greeted by his wife, who returns into the palace.]Agamemnon:At last in safety am I home returned.Oh, hail, belovéd land! I bring thee spoilFrom many barbarous tribes; and Troy at length,So long the mistress of the haughty east,785Submits herself as suppliant to thee.But see, Cassandra faints, and trembling fallsWith nerveless form. Ye slaves with speed uplift her;Revive her drooping spirits with the chillOf water on her face. Her languid eyesAgain behold the light of day. Arise,Cassandra, and recall thy sluggish sense.That shelter from our woes, so long desired,790Is here at last. This is a festal day.Cassandra:Remember Ilium's festal day.Agamemnon:But come,We'll kneel before the shrine.Cassandra:Before the shrineMy father fell.Agamemnon:We will together prayIn thankfulness to Jove.Cassandra:Hercean Jove?Agamemnon:Thou think'st of Ilium?Cassandra:And Priam too.Agamemnon:This is not Troy.795Cassandra:Where a Helen is, is Troy.Agamemnon:Fear not thy mistress, though in captive's bonds.Cassandra:But freedom is at hand.Agamemnon:Live on secure.Cassandra:I think that death is my security.Agamemnon:For thee there's naught to fear.Cassandra:But much for thee.Agamemnon:What can a victor fear?Cassandra:What least he fears.Agamemnon:Keep her, ye faithful slaves, in careful guard,800Till she shall throw this mood of madness off,Lest in unbridled rage she harm herself.To thee, O father, who the blinding boltDost hurl, at whose command the clouds disperse,Who rul'st the starry heavens and the lands,To whom triumphant victors bring their spoils;And thee, O sister of thy mighty lord,805Argolic Juno, here I offer nowAll fitting gifts—and so fulfil my vow.[Exit into the palace.]Chorus of Argive women:O Argos, famed for thy worthy sons,And dear to the jealous Juno's heart,How mighty the children who feed at thy breast!810Thou hast added a god to the ranks of immortals;For Alcides has won by his labors heroicThe right to be named with the lords of the sky.Alcides the great! at his birth were the lawsOf the universe broken; for Jove bade the nightTo double the dew-laden hours of the darkness.815At his command did the god of the sunTo a sluggish pace restrain his car;And slow of foot around their course,O pale, white moon, thy horses paced.He also checked his feet, the star,Which hails the dawn, but glows as oft820In the evening sky; and he marveled that heShould be called Hesperus. 'Tis said that AuroraRoused to her wonted task, but againSank back to her sleep on the breast of Tithonus:For long must the night be, and tardy the morning,That waits for the birth of a hero divine.825The swift-whirling vault of the sky stood stillTo greet thee, O youth to the heavens appointed.Thy labors how many and mighty! Thy handHas the terrible lion of Nemea felt,830The fleet-footed hind, and the ravaging boarThat Arcadia feared. Loud bellowed the bullWhen torn from the fields of Crete;Thou didst conquer the Hydra, which fed on destruction,835And severed the last of its multiplied heads.The dread giant, Geryon, three monsters in one,Fell slain with one blow of thy crashing club;But his oxen, the famous Hesperian herds,Were driven away as the spoils of the east.840The terrible steeds of the Thracian king,Which their master fed not on the grass of the Strymon,Or the green banks of Hebrus (but, cruel and bloody,With flesh of the hapless wayfarer he fed them),845These steeds did our Hercules take, and in vengeance,As their last gory feast gave the flesh of their master.The spoil of her girdle Hippolyte sawA-gleam on her conqueror's breast.The Stymphalian bird fell down from the clouds850By his arrows death-smitten,And the tree which bears the fruit of goldFeared his approach, but, despoiled of its treasures,Lifted high in the air its burdenless branches.Forth from the ravished grove he strode855With its golden fruit full laden; in vainDid the deadly, sleepless dragon guardHear the sound of the musical metal.By triple chains to the upper worldThe hound of hell was meekly dragged;860His three great mouths in silence gaped,Amazed by the light of day.And, greatest of toils, beneath his might,The lying house of DardanusWas overthrown, and felt the forceOf that dread bow which it was doomedIn far-off time to feel again.Ten days sufficed for Troy's first overthrow;865As many years her second ruins know.ACT VCassandra[alone upon the stage, standing where she can see the interior of the palace, describes what is going on there; or else she sees it by clairvoyant power]: Great deeds are done within, the cruel matchFor ten long years of suffering at Troy.Alas, what do they there? Arise, my soul,And take reward for thy mad prophecies.The conquered Phrygians are victors now.'Tis well! O Troy, thou risest from the dust,870For thou hast now to equal ruin broughtMycenae too. Low lies thy conqueror.Oh, ne'er before has my prophetic soulSo clearly seen the things of which it raved.I see, and no false image cheats my sight,I see it plainly, there, within the hall,875A royal feast is spread, and thronged with guests,Like that last fatal feast of ours at Troy.The couches gleam with Trojan tapestries;Their wine they quaff from rare old cups of goldThat once cheered great Assaracus; and see,The king himself, in 'broidered vestment clad,Sits high in triumph at the table's head,880With Priam's noble spoils upon his breast.Now comes his queen and bids him put awayThe garment which his enemy has worn,And don instead the robe which she has madeWith loving thoughts of him.Oh, horrid deed!I shudder at the sight. Shall that base man,That exile, smite a king? the paramourThe husband slay? The fatal hour has come.885The second course shall flow with royal blood,And gory streams shall mingle with the wine.And now the king has donned the deadly robe,Which gives him bound and helpless to his fate.His hands no outlet find; the clinging gownEnwraps his head in dark and smothering folds.With trembling hand the coward paramour890Now smites the king, but not with deadly wound;For in mid stroke his nerveless hand is stayed.But, as some shaggy boar in forest wilds,Within the net's strong meshes caught, still strivesAnd strains to burst his bonds, yet all in vain:So Agamemnon seeks to throw aside895The floating, blinding folds. In vain; and yet,Though blind and bound, he seeks his enemy.Now frenzied Clytemnestra snatches upA two-edged battle-ax; and, as the priest,Before he smites the sacrificial bull,Marks well the spot and meditates his aim:So she her impious weapon balances.900He has the blow. 'Tis done. The severed headHangs loosely down, and floods the trunk with gore.Nor do they even yet their weapons stay:The base-born wretch hacks at the lifeless corpse,While she, his mate, pursues her bloody task.905So each responds to each in infamy.Thyestes' son in very truth is he,While she to Helen proves her sisterhood.The sun stands doubtful on the edge of day;Shall he go on or backward bend his way?[Remains beside the altar.][EnterElectra,leading her little brother, Orestes.]Electra:Flee, sole avenger of my father's death,910Oh, flee, and shun these impious butchers' hands.Our royal house is utterly o'erthrown,Our kingdom gone.But see, a stranger comes,His horses driven to their utmost speed;Come, brother, hide thyself beneath my robe.But, O my foolish heart, whom dost thou fear?915A stranger? Nay, thy foes are here at home.Put off thy fears, for close at hand I seeThe timely shelter of a faithful friend.[EnterStrophiusin a chariot, accompanied by his sonPylades.]
FOOTNOTES:[51]The line arrangement of Schroeder has been followed in this Chorus.
[51]The line arrangement of Schroeder has been followed in this Chorus.
[51]The line arrangement of Schroeder has been followed in this Chorus.
[EnterEurybateswith laurel-wreathed spear.]
Eurybates:Ye shrines and altars of the heavenly gods,Ye Lares of my fathers, after longAnd weary wanderings, scarce trusting yetMy longing eyes, I give ye grateful thanks.Pay now your vows which you have vowed to heaven,Ye Argive people; for behold, your king,395The pride and glory of this land of Greece,Back to his father's house as victor comes.
Eurybates:Ye shrines and altars of the heavenly gods,Ye Lares of my fathers, after longAnd weary wanderings, scarce trusting yetMy longing eyes, I give ye grateful thanks.Pay now your vows which you have vowed to heaven,Ye Argive people; for behold, your king,395The pride and glory of this land of Greece,Back to his father's house as victor comes.
Eurybates:Ye shrines and altars of the heavenly gods,
Ye Lares of my fathers, after long
And weary wanderings, scarce trusting yet
My longing eyes, I give ye grateful thanks.
Pay now your vows which you have vowed to heaven,
Ye Argive people; for behold, your king,395
The pride and glory of this land of Greece,
Back to his father's house as victor comes.
[EnterClytemnestrain time to hear the concluding words of the herald.]
Clytemnestra:Oh, joyful tidings that I long to hear!But where delays my lord, whom I with griefFor ten long years have waited? Doth the seaStill stay his course, or hath he gained the land?Eurybates:Unharmed, by glory crowned, increased in praise,400He hath set foot upon the long-sought shore.Clytemnestra:Then hail this day with joy, and thank the godsWho, though their favoring aid was late bestowed,At last have smiled propitious on our cause.But tell me thou, does yet my brother live?Say, too, how fares my sister Helena?405Eurybates:If prayer and hope prevail, they yet survive;No surer tidings is it given to speakOf those who wander on the stormy sea.Scarce had the swollen highways of the deepReceived our fleet, when ship from kindred shipWas driven, and lost amid the gathering gloom.E'en Agamemnon's self in doubt and fear410Went wandering upon the trackless waste,And suffered more from Neptune's buffetingsThan he had e'er endured in bloody war.And now, a humble victor, home he comes,With but a shattered remnant of his fleet.Clytemnestra:But say what fate has swallowed up my ships,And scattered our great chieftains o'er the sea?415Eurybates:A sorry tale 'twould be: thou bid'st me mixThe bitter message with the sweet. But I,Alas, am sick at heart, and cannot tellFor very horror our most woeful tale.Clytemnestra:But tell it even so; for he who shrinksFrom knowledge of his woe has greater fear.And ills half seen are worse than certainty.420Eurybates:When Troy lies smouldering 'neath our Grecian firesWe quickly lot the spoil, and seek the seaIn eager haste. And now our weary sidesAre easéd of the falchion's wonted load;Our shields along the vessels' lofty sternsUnheeded hang, and once again our hands,Long used to swords, are fitted to the oar;425And all impatiently we wait the word.Then flashed from Agamemnon's ship the signThat bade us homeward speed, and clear and loudThe trumpet pealed upon our joyful ears;The flagship's gilded prow gleamed on ahead,The course directing for a thousand ships.430A kindly breeze first stole into our sailsAnd urged us softly on; the tranquil wavesScarce rippled with the Zephyr's gentle breath;The sea was all a-glitter with the fleetWhich lit e'en while it hid the watery way.'Tis sweet to see the empty shores of Troy,435The broad plains left in lonely solitude.The eager sailors ply the bending oars,Hands aiding sails, and move their sturdy armsWith rhythmic swing. The furrowed waters gleam,And sing along the sides, while rushing prows440Besprinkle all the sea with hoary spray.When fresher breezes fill our swelling sails,We cease from toil, and, stretched along the thwarts,We watch the far-off shores of Ilium,Fast fleeing as our vessels seaward fare;445Or tell old tales of war: brave Hector's threats,His corpse dishonored, and again restoredTo purchased honors of the funeral pyre;And Priam sprinkling with his royal bloodThe sacred altar of Hercean Jove.Then to and fro amid the briny seaThe dolphins sport, and leap the heaving waves450With arching backs; now race in circles wide,Now swim beside us in a friendly band,Now dash ahead or follow in our wake;Anon in wanton sport they smite our prows,And so our thousand rushing barks surround.455Now sinks the shore from view, the spreading plains;And far-off Ida seems a misty cloud.And now, what but the sharpest eye can see,Troy's rising smoke blurs dim the distant sky.The sun was bringing weary mortals rest,460And waning day was giving place to night;When clouds began to fill the western sky,And dim the luster of the sinking sun—The grim prognostic of a rising gale.Young night had spangled all the sky with stars,465And empty sails hung languid on the masts;When low, foreboding sighings of the windSpring from our landward side; the hidden shoreResounds afar with warning mutterings;The rising waves anticipate the storm;470The moon is blotted out, the stars are hid,The sea leaps skyward, and the sky is gone.Gloom broods o'er all, but not of night alone;For blinding mists add blackness to the night,And murky waves with murky sky contend.Then in concerted rush from every handThe winds fall roughly on the ravished sea,And heave its boiling billows from the depths;475While east with west wind struggles, south with north.Each wields his wonted arms to lash the sea:The fierce Strymonian blast with rattling hailRoars on, and Libyan Auster heaps the wavesUpon the seething sands. Nor those alone480Provoke the strife: for raving Notus firstGrows big with bursting clouds and swells the waves;And boisterous Eurus shakes the Orient,The far Arabian realms and morning seas.What dire disaster did fierce Corus work,His dark face gleaming forth upon the deep?We thought the very heavens would be rent,485The gods fall down from out the riven sky,And all revert to chaos as of old.The waves opposed the winds, the winds in turnHurled back the warring waves. Nor was the seaWithin itself contained; but, lifted high,It mingled with the streaming floods of heaven.490Nor were we solaced in our dreadful plightBy open view and knowledge of our ills;For darkness like the murky night of StyxHedged in our view. Yet was this darkness rent,When flashing lightnings cleft the inky clouds495With crashing bolts. Yet e'en this fearful gleamWas welcome to our eyes: so sweet it isTo those in evil plight to see their ills.The fleet assists its own destruction, too,Prow dashing hard on prow, and side on side;Now sinks it headlong in the yawning flood,And now, belched forth, it sees the air again.500One plunges down, of its own weight compelled;Another, through its gaping side, invitesDestruction from the raging floods; a thirdIs smothered by the tenth and mightiest wave.Here idly floats a mangled, shattered thing,Of all its boastful decoration shorn;And there a ship sans sails and oars and all.No lofty mast with hanging spars remains,505But, helpless hulks, the shattered vessels driftUpon the boundless sea. Amid such ills,Of what avail the hardy sailor's art?Cold horror holds our limbs. The sailors standIn dumb amaze, and all their tasks forget;While all, in abject terror, drop their oars,And turn their wretched souls to heaven for aid.510Now (marvel of the fates!) with common vowsThe Greeks and Trojans supplicate the skies.Now Pyrrhus envies great Achilles' fate;Ulysses, Ajax'; Menelaüs, Hector's;And Priam seems to Agamemnon blest:Yea all who perished on the plains of Troy,Whose lot it was to die by human hand,Are counted blest of heaven, secure in fame,515For they rest safely in the land they won."Shall winds and waves engulf in common fateThe faint of heart who nothing noble dare,And those brave souls who quit themselves like men?Must we for naught resign ourselves to death?O thou of gods who art not even yetWith these our evil fortunes satisfied,520At last have pity on our woeful plight,Which Ilium itself would weep to see.If still thine anger holds, and 'tis decreedThat we of Greece must perish utterly,Why doom these Trojans, for whose sake we die,To share our fate? Allay the raging sea:525For this our fleet bears Greeks and Trojans too."So prayed we, but in vain; our suppliant wordsWere swallowed by the raging storm. And lo,Another shape of death! For Pallas, armedWith those swift bolts her angry father wields,Essays what ruin dire her threatening spear,Her aegis set with stony Gorgon's head,530And these her father's thunderbolts, can work.Unconquered by his ills, with daring soul,Bold Ajax struggles on. Him, shortening sailWith halyards strained, a falling thunderboltSmote full; again the goddess poised her bolt535With hand far backward drawn, like Jove himself,And hurled it true with shock impetuous.Straight fell the bolt, and, piercing man and ship,It strewed them both in ruin on the sea.Still undismayed, he overtops the waves,All charred and blasted like some rugged cliff,540And bravely breasts the wildly raging sea.Still gleaming with the lightning's lurid glare,He shines amid the blackness like a torchWhich sheds its beams afar upon the deep.At length a jutting rock he gains, and shoutsIn madness: "Now have I o'ercome the sea,545The flames; 'tis sweet to conquer sky, and waves,The thunderbolts, and her who brandished them.I've braved the terrors of the god of war;With my sole arm I fronted Hector, huge,Nor did the darts of Phoebus frighten me.Those gods, together with their Phrygians,550I set at naught; and shall I quake at thee?Thou hurl'st with weakling's hand another's bolts:But what if Jove himself—"When madly thus he dared blaspheme the gods,Great Neptune with his trident smote the rock,And whelmed its tottering bulk beneath the sea.555So, falling with its fall, the madman liesBy earth and fire and billows overcome.But us, poor shipwrecked, hopeless mariners,A worse destruction waits. There is a reef,Low lying, treacherous with ragged shoals,Where false Caphereus hides his rocky footBeneath the whirling waters of the sea.560Above this reef the billows heave and dash,And madly seethe with each recurring wave.High o'er this spot a frowning crag projects,Which views on either side the spreading sea.There distant lie thine own Pelopian shores,And there the curving Isthmus, deep withdrawn,Shielding the broad Aegean from the west.565There blood-stained Lemnos looms; here Chalcis[52]lies;And yonder wind-locked Aulis' peaceful port.This lofty cliff old Nauplius occupied,With hate inspired for Palamedes' sake.There his accurséd hand a beacon raisedAnd lured us onward to the fatal spot.570Now hang our barks by jagged rocks transfixed,Or founder, wrecked and wrecking in the shoals;And where but now our vessels sought to land,They flee the land and choose the angry waves.575With dawn the sea's destructive rage was spent,And full atonement had been made to Troy.Then came the sun again; and brightening dayRevealed the awful havoc of the night.Clytemnestra:I know not which were better, grief or joy.I do rejoice to see my lord again,580And yet my kingdom's losses counsel tears.O father Jove, at whose august commandThe sounding heavens quake, regard our race,And bid the angry gods be merciful.Let every head be decked with festal wreath,The flute resound, and at the stately shrineLet snowy victims fall in sacrifice.585But lo, a grieving throng, with locks unkempt,The Trojan women come; and at their head,With step majestic, queenly, heaven inspired,Apollo's bride, with his own laurel tired.
Clytemnestra:Oh, joyful tidings that I long to hear!But where delays my lord, whom I with griefFor ten long years have waited? Doth the seaStill stay his course, or hath he gained the land?
Clytemnestra:Oh, joyful tidings that I long to hear!
But where delays my lord, whom I with grief
For ten long years have waited? Doth the sea
Still stay his course, or hath he gained the land?
Eurybates:Unharmed, by glory crowned, increased in praise,400He hath set foot upon the long-sought shore.
Eurybates:Unharmed, by glory crowned, increased in praise,400
He hath set foot upon the long-sought shore.
Clytemnestra:Then hail this day with joy, and thank the godsWho, though their favoring aid was late bestowed,At last have smiled propitious on our cause.But tell me thou, does yet my brother live?Say, too, how fares my sister Helena?405
Clytemnestra:Then hail this day with joy, and thank the gods
Who, though their favoring aid was late bestowed,
At last have smiled propitious on our cause.
But tell me thou, does yet my brother live?
Say, too, how fares my sister Helena?405
Eurybates:If prayer and hope prevail, they yet survive;No surer tidings is it given to speakOf those who wander on the stormy sea.Scarce had the swollen highways of the deepReceived our fleet, when ship from kindred shipWas driven, and lost amid the gathering gloom.E'en Agamemnon's self in doubt and fear410Went wandering upon the trackless waste,And suffered more from Neptune's buffetingsThan he had e'er endured in bloody war.And now, a humble victor, home he comes,With but a shattered remnant of his fleet.
Eurybates:If prayer and hope prevail, they yet survive;
No surer tidings is it given to speak
Of those who wander on the stormy sea.
Scarce had the swollen highways of the deep
Received our fleet, when ship from kindred ship
Was driven, and lost amid the gathering gloom.
E'en Agamemnon's self in doubt and fear410
Went wandering upon the trackless waste,
And suffered more from Neptune's buffetings
Than he had e'er endured in bloody war.
And now, a humble victor, home he comes,
With but a shattered remnant of his fleet.
Clytemnestra:But say what fate has swallowed up my ships,And scattered our great chieftains o'er the sea?415
Clytemnestra:But say what fate has swallowed up my ships,
And scattered our great chieftains o'er the sea?415
Eurybates:A sorry tale 'twould be: thou bid'st me mixThe bitter message with the sweet. But I,Alas, am sick at heart, and cannot tellFor very horror our most woeful tale.
Eurybates:A sorry tale 'twould be: thou bid'st me mix
The bitter message with the sweet. But I,
Alas, am sick at heart, and cannot tell
For very horror our most woeful tale.
Clytemnestra:But tell it even so; for he who shrinksFrom knowledge of his woe has greater fear.And ills half seen are worse than certainty.420
Clytemnestra:But tell it even so; for he who shrinks
From knowledge of his woe has greater fear.
And ills half seen are worse than certainty.420
Eurybates:When Troy lies smouldering 'neath our Grecian firesWe quickly lot the spoil, and seek the seaIn eager haste. And now our weary sidesAre easéd of the falchion's wonted load;Our shields along the vessels' lofty sternsUnheeded hang, and once again our hands,Long used to swords, are fitted to the oar;425And all impatiently we wait the word.Then flashed from Agamemnon's ship the signThat bade us homeward speed, and clear and loudThe trumpet pealed upon our joyful ears;The flagship's gilded prow gleamed on ahead,The course directing for a thousand ships.430A kindly breeze first stole into our sailsAnd urged us softly on; the tranquil wavesScarce rippled with the Zephyr's gentle breath;The sea was all a-glitter with the fleetWhich lit e'en while it hid the watery way.'Tis sweet to see the empty shores of Troy,435The broad plains left in lonely solitude.The eager sailors ply the bending oars,Hands aiding sails, and move their sturdy armsWith rhythmic swing. The furrowed waters gleam,And sing along the sides, while rushing prows440Besprinkle all the sea with hoary spray.When fresher breezes fill our swelling sails,We cease from toil, and, stretched along the thwarts,We watch the far-off shores of Ilium,Fast fleeing as our vessels seaward fare;445Or tell old tales of war: brave Hector's threats,His corpse dishonored, and again restoredTo purchased honors of the funeral pyre;And Priam sprinkling with his royal bloodThe sacred altar of Hercean Jove.Then to and fro amid the briny seaThe dolphins sport, and leap the heaving waves450With arching backs; now race in circles wide,Now swim beside us in a friendly band,Now dash ahead or follow in our wake;Anon in wanton sport they smite our prows,And so our thousand rushing barks surround.455Now sinks the shore from view, the spreading plains;And far-off Ida seems a misty cloud.And now, what but the sharpest eye can see,Troy's rising smoke blurs dim the distant sky.The sun was bringing weary mortals rest,460And waning day was giving place to night;When clouds began to fill the western sky,And dim the luster of the sinking sun—The grim prognostic of a rising gale.Young night had spangled all the sky with stars,465And empty sails hung languid on the masts;When low, foreboding sighings of the windSpring from our landward side; the hidden shoreResounds afar with warning mutterings;The rising waves anticipate the storm;470The moon is blotted out, the stars are hid,The sea leaps skyward, and the sky is gone.Gloom broods o'er all, but not of night alone;For blinding mists add blackness to the night,And murky waves with murky sky contend.Then in concerted rush from every handThe winds fall roughly on the ravished sea,And heave its boiling billows from the depths;475While east with west wind struggles, south with north.Each wields his wonted arms to lash the sea:The fierce Strymonian blast with rattling hailRoars on, and Libyan Auster heaps the wavesUpon the seething sands. Nor those alone480Provoke the strife: for raving Notus firstGrows big with bursting clouds and swells the waves;And boisterous Eurus shakes the Orient,The far Arabian realms and morning seas.What dire disaster did fierce Corus work,His dark face gleaming forth upon the deep?We thought the very heavens would be rent,485The gods fall down from out the riven sky,And all revert to chaos as of old.The waves opposed the winds, the winds in turnHurled back the warring waves. Nor was the seaWithin itself contained; but, lifted high,It mingled with the streaming floods of heaven.490Nor were we solaced in our dreadful plightBy open view and knowledge of our ills;For darkness like the murky night of StyxHedged in our view. Yet was this darkness rent,When flashing lightnings cleft the inky clouds495With crashing bolts. Yet e'en this fearful gleamWas welcome to our eyes: so sweet it isTo those in evil plight to see their ills.The fleet assists its own destruction, too,Prow dashing hard on prow, and side on side;Now sinks it headlong in the yawning flood,And now, belched forth, it sees the air again.500One plunges down, of its own weight compelled;Another, through its gaping side, invitesDestruction from the raging floods; a thirdIs smothered by the tenth and mightiest wave.Here idly floats a mangled, shattered thing,Of all its boastful decoration shorn;And there a ship sans sails and oars and all.No lofty mast with hanging spars remains,505But, helpless hulks, the shattered vessels driftUpon the boundless sea. Amid such ills,Of what avail the hardy sailor's art?Cold horror holds our limbs. The sailors standIn dumb amaze, and all their tasks forget;While all, in abject terror, drop their oars,And turn their wretched souls to heaven for aid.510Now (marvel of the fates!) with common vowsThe Greeks and Trojans supplicate the skies.Now Pyrrhus envies great Achilles' fate;Ulysses, Ajax'; Menelaüs, Hector's;And Priam seems to Agamemnon blest:Yea all who perished on the plains of Troy,Whose lot it was to die by human hand,Are counted blest of heaven, secure in fame,515For they rest safely in the land they won."Shall winds and waves engulf in common fateThe faint of heart who nothing noble dare,And those brave souls who quit themselves like men?Must we for naught resign ourselves to death?O thou of gods who art not even yetWith these our evil fortunes satisfied,520At last have pity on our woeful plight,Which Ilium itself would weep to see.If still thine anger holds, and 'tis decreedThat we of Greece must perish utterly,Why doom these Trojans, for whose sake we die,To share our fate? Allay the raging sea:525For this our fleet bears Greeks and Trojans too."So prayed we, but in vain; our suppliant wordsWere swallowed by the raging storm. And lo,Another shape of death! For Pallas, armedWith those swift bolts her angry father wields,Essays what ruin dire her threatening spear,Her aegis set with stony Gorgon's head,530And these her father's thunderbolts, can work.Unconquered by his ills, with daring soul,Bold Ajax struggles on. Him, shortening sailWith halyards strained, a falling thunderboltSmote full; again the goddess poised her bolt535With hand far backward drawn, like Jove himself,And hurled it true with shock impetuous.Straight fell the bolt, and, piercing man and ship,It strewed them both in ruin on the sea.Still undismayed, he overtops the waves,All charred and blasted like some rugged cliff,540And bravely breasts the wildly raging sea.Still gleaming with the lightning's lurid glare,He shines amid the blackness like a torchWhich sheds its beams afar upon the deep.At length a jutting rock he gains, and shoutsIn madness: "Now have I o'ercome the sea,545The flames; 'tis sweet to conquer sky, and waves,The thunderbolts, and her who brandished them.I've braved the terrors of the god of war;With my sole arm I fronted Hector, huge,Nor did the darts of Phoebus frighten me.Those gods, together with their Phrygians,550I set at naught; and shall I quake at thee?Thou hurl'st with weakling's hand another's bolts:But what if Jove himself—"When madly thus he dared blaspheme the gods,Great Neptune with his trident smote the rock,And whelmed its tottering bulk beneath the sea.555So, falling with its fall, the madman liesBy earth and fire and billows overcome.But us, poor shipwrecked, hopeless mariners,A worse destruction waits. There is a reef,Low lying, treacherous with ragged shoals,Where false Caphereus hides his rocky footBeneath the whirling waters of the sea.560Above this reef the billows heave and dash,And madly seethe with each recurring wave.High o'er this spot a frowning crag projects,Which views on either side the spreading sea.There distant lie thine own Pelopian shores,And there the curving Isthmus, deep withdrawn,Shielding the broad Aegean from the west.565There blood-stained Lemnos looms; here Chalcis[52]lies;And yonder wind-locked Aulis' peaceful port.This lofty cliff old Nauplius occupied,With hate inspired for Palamedes' sake.There his accurséd hand a beacon raisedAnd lured us onward to the fatal spot.570Now hang our barks by jagged rocks transfixed,Or founder, wrecked and wrecking in the shoals;And where but now our vessels sought to land,They flee the land and choose the angry waves.575With dawn the sea's destructive rage was spent,And full atonement had been made to Troy.Then came the sun again; and brightening dayRevealed the awful havoc of the night.
Eurybates:When Troy lies smouldering 'neath our Grecian fires
We quickly lot the spoil, and seek the sea
In eager haste. And now our weary sides
Are easéd of the falchion's wonted load;
Our shields along the vessels' lofty sterns
Unheeded hang, and once again our hands,
Long used to swords, are fitted to the oar;425
And all impatiently we wait the word.
Then flashed from Agamemnon's ship the sign
That bade us homeward speed, and clear and loud
The trumpet pealed upon our joyful ears;
The flagship's gilded prow gleamed on ahead,
The course directing for a thousand ships.430
A kindly breeze first stole into our sails
And urged us softly on; the tranquil waves
Scarce rippled with the Zephyr's gentle breath;
The sea was all a-glitter with the fleet
Which lit e'en while it hid the watery way.
'Tis sweet to see the empty shores of Troy,435
The broad plains left in lonely solitude.
The eager sailors ply the bending oars,
Hands aiding sails, and move their sturdy arms
With rhythmic swing. The furrowed waters gleam,
And sing along the sides, while rushing prows440
Besprinkle all the sea with hoary spray.
When fresher breezes fill our swelling sails,
We cease from toil, and, stretched along the thwarts,
We watch the far-off shores of Ilium,
Fast fleeing as our vessels seaward fare;445
Or tell old tales of war: brave Hector's threats,
His corpse dishonored, and again restored
To purchased honors of the funeral pyre;
And Priam sprinkling with his royal blood
The sacred altar of Hercean Jove.
Then to and fro amid the briny sea
The dolphins sport, and leap the heaving waves450
With arching backs; now race in circles wide,
Now swim beside us in a friendly band,
Now dash ahead or follow in our wake;
Anon in wanton sport they smite our prows,
And so our thousand rushing barks surround.455
Now sinks the shore from view, the spreading plains;
And far-off Ida seems a misty cloud.
And now, what but the sharpest eye can see,
Troy's rising smoke blurs dim the distant sky.
The sun was bringing weary mortals rest,460
And waning day was giving place to night;
When clouds began to fill the western sky,
And dim the luster of the sinking sun—
The grim prognostic of a rising gale.
Young night had spangled all the sky with stars,465
And empty sails hung languid on the masts;
When low, foreboding sighings of the wind
Spring from our landward side; the hidden shore
Resounds afar with warning mutterings;
The rising waves anticipate the storm;470
The moon is blotted out, the stars are hid,
The sea leaps skyward, and the sky is gone.
Gloom broods o'er all, but not of night alone;
For blinding mists add blackness to the night,
And murky waves with murky sky contend.
Then in concerted rush from every hand
The winds fall roughly on the ravished sea,
And heave its boiling billows from the depths;475
While east with west wind struggles, south with north.
Each wields his wonted arms to lash the sea:
The fierce Strymonian blast with rattling hail
Roars on, and Libyan Auster heaps the waves
Upon the seething sands. Nor those alone480
Provoke the strife: for raving Notus first
Grows big with bursting clouds and swells the waves;
And boisterous Eurus shakes the Orient,
The far Arabian realms and morning seas.
What dire disaster did fierce Corus work,
His dark face gleaming forth upon the deep?
We thought the very heavens would be rent,485
The gods fall down from out the riven sky,
And all revert to chaos as of old.
The waves opposed the winds, the winds in turn
Hurled back the warring waves. Nor was the sea
Within itself contained; but, lifted high,
It mingled with the streaming floods of heaven.490
Nor were we solaced in our dreadful plight
By open view and knowledge of our ills;
For darkness like the murky night of Styx
Hedged in our view. Yet was this darkness rent,
When flashing lightnings cleft the inky clouds495
With crashing bolts. Yet e'en this fearful gleam
Was welcome to our eyes: so sweet it is
To those in evil plight to see their ills.
The fleet assists its own destruction, too,
Prow dashing hard on prow, and side on side;
Now sinks it headlong in the yawning flood,
And now, belched forth, it sees the air again.500
One plunges down, of its own weight compelled;
Another, through its gaping side, invites
Destruction from the raging floods; a third
Is smothered by the tenth and mightiest wave.
Here idly floats a mangled, shattered thing,
Of all its boastful decoration shorn;
And there a ship sans sails and oars and all.
No lofty mast with hanging spars remains,505
But, helpless hulks, the shattered vessels drift
Upon the boundless sea. Amid such ills,
Of what avail the hardy sailor's art?
Cold horror holds our limbs. The sailors stand
In dumb amaze, and all their tasks forget;
While all, in abject terror, drop their oars,
And turn their wretched souls to heaven for aid.510
Now (marvel of the fates!) with common vows
The Greeks and Trojans supplicate the skies.
Now Pyrrhus envies great Achilles' fate;
Ulysses, Ajax'; Menelaüs, Hector's;
And Priam seems to Agamemnon blest:
Yea all who perished on the plains of Troy,
Whose lot it was to die by human hand,
Are counted blest of heaven, secure in fame,515
For they rest safely in the land they won.
"Shall winds and waves engulf in common fate
The faint of heart who nothing noble dare,
And those brave souls who quit themselves like men?
Must we for naught resign ourselves to death?
O thou of gods who art not even yet
With these our evil fortunes satisfied,520
At last have pity on our woeful plight,
Which Ilium itself would weep to see.
If still thine anger holds, and 'tis decreed
That we of Greece must perish utterly,
Why doom these Trojans, for whose sake we die,
To share our fate? Allay the raging sea:525
For this our fleet bears Greeks and Trojans too."
So prayed we, but in vain; our suppliant words
Were swallowed by the raging storm. And lo,
Another shape of death! For Pallas, armed
With those swift bolts her angry father wields,
Essays what ruin dire her threatening spear,
Her aegis set with stony Gorgon's head,530
And these her father's thunderbolts, can work.
Unconquered by his ills, with daring soul,
Bold Ajax struggles on. Him, shortening sail
With halyards strained, a falling thunderbolt
Smote full; again the goddess poised her bolt535
With hand far backward drawn, like Jove himself,
And hurled it true with shock impetuous.
Straight fell the bolt, and, piercing man and ship,
It strewed them both in ruin on the sea.
Still undismayed, he overtops the waves,
All charred and blasted like some rugged cliff,540
And bravely breasts the wildly raging sea.
Still gleaming with the lightning's lurid glare,
He shines amid the blackness like a torch
Which sheds its beams afar upon the deep.
At length a jutting rock he gains, and shouts
In madness: "Now have I o'ercome the sea,545
The flames; 'tis sweet to conquer sky, and waves,
The thunderbolts, and her who brandished them.
I've braved the terrors of the god of war;
With my sole arm I fronted Hector, huge,
Nor did the darts of Phoebus frighten me.
Those gods, together with their Phrygians,550
I set at naught; and shall I quake at thee?
Thou hurl'st with weakling's hand another's bolts:
But what if Jove himself—"
When madly thus he dared blaspheme the gods,
Great Neptune with his trident smote the rock,
And whelmed its tottering bulk beneath the sea.555
So, falling with its fall, the madman lies
By earth and fire and billows overcome.
But us, poor shipwrecked, hopeless mariners,
A worse destruction waits. There is a reef,
Low lying, treacherous with ragged shoals,
Where false Caphereus hides his rocky foot
Beneath the whirling waters of the sea.560
Above this reef the billows heave and dash,
And madly seethe with each recurring wave.
High o'er this spot a frowning crag projects,
Which views on either side the spreading sea.
There distant lie thine own Pelopian shores,
And there the curving Isthmus, deep withdrawn,
Shielding the broad Aegean from the west.565
There blood-stained Lemnos looms; here Chalcis[52]lies;
And yonder wind-locked Aulis' peaceful port.
This lofty cliff old Nauplius occupied,
With hate inspired for Palamedes' sake.
There his accurséd hand a beacon raised
And lured us onward to the fatal spot.570
Now hang our barks by jagged rocks transfixed,
Or founder, wrecked and wrecking in the shoals;
And where but now our vessels sought to land,
They flee the land and choose the angry waves.575
With dawn the sea's destructive rage was spent,
And full atonement had been made to Troy.
Then came the sun again; and brightening day
Revealed the awful havoc of the night.
Clytemnestra:I know not which were better, grief or joy.I do rejoice to see my lord again,580And yet my kingdom's losses counsel tears.O father Jove, at whose august commandThe sounding heavens quake, regard our race,And bid the angry gods be merciful.Let every head be decked with festal wreath,The flute resound, and at the stately shrineLet snowy victims fall in sacrifice.585But lo, a grieving throng, with locks unkempt,The Trojan women come; and at their head,With step majestic, queenly, heaven inspired,Apollo's bride, with his own laurel tired.
Clytemnestra:I know not which were better, grief or joy.
I do rejoice to see my lord again,580
And yet my kingdom's losses counsel tears.
O father Jove, at whose august command
The sounding heavens quake, regard our race,
And bid the angry gods be merciful.
Let every head be decked with festal wreath,
The flute resound, and at the stately shrine
Let snowy victims fall in sacrifice.585
But lo, a grieving throng, with locks unkempt,
The Trojan women come; and at their head,
With step majestic, queenly, heaven inspired,
Apollo's bride, with his own laurel tired.
[Enter band ofTrojan women,led byCassandra.]
Band of Trojan women:Alas, how bitter, yet how sweet a thing,This love of life we mortals cherish so!What madness, when the door stands open wide590That frees us from our ills, and death calls loudAnd welcomes us to everlasting rest!Who finds that refuge, fears no moreThese nameless terrors, these assaults,These insolent assaults of fate,And sidelong-glancing bolts of Jove.595Deep peace of death!No frenzied burgher-throng to fear,No victor's threatening madness here;No wild seas ruffled by the blast;No hosts in serried battle massed,Where whirling clouds of dust disclose600The savage riders to their foes;No nation falling with its city's fall,'Mid smouldering battlement and crumbling wall;No wasting fires,No burning pyres,And all the horrors impious war inspires.They from the servile bonds of fate605This human life emancipate,Who fickle fortune dare to brave,And face the terrors of the grave;Who joyful view the joyless Styx,And dare their mortal span to fix.How like a king, how like a god on highIs he who faces death nor fears to die!610In one dark night we saw our city doomed,When Doric fires the Dardan homes consumed;But not in battle, not by warlike arts,As once it fell beneath Alcides' darts.No son of Thetis dealt the blow615Which wrought our final overthrow,Nor his loved friend, Patroclus hight,When once, in borrowed armor dight,He put our Trojan chiefs to flight;Nor when Pelides' self gave o'er620The fierce resentment that he bore,And sped him forth on vengeance bent—Not even in such evils pent,Did Troy to cruel fortune bend,But struggled bravely to the end.Her bitter fate—for ten long years to stand,And fall at last by one vile trickster's hand.625In memory still we see the monstrous bulkOf that pretended and most fatal gift,The Grecian horse, which we, too credulous,With our own hands into our city led.The noisy-footed monster stumbled oft630Upon the threshold of the city gate,While in its roomy hold crouched kings and war.And we might well have turned their crafty artsTo work their own destruction. But alas,We neither saw nor heeded. OftentimesThe sound of clashing shields smote on our ears,And low and angry mutterings within635Where Pyrrhus 'gainst the shrewd Ulysses strove.Now free from fear our Trojan youthCrowd round to touch the sacred cordsWith joyous hands. AstyanaxHere leads his youthful playmates on,While 'midst the maidens gaily comesThe maid Polyxena, foredoomedTo bleed upon Achilles' tomb.640Mothers in festal garments bringTheir votive offerings to the gods,And sires press gaily round the shrines.645Throughout the town all faces tellOne tale of joy; e'en Hecuba,Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre,Had never ceased her tears, was glad.But now, unhappy grief, what first,What last, dost thou prepare to weep?650Our city walls in ruin laid,Though built by heavenly hands? our shrinesUpon their very gods consumed?Nay, nay; long since our weary eyesHave dried their tears for these. But nowWe weep, O father, king, for thee.655We saw, with our own eyes we saw,The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand,Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand.Cassandra:Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits,Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine.660Let each bewail her several woes; but IFor my own heavy grief have tears enough.Band:Yet 'tis a balm of grief to knowThat our own tears with others' flow;More sharply gnaws the hidden care665Which we with others may not share:And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief,Canst not in thine own weeping find relief.Though Philomel for Itys sing670Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring;Though Procne, with insistent din,Bewail her husband's hidden sin;675Not these, with all their passionate lament,Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent.Let Cycnus raise his dying song,And its soft, plaintive strains prolong;Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave,680A-flutter o'er the tossing wave;Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele685Their tears for Attis share with thee:Still would our tears in no such measure flow,690For sufferings like these no limits know.[Cassandralays aside her fillets.]But why dost lay aside the sacred wool?Most by the wretched should the gods be feared.Cassandra:But ills like mine o'erleap the bounds of fear.695I'll supplicate the heavenly gods no more,For now am I beyond their power to harm,And I have drained to dregs the cup of fate.No country have I left, no sister, sire;For tombs and altars have my blood consumed.700Where is that happy throng of brothers now?Departed all! And only weak old menRemain within the lonely palace wallsTo serve the wretched king; and these, alas,Throughout those stately chambered halls behold,Save Spartan Helen, none but widowed wives.And Hecuba, proud mother of a race705Of kings, herself the queen of Phrygia,Fecund for funeral pyres, became the mockOf fickle fate; and now in bestial form,Barks madly round the ruins of her home,Surviving Troy, son, husband, and herself.Band:Why falls this sudden silence on her? See710Her cheeks are pale, and fits of trembling fearPossess her frame; her locks in horror rise,And we can hear, though pent within her breast,The loud pulsations of her fluttering heart.Her glance uncertain wanders; and anonHer eyes seem backward turned into herself,715Then fix again and harshly stare abroad.Now higher than her wont she lifts her headAnd walks with stately step; and now she strivesTo open her reluctant lips. At last,Though struggling still against th' inspiring god,The maddened priestess speaks with muttered words.Cassandra:Why prick me on with fury's goads anew,720Ye sacred slopes of high Parnassus? WhyMust I, insensate, prophesy afresh?Away, thou prophet god! I am not thine.Subdue the fires that smoulder in my breast.Whose doom yet waits my frenzied prophecy?Now Troy is fallen—must I still rave on,725And speak unheeded words? Oh, where am I?The kindly light has fled, and deepest nightEnshrouds my face, and all the heavens lie wrappedIn deepest gloom. But see, with double sun,The day shines forth again; and doubled homesIn doubled Argos seem to stand. AgainI see Mount Ida's groves. The shepherd sits730Amid those awful goddesses to judge(Oh, fatal judgment!) twixt their rival charms.Ye mighty kings, I warn ye, fear the fruitOf stolen love; that rustic foundling soonShall overthrow your house.Beware the queen!Why does she madly in her woman's handThose naked weapons bear? Whom does she seek735With brandished battle-ax, though Spartan bred,Like some fierce warrior of the Amazons?What horrid vision next affronts mine eyes?A mighty Afric lion, king of beasts,Lies low, death-smitten by his cruel mate;While at his mangled[53]neck a low-born beast740Gnaws greedily.Why do ye summon me,Saved only of my house, ye kindred shades?I'll follow thee, my father, buried[54]deepBeneath the stones of Troy; and thee, O propOf Phrygia, the terror of the Greeks,I see, though not in brave and fair array,As once thou cam'st, still flushing with the glow745Of burning ships; but with thy members tornAnd foully mangled by the dragging thongs.And thee, O Troïlus, I follow too,Alas, too quickly met with Peleus' son!I see thy face, my poor Deïphobus,Past recognition scarred. Is this the giftOf thy new wife?750Ah me, 'tis sweet to goAlong the borders of the Stygian pool;To see the savage hound of Tartarus,The realms of greedy Dis, and Charon old,Whose dusky skiff shall bear two royal soulsAcross the murky Phlegethon today,The vanquished and the vanquisher. Ye shades,And thee, dread stream, by which the gods of heaven755Do swear their straightest oaths, I pray ye both:Withdraw the curtain of your hidden realm,That so yon shadowy throng of PhrygiansMay look upon Mycenae's woes. Behold,Poor souls; the wheel of fortune backward turns.See, see! the squalid sisters come,760Their bloody lashes brandishing,And smoking torches half consumed.A sickly pallor overspreadsTheir bloated cheeks; and dusky robesOf death begird their hollow loins.The gloomy night with fearsome cries765Resounds, and to my startled eyesDread sights appear: there lie the bonesOf that huge giant, far outstretched,Upon a slimy marsh's brinkAll white and rotting. Now I seeThat old man, wan with suffering,Forget awhile the mocking waves,770Forget his burning thirst, to grieveFor this disaster hoveringAbout his house;But Dardanus exults to seeHis foeman's baleful destiny.Band:Now has her rage prophetic spent itself,775And fall'n away; like some devoted bull,Which sinks with tottering knees before the shrineBeneath the sacrificial axe's stroke.Let us support her ere she faint and fall.But see, our Agamemnon comes at lastTo greet his gods, with bay of victory crowned;And, all in festal garb, with glad accord,780His consort welcomes her returning lord.
Band of Trojan women:Alas, how bitter, yet how sweet a thing,This love of life we mortals cherish so!What madness, when the door stands open wide590That frees us from our ills, and death calls loudAnd welcomes us to everlasting rest!Who finds that refuge, fears no moreThese nameless terrors, these assaults,These insolent assaults of fate,And sidelong-glancing bolts of Jove.595Deep peace of death!No frenzied burgher-throng to fear,No victor's threatening madness here;No wild seas ruffled by the blast;No hosts in serried battle massed,Where whirling clouds of dust disclose600The savage riders to their foes;No nation falling with its city's fall,'Mid smouldering battlement and crumbling wall;No wasting fires,No burning pyres,And all the horrors impious war inspires.They from the servile bonds of fate605This human life emancipate,Who fickle fortune dare to brave,And face the terrors of the grave;Who joyful view the joyless Styx,And dare their mortal span to fix.How like a king, how like a god on highIs he who faces death nor fears to die!610In one dark night we saw our city doomed,When Doric fires the Dardan homes consumed;But not in battle, not by warlike arts,As once it fell beneath Alcides' darts.No son of Thetis dealt the blow615Which wrought our final overthrow,Nor his loved friend, Patroclus hight,When once, in borrowed armor dight,He put our Trojan chiefs to flight;Nor when Pelides' self gave o'er620The fierce resentment that he bore,And sped him forth on vengeance bent—Not even in such evils pent,Did Troy to cruel fortune bend,But struggled bravely to the end.Her bitter fate—for ten long years to stand,And fall at last by one vile trickster's hand.625In memory still we see the monstrous bulkOf that pretended and most fatal gift,The Grecian horse, which we, too credulous,With our own hands into our city led.The noisy-footed monster stumbled oft630Upon the threshold of the city gate,While in its roomy hold crouched kings and war.And we might well have turned their crafty artsTo work their own destruction. But alas,We neither saw nor heeded. OftentimesThe sound of clashing shields smote on our ears,And low and angry mutterings within635Where Pyrrhus 'gainst the shrewd Ulysses strove.Now free from fear our Trojan youthCrowd round to touch the sacred cordsWith joyous hands. AstyanaxHere leads his youthful playmates on,While 'midst the maidens gaily comesThe maid Polyxena, foredoomedTo bleed upon Achilles' tomb.640Mothers in festal garments bringTheir votive offerings to the gods,And sires press gaily round the shrines.645Throughout the town all faces tellOne tale of joy; e'en Hecuba,Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre,Had never ceased her tears, was glad.But now, unhappy grief, what first,What last, dost thou prepare to weep?650Our city walls in ruin laid,Though built by heavenly hands? our shrinesUpon their very gods consumed?Nay, nay; long since our weary eyesHave dried their tears for these. But nowWe weep, O father, king, for thee.655We saw, with our own eyes we saw,The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand,Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand.
Band of Trojan women:Alas, how bitter, yet how sweet a thing,
This love of life we mortals cherish so!
What madness, when the door stands open wide590
That frees us from our ills, and death calls loud
And welcomes us to everlasting rest!
Who finds that refuge, fears no more
These nameless terrors, these assaults,
These insolent assaults of fate,
And sidelong-glancing bolts of Jove.595
Deep peace of death!
No frenzied burgher-throng to fear,
No victor's threatening madness here;
No wild seas ruffled by the blast;
No hosts in serried battle massed,
Where whirling clouds of dust disclose600
The savage riders to their foes;
No nation falling with its city's fall,
'Mid smouldering battlement and crumbling wall;
No wasting fires,
No burning pyres,
And all the horrors impious war inspires.
They from the servile bonds of fate605
This human life emancipate,
Who fickle fortune dare to brave,
And face the terrors of the grave;
Who joyful view the joyless Styx,
And dare their mortal span to fix.
How like a king, how like a god on high
Is he who faces death nor fears to die!610
In one dark night we saw our city doomed,
When Doric fires the Dardan homes consumed;
But not in battle, not by warlike arts,
As once it fell beneath Alcides' darts.
No son of Thetis dealt the blow615
Which wrought our final overthrow,
Nor his loved friend, Patroclus hight,
When once, in borrowed armor dight,
He put our Trojan chiefs to flight;
Nor when Pelides' self gave o'er620
The fierce resentment that he bore,
And sped him forth on vengeance bent—
Not even in such evils pent,
Did Troy to cruel fortune bend,
But struggled bravely to the end.
Her bitter fate—for ten long years to stand,
And fall at last by one vile trickster's hand.625
In memory still we see the monstrous bulk
Of that pretended and most fatal gift,
The Grecian horse, which we, too credulous,
With our own hands into our city led.
The noisy-footed monster stumbled oft630
Upon the threshold of the city gate,
While in its roomy hold crouched kings and war.
And we might well have turned their crafty arts
To work their own destruction. But alas,
We neither saw nor heeded. Oftentimes
The sound of clashing shields smote on our ears,
And low and angry mutterings within635
Where Pyrrhus 'gainst the shrewd Ulysses strove.
Now free from fear our Trojan youth
Crowd round to touch the sacred cords
With joyous hands. Astyanax
Here leads his youthful playmates on,
While 'midst the maidens gaily comes
The maid Polyxena, foredoomed
To bleed upon Achilles' tomb.640
Mothers in festal garments bring
Their votive offerings to the gods,
And sires press gaily round the shrines.645
Throughout the town all faces tell
One tale of joy; e'en Hecuba,
Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre,
Had never ceased her tears, was glad.
But now, unhappy grief, what first,
What last, dost thou prepare to weep?650
Our city walls in ruin laid,
Though built by heavenly hands? our shrines
Upon their very gods consumed?
Nay, nay; long since our weary eyes
Have dried their tears for these. But now
We weep, O father, king, for thee.655
We saw, with our own eyes we saw,
The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand,
Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand.
Cassandra:Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits,Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine.660Let each bewail her several woes; but IFor my own heavy grief have tears enough.
Cassandra:Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits,
Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine.660
Let each bewail her several woes; but I
For my own heavy grief have tears enough.
Band:Yet 'tis a balm of grief to knowThat our own tears with others' flow;More sharply gnaws the hidden care665Which we with others may not share:And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief,Canst not in thine own weeping find relief.Though Philomel for Itys sing670Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring;Though Procne, with insistent din,Bewail her husband's hidden sin;675Not these, with all their passionate lament,Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent.Let Cycnus raise his dying song,And its soft, plaintive strains prolong;Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave,680A-flutter o'er the tossing wave;Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele685Their tears for Attis share with thee:Still would our tears in no such measure flow,690For sufferings like these no limits know.[Cassandralays aside her fillets.]But why dost lay aside the sacred wool?Most by the wretched should the gods be feared.
Band:Yet 'tis a balm of grief to know
That our own tears with others' flow;
More sharply gnaws the hidden care665
Which we with others may not share:
And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief,
Canst not in thine own weeping find relief.
Though Philomel for Itys sing670
Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring;
Though Procne, with insistent din,
Bewail her husband's hidden sin;675
Not these, with all their passionate lament,
Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent.
Let Cycnus raise his dying song,
And its soft, plaintive strains prolong;
Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave,680
A-flutter o'er the tossing wave;
Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele685
Their tears for Attis share with thee:
Still would our tears in no such measure flow,690
For sufferings like these no limits know.
[Cassandralays aside her fillets.]
But why dost lay aside the sacred wool?
Most by the wretched should the gods be feared.
Cassandra:But ills like mine o'erleap the bounds of fear.695I'll supplicate the heavenly gods no more,For now am I beyond their power to harm,And I have drained to dregs the cup of fate.No country have I left, no sister, sire;For tombs and altars have my blood consumed.700Where is that happy throng of brothers now?Departed all! And only weak old menRemain within the lonely palace wallsTo serve the wretched king; and these, alas,Throughout those stately chambered halls behold,Save Spartan Helen, none but widowed wives.And Hecuba, proud mother of a race705Of kings, herself the queen of Phrygia,Fecund for funeral pyres, became the mockOf fickle fate; and now in bestial form,Barks madly round the ruins of her home,Surviving Troy, son, husband, and herself.
Cassandra:But ills like mine o'erleap the bounds of fear.695
I'll supplicate the heavenly gods no more,
For now am I beyond their power to harm,
And I have drained to dregs the cup of fate.
No country have I left, no sister, sire;
For tombs and altars have my blood consumed.700
Where is that happy throng of brothers now?
Departed all! And only weak old men
Remain within the lonely palace walls
To serve the wretched king; and these, alas,
Throughout those stately chambered halls behold,
Save Spartan Helen, none but widowed wives.
And Hecuba, proud mother of a race705
Of kings, herself the queen of Phrygia,
Fecund for funeral pyres, became the mock
Of fickle fate; and now in bestial form,
Barks madly round the ruins of her home,
Surviving Troy, son, husband, and herself.
Band:Why falls this sudden silence on her? See710Her cheeks are pale, and fits of trembling fearPossess her frame; her locks in horror rise,And we can hear, though pent within her breast,The loud pulsations of her fluttering heart.Her glance uncertain wanders; and anonHer eyes seem backward turned into herself,715Then fix again and harshly stare abroad.Now higher than her wont she lifts her headAnd walks with stately step; and now she strivesTo open her reluctant lips. At last,Though struggling still against th' inspiring god,The maddened priestess speaks with muttered words.
Band:Why falls this sudden silence on her? See710
Her cheeks are pale, and fits of trembling fear
Possess her frame; her locks in horror rise,
And we can hear, though pent within her breast,
The loud pulsations of her fluttering heart.
Her glance uncertain wanders; and anon
Her eyes seem backward turned into herself,715
Then fix again and harshly stare abroad.
Now higher than her wont she lifts her head
And walks with stately step; and now she strives
To open her reluctant lips. At last,
Though struggling still against th' inspiring god,
The maddened priestess speaks with muttered words.
Cassandra:Why prick me on with fury's goads anew,720Ye sacred slopes of high Parnassus? WhyMust I, insensate, prophesy afresh?Away, thou prophet god! I am not thine.Subdue the fires that smoulder in my breast.Whose doom yet waits my frenzied prophecy?Now Troy is fallen—must I still rave on,725And speak unheeded words? Oh, where am I?The kindly light has fled, and deepest nightEnshrouds my face, and all the heavens lie wrappedIn deepest gloom. But see, with double sun,The day shines forth again; and doubled homesIn doubled Argos seem to stand. AgainI see Mount Ida's groves. The shepherd sits730Amid those awful goddesses to judge(Oh, fatal judgment!) twixt their rival charms.Ye mighty kings, I warn ye, fear the fruitOf stolen love; that rustic foundling soonShall overthrow your house.Beware the queen!Why does she madly in her woman's handThose naked weapons bear? Whom does she seek735With brandished battle-ax, though Spartan bred,Like some fierce warrior of the Amazons?What horrid vision next affronts mine eyes?A mighty Afric lion, king of beasts,Lies low, death-smitten by his cruel mate;While at his mangled[53]neck a low-born beast740Gnaws greedily.Why do ye summon me,Saved only of my house, ye kindred shades?I'll follow thee, my father, buried[54]deepBeneath the stones of Troy; and thee, O propOf Phrygia, the terror of the Greeks,I see, though not in brave and fair array,As once thou cam'st, still flushing with the glow745Of burning ships; but with thy members tornAnd foully mangled by the dragging thongs.And thee, O Troïlus, I follow too,Alas, too quickly met with Peleus' son!I see thy face, my poor Deïphobus,Past recognition scarred. Is this the giftOf thy new wife?750Ah me, 'tis sweet to goAlong the borders of the Stygian pool;To see the savage hound of Tartarus,The realms of greedy Dis, and Charon old,Whose dusky skiff shall bear two royal soulsAcross the murky Phlegethon today,The vanquished and the vanquisher. Ye shades,And thee, dread stream, by which the gods of heaven755Do swear their straightest oaths, I pray ye both:Withdraw the curtain of your hidden realm,That so yon shadowy throng of PhrygiansMay look upon Mycenae's woes. Behold,Poor souls; the wheel of fortune backward turns.See, see! the squalid sisters come,760Their bloody lashes brandishing,And smoking torches half consumed.A sickly pallor overspreadsTheir bloated cheeks; and dusky robesOf death begird their hollow loins.The gloomy night with fearsome cries765Resounds, and to my startled eyesDread sights appear: there lie the bonesOf that huge giant, far outstretched,Upon a slimy marsh's brinkAll white and rotting. Now I seeThat old man, wan with suffering,Forget awhile the mocking waves,770Forget his burning thirst, to grieveFor this disaster hoveringAbout his house;But Dardanus exults to seeHis foeman's baleful destiny.
Cassandra:Why prick me on with fury's goads anew,720
Ye sacred slopes of high Parnassus? Why
Must I, insensate, prophesy afresh?
Away, thou prophet god! I am not thine.
Subdue the fires that smoulder in my breast.
Whose doom yet waits my frenzied prophecy?
Now Troy is fallen—must I still rave on,725
And speak unheeded words? Oh, where am I?
The kindly light has fled, and deepest night
Enshrouds my face, and all the heavens lie wrapped
In deepest gloom. But see, with double sun,
The day shines forth again; and doubled homes
In doubled Argos seem to stand. Again
I see Mount Ida's groves. The shepherd sits730
Amid those awful goddesses to judge
(Oh, fatal judgment!) twixt their rival charms.
Ye mighty kings, I warn ye, fear the fruit
Of stolen love; that rustic foundling soon
Shall overthrow your house.
Beware the queen!
Why does she madly in her woman's hand
Those naked weapons bear? Whom does she seek735
With brandished battle-ax, though Spartan bred,
Like some fierce warrior of the Amazons?
What horrid vision next affronts mine eyes?
A mighty Afric lion, king of beasts,
Lies low, death-smitten by his cruel mate;
While at his mangled[53]neck a low-born beast740
Gnaws greedily.
Why do ye summon me,
Saved only of my house, ye kindred shades?
I'll follow thee, my father, buried[54]deep
Beneath the stones of Troy; and thee, O prop
Of Phrygia, the terror of the Greeks,
I see, though not in brave and fair array,
As once thou cam'st, still flushing with the glow745
Of burning ships; but with thy members torn
And foully mangled by the dragging thongs.
And thee, O Troïlus, I follow too,
Alas, too quickly met with Peleus' son!
I see thy face, my poor Deïphobus,
Past recognition scarred. Is this the gift
Of thy new wife?750
Ah me, 'tis sweet to go
Along the borders of the Stygian pool;
To see the savage hound of Tartarus,
The realms of greedy Dis, and Charon old,
Whose dusky skiff shall bear two royal souls
Across the murky Phlegethon today,
The vanquished and the vanquisher. Ye shades,
And thee, dread stream, by which the gods of heaven755
Do swear their straightest oaths, I pray ye both:
Withdraw the curtain of your hidden realm,
That so yon shadowy throng of Phrygians
May look upon Mycenae's woes. Behold,
Poor souls; the wheel of fortune backward turns.
See, see! the squalid sisters come,760
Their bloody lashes brandishing,
And smoking torches half consumed.
A sickly pallor overspreads
Their bloated cheeks; and dusky robes
Of death begird their hollow loins.
The gloomy night with fearsome cries765
Resounds, and to my startled eyes
Dread sights appear: there lie the bones
Of that huge giant, far outstretched,
Upon a slimy marsh's brink
All white and rotting. Now I see
That old man, wan with suffering,
Forget awhile the mocking waves,770
Forget his burning thirst, to grieve
For this disaster hovering
About his house;
But Dardanus exults to see
His foeman's baleful destiny.
Band:Now has her rage prophetic spent itself,775And fall'n away; like some devoted bull,Which sinks with tottering knees before the shrineBeneath the sacrificial axe's stroke.Let us support her ere she faint and fall.But see, our Agamemnon comes at lastTo greet his gods, with bay of victory crowned;And, all in festal garb, with glad accord,780His consort welcomes her returning lord.
Band:Now has her rage prophetic spent itself,775
And fall'n away; like some devoted bull,
Which sinks with tottering knees before the shrine
Beneath the sacrificial axe's stroke.
Let us support her ere she faint and fall.
But see, our Agamemnon comes at last
To greet his gods, with bay of victory crowned;
And, all in festal garb, with glad accord,780
His consort welcomes her returning lord.
FOOTNOTES:[52]Reading,hinc et Chalcida.[53]Reading,vexatus.[54]Reading,totâ Troiâ sepulte.
[52]Reading,hinc et Chalcida.
[52]Reading,hinc et Chalcida.
[53]Reading,vexatus.
[53]Reading,vexatus.
[54]Reading,totâ Troiâ sepulte.
[54]Reading,totâ Troiâ sepulte.
[EnterAgamemnon.He is met and greeted by his wife, who returns into the palace.]
Agamemnon:At last in safety am I home returned.Oh, hail, belovéd land! I bring thee spoilFrom many barbarous tribes; and Troy at length,So long the mistress of the haughty east,785Submits herself as suppliant to thee.But see, Cassandra faints, and trembling fallsWith nerveless form. Ye slaves with speed uplift her;Revive her drooping spirits with the chillOf water on her face. Her languid eyesAgain behold the light of day. Arise,Cassandra, and recall thy sluggish sense.That shelter from our woes, so long desired,790Is here at last. This is a festal day.Cassandra:Remember Ilium's festal day.Agamemnon:But come,We'll kneel before the shrine.Cassandra:Before the shrineMy father fell.Agamemnon:We will together prayIn thankfulness to Jove.Cassandra:Hercean Jove?Agamemnon:Thou think'st of Ilium?Cassandra:And Priam too.Agamemnon:This is not Troy.795Cassandra:Where a Helen is, is Troy.Agamemnon:Fear not thy mistress, though in captive's bonds.Cassandra:But freedom is at hand.Agamemnon:Live on secure.Cassandra:I think that death is my security.Agamemnon:For thee there's naught to fear.Cassandra:But much for thee.Agamemnon:What can a victor fear?Cassandra:What least he fears.Agamemnon:Keep her, ye faithful slaves, in careful guard,800Till she shall throw this mood of madness off,Lest in unbridled rage she harm herself.To thee, O father, who the blinding boltDost hurl, at whose command the clouds disperse,Who rul'st the starry heavens and the lands,To whom triumphant victors bring their spoils;And thee, O sister of thy mighty lord,805Argolic Juno, here I offer nowAll fitting gifts—and so fulfil my vow.
Agamemnon:At last in safety am I home returned.Oh, hail, belovéd land! I bring thee spoilFrom many barbarous tribes; and Troy at length,So long the mistress of the haughty east,785Submits herself as suppliant to thee.But see, Cassandra faints, and trembling fallsWith nerveless form. Ye slaves with speed uplift her;Revive her drooping spirits with the chillOf water on her face. Her languid eyesAgain behold the light of day. Arise,Cassandra, and recall thy sluggish sense.That shelter from our woes, so long desired,790Is here at last. This is a festal day.
Agamemnon:At last in safety am I home returned.
Oh, hail, belovéd land! I bring thee spoil
From many barbarous tribes; and Troy at length,
So long the mistress of the haughty east,785
Submits herself as suppliant to thee.
But see, Cassandra faints, and trembling falls
With nerveless form. Ye slaves with speed uplift her;
Revive her drooping spirits with the chill
Of water on her face. Her languid eyes
Again behold the light of day. Arise,
Cassandra, and recall thy sluggish sense.
That shelter from our woes, so long desired,790
Is here at last. This is a festal day.
Cassandra:Remember Ilium's festal day.
Cassandra:Remember Ilium's festal day.
Agamemnon:But come,We'll kneel before the shrine.
Agamemnon:But come,
We'll kneel before the shrine.
Cassandra:Before the shrineMy father fell.
Cassandra:Before the shrine
My father fell.
Agamemnon:We will together prayIn thankfulness to Jove.
Agamemnon:We will together pray
In thankfulness to Jove.
Cassandra:Hercean Jove?
Cassandra:Hercean Jove?
Agamemnon:Thou think'st of Ilium?
Agamemnon:Thou think'st of Ilium?
Cassandra:And Priam too.
Cassandra:And Priam too.
Agamemnon:This is not Troy.795
Agamemnon:This is not Troy.795
Cassandra:Where a Helen is, is Troy.
Cassandra:Where a Helen is, is Troy.
Agamemnon:Fear not thy mistress, though in captive's bonds.
Agamemnon:Fear not thy mistress, though in captive's bonds.
Cassandra:But freedom is at hand.
Cassandra:But freedom is at hand.
Agamemnon:Live on secure.
Agamemnon:Live on secure.
Cassandra:I think that death is my security.
Cassandra:I think that death is my security.
Agamemnon:For thee there's naught to fear.
Agamemnon:For thee there's naught to fear.
Cassandra:But much for thee.
Cassandra:But much for thee.
Agamemnon:What can a victor fear?
Agamemnon:What can a victor fear?
Cassandra:What least he fears.
Cassandra:What least he fears.
Agamemnon:Keep her, ye faithful slaves, in careful guard,800Till she shall throw this mood of madness off,Lest in unbridled rage she harm herself.To thee, O father, who the blinding boltDost hurl, at whose command the clouds disperse,Who rul'st the starry heavens and the lands,To whom triumphant victors bring their spoils;And thee, O sister of thy mighty lord,805Argolic Juno, here I offer nowAll fitting gifts—and so fulfil my vow.
Agamemnon:Keep her, ye faithful slaves, in careful guard,800
Till she shall throw this mood of madness off,
Lest in unbridled rage she harm herself.
To thee, O father, who the blinding bolt
Dost hurl, at whose command the clouds disperse,
Who rul'st the starry heavens and the lands,
To whom triumphant victors bring their spoils;
And thee, O sister of thy mighty lord,805
Argolic Juno, here I offer now
All fitting gifts—and so fulfil my vow.
[Exit into the palace.]
Chorus of Argive women:O Argos, famed for thy worthy sons,And dear to the jealous Juno's heart,How mighty the children who feed at thy breast!810Thou hast added a god to the ranks of immortals;For Alcides has won by his labors heroicThe right to be named with the lords of the sky.Alcides the great! at his birth were the lawsOf the universe broken; for Jove bade the nightTo double the dew-laden hours of the darkness.815At his command did the god of the sunTo a sluggish pace restrain his car;And slow of foot around their course,O pale, white moon, thy horses paced.He also checked his feet, the star,Which hails the dawn, but glows as oft820In the evening sky; and he marveled that heShould be called Hesperus. 'Tis said that AuroraRoused to her wonted task, but againSank back to her sleep on the breast of Tithonus:For long must the night be, and tardy the morning,That waits for the birth of a hero divine.825The swift-whirling vault of the sky stood stillTo greet thee, O youth to the heavens appointed.Thy labors how many and mighty! Thy handHas the terrible lion of Nemea felt,830The fleet-footed hind, and the ravaging boarThat Arcadia feared. Loud bellowed the bullWhen torn from the fields of Crete;Thou didst conquer the Hydra, which fed on destruction,835And severed the last of its multiplied heads.The dread giant, Geryon, three monsters in one,Fell slain with one blow of thy crashing club;But his oxen, the famous Hesperian herds,Were driven away as the spoils of the east.840The terrible steeds of the Thracian king,Which their master fed not on the grass of the Strymon,Or the green banks of Hebrus (but, cruel and bloody,With flesh of the hapless wayfarer he fed them),845These steeds did our Hercules take, and in vengeance,As their last gory feast gave the flesh of their master.The spoil of her girdle Hippolyte sawA-gleam on her conqueror's breast.The Stymphalian bird fell down from the clouds850By his arrows death-smitten,And the tree which bears the fruit of goldFeared his approach, but, despoiled of its treasures,Lifted high in the air its burdenless branches.Forth from the ravished grove he strode855With its golden fruit full laden; in vainDid the deadly, sleepless dragon guardHear the sound of the musical metal.By triple chains to the upper worldThe hound of hell was meekly dragged;860His three great mouths in silence gaped,Amazed by the light of day.And, greatest of toils, beneath his might,The lying house of DardanusWas overthrown, and felt the forceOf that dread bow which it was doomedIn far-off time to feel again.Ten days sufficed for Troy's first overthrow;865As many years her second ruins know.
Chorus of Argive women:O Argos, famed for thy worthy sons,And dear to the jealous Juno's heart,How mighty the children who feed at thy breast!810Thou hast added a god to the ranks of immortals;For Alcides has won by his labors heroicThe right to be named with the lords of the sky.Alcides the great! at his birth were the lawsOf the universe broken; for Jove bade the nightTo double the dew-laden hours of the darkness.815At his command did the god of the sunTo a sluggish pace restrain his car;And slow of foot around their course,O pale, white moon, thy horses paced.He also checked his feet, the star,Which hails the dawn, but glows as oft820In the evening sky; and he marveled that heShould be called Hesperus. 'Tis said that AuroraRoused to her wonted task, but againSank back to her sleep on the breast of Tithonus:For long must the night be, and tardy the morning,That waits for the birth of a hero divine.825The swift-whirling vault of the sky stood stillTo greet thee, O youth to the heavens appointed.Thy labors how many and mighty! Thy handHas the terrible lion of Nemea felt,830The fleet-footed hind, and the ravaging boarThat Arcadia feared. Loud bellowed the bullWhen torn from the fields of Crete;Thou didst conquer the Hydra, which fed on destruction,835And severed the last of its multiplied heads.The dread giant, Geryon, three monsters in one,Fell slain with one blow of thy crashing club;But his oxen, the famous Hesperian herds,Were driven away as the spoils of the east.840The terrible steeds of the Thracian king,Which their master fed not on the grass of the Strymon,Or the green banks of Hebrus (but, cruel and bloody,With flesh of the hapless wayfarer he fed them),845These steeds did our Hercules take, and in vengeance,As their last gory feast gave the flesh of their master.The spoil of her girdle Hippolyte sawA-gleam on her conqueror's breast.The Stymphalian bird fell down from the clouds850By his arrows death-smitten,And the tree which bears the fruit of goldFeared his approach, but, despoiled of its treasures,Lifted high in the air its burdenless branches.Forth from the ravished grove he strode855With its golden fruit full laden; in vainDid the deadly, sleepless dragon guardHear the sound of the musical metal.By triple chains to the upper worldThe hound of hell was meekly dragged;860His three great mouths in silence gaped,Amazed by the light of day.And, greatest of toils, beneath his might,The lying house of DardanusWas overthrown, and felt the forceOf that dread bow which it was doomedIn far-off time to feel again.Ten days sufficed for Troy's first overthrow;865As many years her second ruins know.
Chorus of Argive women:O Argos, famed for thy worthy sons,
And dear to the jealous Juno's heart,
How mighty the children who feed at thy breast!810
Thou hast added a god to the ranks of immortals;
For Alcides has won by his labors heroic
The right to be named with the lords of the sky.
Alcides the great! at his birth were the laws
Of the universe broken; for Jove bade the night
To double the dew-laden hours of the darkness.815
At his command did the god of the sun
To a sluggish pace restrain his car;
And slow of foot around their course,
O pale, white moon, thy horses paced.
He also checked his feet, the star,
Which hails the dawn, but glows as oft820
In the evening sky; and he marveled that he
Should be called Hesperus. 'Tis said that Aurora
Roused to her wonted task, but again
Sank back to her sleep on the breast of Tithonus:
For long must the night be, and tardy the morning,
That waits for the birth of a hero divine.825
The swift-whirling vault of the sky stood still
To greet thee, O youth to the heavens appointed.
Thy labors how many and mighty! Thy hand
Has the terrible lion of Nemea felt,830
The fleet-footed hind, and the ravaging boar
That Arcadia feared. Loud bellowed the bull
When torn from the fields of Crete;
Thou didst conquer the Hydra, which fed on destruction,835
And severed the last of its multiplied heads.
The dread giant, Geryon, three monsters in one,
Fell slain with one blow of thy crashing club;
But his oxen, the famous Hesperian herds,
Were driven away as the spoils of the east.840
The terrible steeds of the Thracian king,
Which their master fed not on the grass of the Strymon,
Or the green banks of Hebrus (but, cruel and bloody,
With flesh of the hapless wayfarer he fed them),845
These steeds did our Hercules take, and in vengeance,
As their last gory feast gave the flesh of their master.
The spoil of her girdle Hippolyte saw
A-gleam on her conqueror's breast.
The Stymphalian bird fell down from the clouds850
By his arrows death-smitten,
And the tree which bears the fruit of gold
Feared his approach, but, despoiled of its treasures,
Lifted high in the air its burdenless branches.
Forth from the ravished grove he strode855
With its golden fruit full laden; in vain
Did the deadly, sleepless dragon guard
Hear the sound of the musical metal.
By triple chains to the upper world
The hound of hell was meekly dragged;860
His three great mouths in silence gaped,
Amazed by the light of day.
And, greatest of toils, beneath his might,
The lying house of Dardanus
Was overthrown, and felt the force
Of that dread bow which it was doomed
In far-off time to feel again.
Ten days sufficed for Troy's first overthrow;865
As many years her second ruins know.
Cassandra[alone upon the stage, standing where she can see the interior of the palace, describes what is going on there; or else she sees it by clairvoyant power]: Great deeds are done within, the cruel matchFor ten long years of suffering at Troy.Alas, what do they there? Arise, my soul,And take reward for thy mad prophecies.The conquered Phrygians are victors now.'Tis well! O Troy, thou risest from the dust,870For thou hast now to equal ruin broughtMycenae too. Low lies thy conqueror.Oh, ne'er before has my prophetic soulSo clearly seen the things of which it raved.I see, and no false image cheats my sight,I see it plainly, there, within the hall,875A royal feast is spread, and thronged with guests,Like that last fatal feast of ours at Troy.The couches gleam with Trojan tapestries;Their wine they quaff from rare old cups of goldThat once cheered great Assaracus; and see,The king himself, in 'broidered vestment clad,Sits high in triumph at the table's head,880With Priam's noble spoils upon his breast.Now comes his queen and bids him put awayThe garment which his enemy has worn,And don instead the robe which she has madeWith loving thoughts of him.Oh, horrid deed!I shudder at the sight. Shall that base man,That exile, smite a king? the paramourThe husband slay? The fatal hour has come.885The second course shall flow with royal blood,And gory streams shall mingle with the wine.And now the king has donned the deadly robe,Which gives him bound and helpless to his fate.His hands no outlet find; the clinging gownEnwraps his head in dark and smothering folds.With trembling hand the coward paramour890Now smites the king, but not with deadly wound;For in mid stroke his nerveless hand is stayed.But, as some shaggy boar in forest wilds,Within the net's strong meshes caught, still strivesAnd strains to burst his bonds, yet all in vain:So Agamemnon seeks to throw aside895The floating, blinding folds. In vain; and yet,Though blind and bound, he seeks his enemy.Now frenzied Clytemnestra snatches upA two-edged battle-ax; and, as the priest,Before he smites the sacrificial bull,Marks well the spot and meditates his aim:So she her impious weapon balances.900He has the blow. 'Tis done. The severed headHangs loosely down, and floods the trunk with gore.Nor do they even yet their weapons stay:The base-born wretch hacks at the lifeless corpse,While she, his mate, pursues her bloody task.905So each responds to each in infamy.Thyestes' son in very truth is he,While she to Helen proves her sisterhood.The sun stands doubtful on the edge of day;Shall he go on or backward bend his way?
Cassandra[alone upon the stage, standing where she can see the interior of the palace, describes what is going on there; or else she sees it by clairvoyant power]: Great deeds are done within, the cruel matchFor ten long years of suffering at Troy.Alas, what do they there? Arise, my soul,And take reward for thy mad prophecies.The conquered Phrygians are victors now.'Tis well! O Troy, thou risest from the dust,870For thou hast now to equal ruin broughtMycenae too. Low lies thy conqueror.Oh, ne'er before has my prophetic soulSo clearly seen the things of which it raved.I see, and no false image cheats my sight,I see it plainly, there, within the hall,875A royal feast is spread, and thronged with guests,Like that last fatal feast of ours at Troy.The couches gleam with Trojan tapestries;Their wine they quaff from rare old cups of goldThat once cheered great Assaracus; and see,The king himself, in 'broidered vestment clad,Sits high in triumph at the table's head,880With Priam's noble spoils upon his breast.Now comes his queen and bids him put awayThe garment which his enemy has worn,And don instead the robe which she has madeWith loving thoughts of him.Oh, horrid deed!I shudder at the sight. Shall that base man,That exile, smite a king? the paramourThe husband slay? The fatal hour has come.885The second course shall flow with royal blood,And gory streams shall mingle with the wine.And now the king has donned the deadly robe,Which gives him bound and helpless to his fate.His hands no outlet find; the clinging gownEnwraps his head in dark and smothering folds.With trembling hand the coward paramour890Now smites the king, but not with deadly wound;For in mid stroke his nerveless hand is stayed.But, as some shaggy boar in forest wilds,Within the net's strong meshes caught, still strivesAnd strains to burst his bonds, yet all in vain:So Agamemnon seeks to throw aside895The floating, blinding folds. In vain; and yet,Though blind and bound, he seeks his enemy.Now frenzied Clytemnestra snatches upA two-edged battle-ax; and, as the priest,Before he smites the sacrificial bull,Marks well the spot and meditates his aim:So she her impious weapon balances.900He has the blow. 'Tis done. The severed headHangs loosely down, and floods the trunk with gore.Nor do they even yet their weapons stay:The base-born wretch hacks at the lifeless corpse,While she, his mate, pursues her bloody task.905So each responds to each in infamy.Thyestes' son in very truth is he,While she to Helen proves her sisterhood.The sun stands doubtful on the edge of day;Shall he go on or backward bend his way?
Cassandra[alone upon the stage, standing where she can see the interior of the palace, describes what is going on there; or else she sees it by clairvoyant power]: Great deeds are done within, the cruel match
For ten long years of suffering at Troy.
Alas, what do they there? Arise, my soul,
And take reward for thy mad prophecies.
The conquered Phrygians are victors now.
'Tis well! O Troy, thou risest from the dust,870
For thou hast now to equal ruin brought
Mycenae too. Low lies thy conqueror.
Oh, ne'er before has my prophetic soul
So clearly seen the things of which it raved.
I see, and no false image cheats my sight,
I see it plainly, there, within the hall,875
A royal feast is spread, and thronged with guests,
Like that last fatal feast of ours at Troy.
The couches gleam with Trojan tapestries;
Their wine they quaff from rare old cups of gold
That once cheered great Assaracus; and see,
The king himself, in 'broidered vestment clad,
Sits high in triumph at the table's head,880
With Priam's noble spoils upon his breast.
Now comes his queen and bids him put away
The garment which his enemy has worn,
And don instead the robe which she has made
With loving thoughts of him.
Oh, horrid deed!
I shudder at the sight. Shall that base man,
That exile, smite a king? the paramour
The husband slay? The fatal hour has come.885
The second course shall flow with royal blood,
And gory streams shall mingle with the wine.
And now the king has donned the deadly robe,
Which gives him bound and helpless to his fate.
His hands no outlet find; the clinging gown
Enwraps his head in dark and smothering folds.
With trembling hand the coward paramour890
Now smites the king, but not with deadly wound;
For in mid stroke his nerveless hand is stayed.
But, as some shaggy boar in forest wilds,
Within the net's strong meshes caught, still strives
And strains to burst his bonds, yet all in vain:
So Agamemnon seeks to throw aside895
The floating, blinding folds. In vain; and yet,
Though blind and bound, he seeks his enemy.
Now frenzied Clytemnestra snatches up
A two-edged battle-ax; and, as the priest,
Before he smites the sacrificial bull,
Marks well the spot and meditates his aim:
So she her impious weapon balances.900
He has the blow. 'Tis done. The severed head
Hangs loosely down, and floods the trunk with gore.
Nor do they even yet their weapons stay:
The base-born wretch hacks at the lifeless corpse,
While she, his mate, pursues her bloody task.905
So each responds to each in infamy.
Thyestes' son in very truth is he,
While she to Helen proves her sisterhood.
The sun stands doubtful on the edge of day;
Shall he go on or backward bend his way?
[Remains beside the altar.]
[EnterElectra,leading her little brother, Orestes.]
Electra:Flee, sole avenger of my father's death,910Oh, flee, and shun these impious butchers' hands.Our royal house is utterly o'erthrown,Our kingdom gone.But see, a stranger comes,His horses driven to their utmost speed;Come, brother, hide thyself beneath my robe.But, O my foolish heart, whom dost thou fear?915A stranger? Nay, thy foes are here at home.Put off thy fears, for close at hand I seeThe timely shelter of a faithful friend.
Electra:Flee, sole avenger of my father's death,910Oh, flee, and shun these impious butchers' hands.Our royal house is utterly o'erthrown,Our kingdom gone.But see, a stranger comes,His horses driven to their utmost speed;Come, brother, hide thyself beneath my robe.But, O my foolish heart, whom dost thou fear?915A stranger? Nay, thy foes are here at home.Put off thy fears, for close at hand I seeThe timely shelter of a faithful friend.
Electra:Flee, sole avenger of my father's death,910
Oh, flee, and shun these impious butchers' hands.
Our royal house is utterly o'erthrown,
Our kingdom gone.
But see, a stranger comes,
His horses driven to their utmost speed;
Come, brother, hide thyself beneath my robe.
But, O my foolish heart, whom dost thou fear?915
A stranger? Nay, thy foes are here at home.
Put off thy fears, for close at hand I see
The timely shelter of a faithful friend.
[EnterStrophiusin a chariot, accompanied by his sonPylades.]