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AGAMEMNON 
 
AGAMEMNON 
 
 AFTER THE GREEK OF 
 1 ^SCHYLVS 
 BY 
 
 LOCKE ELLIS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARCOURT, BRACE AND HOWE 
 
 1920 
 
?A 
 
 PERSONS OF THE DRAMA 
 
 Age 
 
 Agamemnon. 
 
 ClYTEMNESTRA. / V> rS 
 
 Cassandra. 
 
 Aegisthus. 
 
 A Watchman. 
 
 A Herald, Talthybius. 
 
 Chorus of Old Men of Argos, Councillors. 
 
 Followers of Agamemnon, Clytemnestra, Aegisthus. 
 
 PERSONS ALLUDED TO 
 
 Atreus, father of Agamemnon. His House is also referred 
 
 to as that of Pelops ; Tantalus. — Brother to 
 Thyestes, to whom Atreus gave to eat of his own children's 
 
 flesh. Aegisthus was his surviving son. 
 Iphigeneia, daughter of Clytemnestra and Agamemnon, 
 
 offered in sacrifice by her father on the eve of the 
 
 expedition to Troy. 
 Priam, King of Troy, father of Cassandra and of 
 Paris (Alexander), who provoked the war by carrying 
 
 off 
 Helen, the wife of 
 Menelaus, brother of Agamemnon. 
 Calchas, a soothsayer. 
 Ate, Erynnus, are avenging deities, or Furies. 
 
 522^>Vf) 
 
AGAMEMNON 
 
 Scene : Argos, before the palace of the Atreida ; night. 
 
 Watchman 
 
 My watch on Atreus' roof, crouched like a dog, 
 
 I keep. Beseech ye gods, is there no end ? 
 
 Labour of years, I know the heavens by heart, 
 
 The stars' assembled state, revolving on 
 
 The event of summer heat or winter cold, 
 
 The human year through. By their signs I know, 
 
 Splendours of rising or of setting ; stars 
 
 Burning in ether. But the sign I seek 
 
 Is earthly kindled fire, the torch of Troy, 
 
 Her blaze of capture. With so eager heart, 
 
 Impatient of the event, set me this task 
 
 A woman, masterful enough. And now, 
 
 Night-chilFd and drench'd with dew my cheerless 
 
 couch. 
 Not in the happy company of dreams. 
 Instead of sleep which bringeth them, the dread 
 Of heavy-lidded sleep stands ever here. 
 And should I wisely think with wakeful song 
 
 7 
 
To batter sleepy silence, then the theme 
 
 Is sorrow of the house I serve ; tears then 
 
 For chance the good once was and is not now, 
 
 May be again. And that evangel fire, 
 
 In darkling night imagined, it might be 
 
 The end at last. But is it — is it not 
 
 The end at last ? But see — it is no dream, 
 
 It dawns as never day, and shoots the flame 
 
 Argos shall dance to. Hail, hail ! Shout, call, 
 
 'Tis Agamemnon's wife I summon, swift 
 
 As chamber of sleep can yield her, to proclaim 
 
 The essential feast of sound. Taken is Troy; 
 
 So saith the torch and fiery blazon. Mine 
 
 This prelude, dancing ; mine the lucky sice 
 
 Whose triple cast hath turned to a master's good 
 
 The watchful stake. And mine the glory, when 
 
 On these worthless those honoured hands and dear 
 
 Are laid, of him who hath returned to us. 
 
 — But best let silence tread upon the tongue. 
 
 As an ox treadeth surely. If these walls 
 
 Could speak, 'twere with discretion, and so I 
 
 To them which know, and unto others, naught. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Ten years of Troy. Hath Priam to this length 
 Held Menelaus, Agamemnon's strength 
 At indecision of the Dardan field ? 
 To foes like these not yield ! 
 8 
 
Twin-sceptred, dual-throned Mycenian line 
 
 Of Pelops' race divine, ^ 
 
 Who from these shores charged the reluctant gale 
 
 With keels of battle of a thousand sail, 
 
 God Ares in his might. 
 
 Behold the birds of famine, flight on flight. 
 
 Winnowing with wings for scourge 
 
 The unstable element and mountain gorge. 
 
 Some towering fate to the dark winds hath flung 
 
 Their shattered aeries and their screaming young ; 
 
 Labour of nesting vain. 
 
 Hear now in heaven the parent host complain. 
 
 — Yea, one in heaven hath heard. 
 
 Is it Zeus, or Pan, or calm Apollo's word 
 
 Upon that trespass bold 
 
 Flings judgment down and vengeance mused of 
 
 old? 
 — Yea, it is Zeus, the lawgiver of souls, 
 Who this offence controls, 
 And hath against the state of Paris hurled 
 The two-throned Argive world. 
 For sacrifice of fame 
 
 Of many-suitored queen of Argive name, 
 Danaan and Trojan arm 
 Alike through the tempestuous alley swarm 
 Of battle's close embrace. 
 The warrior stumbles in the bloody race, 
 The splintered spear-shaft flies. 
 And in the dust he gropes and in the dust he dies. ' 
 
 9 
 
> 
 Let be as hath been. All is thus fulfilled 
 As the Relentless willed. 
 No stagnant ritual 
 
 Of blood or ancient embers shall recall, 
 Nor with dark tears importunate 
 The once-befallen fate. 
 
 And we — the unelect and old even then, 
 Even when these battle-worn set sail, old men ; 
 Too old for service we, when younger brood 
 Set sail for Troas ; and the life they gave 
 Remains with us, pasturing with crutch and stave 
 The childlike remnant of our hardihood. 
 For childlike 'tis, and childlike seemeth too 
 This old age in the deeds it dreams to do. 
 Wanting but Ares' limbs. Like death, like birth. 
 Ours are the infirm feet of infant earth. 
 But for the flower that is not. And so seem 
 Dreams of our company, ourselves a dream. 
 
 —But thou 
 
 Tyndareus' daughter ! — now 
 
 Comes Clytemnestra near. 
 
 O Queen, to us make clear 
 
 What news of fame 
 
 Into thy councils came, 
 
 That a city, pouring through her streets. 
 
 Snuffs rumour, mulled with burning sweets 
 
 From the close temple-ways. 
 
 Lo now, ablaze 
 
 10 
 
With happy gift set there, 
 
 Kindles the altar fair 
 
 Of deity ; and manifold, 
 
 Other and other sacrifice behold. 
 
 Whether Olympian or rustic name 
 
 Or urban god his victim claim, 
 
 Each holy hearth shines clear. 
 
 Now torch- bearers appear, 
 
 With their cold brands they stir 
 
 Rich temple provender. 
 
 The oil-vat of the priest. 
 
 Soon the drugged flame, surceased, 
 
 Drops in the dark abyss, 
 
 And Hke spilt sorceries 
 
 The clots of burning fall 
 
 Red on the pale processional. 
 
 — But thou, 
 
 Queen, if thou may'st speak, speak now, 
 
 And what thou knowest share 
 
 With us, and if our prayer 
 
 Frustrate not heaven. 
 
 Be thou unto our darkness given 
 
 Paean ; and to our doubts again 
 
 Paean, for these are pain. 
 
 Uncertainty ! 
 
 What if there dwell with thee 
 Hope, and a vision fair ? 
 Redoubled is our care, 
 II 
 
Once we have missed those beams, 
 
 And darker the surrounding of our dreams. 
 
 Of human fate 
 
 This passage splendid to relate, 
 
 This tale of kings, 
 
 Me to the muses' godlike summit brings. 
 
 My spirit's dawn, the worshipful, the pure 
 
 Shall to that epic day endure. 
 
 And no less strong, 
 
 I too will lead earth captive with my song. 
 
 — Hear, then ; in name of vengeance be it told, 
 How those relentless guards of Hellas' fold 
 Gathered of helm and spear a vast command. 
 And fell on Teucrian land. 
 — -Who bade them fall. 
 
 Brought Hellas to this charge ? What oracle ? 
 — A flight of furious wings 
 Drops by the sea-encampment of the kings. 
 Seen from the tents afar 
 The kings of air and arbiters of war. 
 Black eagle and white-tailed, a ruthless pair. 
 Their living prey, the pregnant hare. 
 Victim of a despairing race, oppress 
 With talons merciless. 
 And beaks that re-entomb 
 The smoking burthen of her womb. 
 12 
 
Sing Linos, Linos sing. 
 
 For Sorrow's song is Hope's unburthening. 
 
 The holy Seer, 
 
 High priest of armies, their interpreter, 
 
 The baleful eagle-portent laid 
 
 On Atreus' sons. Interpreting, he said : 
 
 " Far-off, perchance, and yet the day must come 
 
 When towered Ilium 
 
 Unto this conquest yields 
 
 Her city and tribute fields. 
 
 Only let not the cloud of lightning fall, 
 
 Nor hazardous god his arsenal 
 
 Hurl on these armies bold, 
 
 Encincture of the Troyan hold, 
 
 These armies fair. 
 
 Which like a curb the Troyan masters bear. 
 
 For Artemis, 
 
 Intolerant as she is 
 
 Of the wing'd hunters of her father's house. 
 
 Furies of pity rouse, 
 
 And names of hatred call. 
 
 At that foul banquet ended, young and all." 
 
 — Sing Linos, Linos sing. 
 
 For Sorrow's song is Hope's unburthening. 
 
 ** But she who loves 
 
 The nurseries of the groves, 
 
 13 
 
Where the mother of the wild 
 
 Bestows her urchin child, 
 
 Even the couched lioness, 
 
 She, Artemis, some theme of kindliness 
 
 And good in midst of omen'd ill, 
 
 Will labour to fulfil. 
 
 ** Only give heed. Paean of Prayer, 
 
 Lest the dread Goddess new perils prepare, 
 
 Which must a new propitiation find. 
 
 Tempest and enemy wind : 
 
 For these the childlike victim bleeds. 
 
 Frenzy of wrath succeeds, 
 
 The home-besetting 
 
 Mother-vengeance unforgetting. 
 
 Never husband-love recaUing 
 
 Worked in secret and on nearest falling." 
 
 — Thus Calchas, Orator of doom. 
 
 The Sons of Atreus in the listening gloom 
 
 Attend that voice again. 
 
 Of hope and dread the mixed refrain : 
 
 ' — Sing Linos, Linos sing. 
 
 For Sorrow's song is Hope's unburthening. 
 
 — Zeus ! If on Zeus I call. 
 
 What God heareth ? Is it the Lord of all, 
 
 H 
 
Like unto whom is none, and none the same ? 
 
 — None other would I name, 
 
 But from the mind cast forth 
 
 The imponderable worth 
 
 Of lesser deity ; yea, whatsoe'er 
 
 The image idly there ; 
 
 Whether with aspect huge of dead renown 
 
 Blind face of Chaos frown, 
 
 Or Chronos, heir to that unstable rule, 
 
 Feel his immoderate godhead cool. 
 
 Last tyrant in the elemental war 
 
 To own a conqueror ; 
 
 Reason the victor God prefers. 
 
 For he is just, and just his worshippers. 
 
 Yea, it is Zeus brings back to wisdom's way 
 
 The foolish feet that stray ; 
 
 Outlaws of guilty pain 
 
 On whom long time hath lain 
 
 The curse of the lost theme 
 
 Of innocence, an evil dream 
 
 Of devious path and never-found content. 
 
 That the unwilling spirit at last is bent 
 
 To the fixed purpose of his fate. 
 
 Mild, but reiterate. 
 
 Indissoluble word. 
 
 The sentence of great gods is heard, 
 
 15 
 
As it were charity that falls 
 From the high table of their judgment halls ; 
 Wisdom, the great gods* gift to balance pain, 
 Sad lustre of their patient reign. 
 
 — An end of soothsaying ; 
 
 And now, fearless of fate, arose the King. 
 
 The ships at mooring stood 
 
 By Aulis, whence the flood 
 
 Rolls back on Calchis, and from Strymon's mouth 
 
 Recoils, and empties into drouth 
 
 His waste and stagnant streams. 
 
 Now the hollow gulf beteems 
 
 With starving winds, that vex the adverse shore. 
 
 Ships may not sail, their counted store 
 
 Dwindles, they may not fill the vat. 
 
 And eke the mealy bin nor that 
 
 Which too long waiting makes in vain. 
 
 The cargo of their hopes again, 
 
 — So much had Calchas said ; 
 The inclement Goddess' name with dread 
 Preferred, and showed which way the fateful blast 
 And wintry hazard fell. The monarchs cast 
 Their sceptres to the ground ; tears could not hide. 
 And now the Elder and the Father cried : 
 
 " death of hope ! If the alternative 
 Were only not to live. 
 
 i6 
 
But to be this, the slayer of my child, 
 
 My household grace to see defiled 
 
 With her own blood ; a father's hand to take 
 
 That stain ! Yet what ? Shall I forsake 
 
 My kingdom, and her allies' hopes defeat ? 
 
 What, I, first captain of the fleet, 
 
 Its grand deserter prove ? No. This way lies 
 
 By tempest-lulling sacrifice 
 
 Of maiden-death, a forward path. 
 
 Wrath leads that way, but all ways lead to wrath." 
 
 — So he put on the harness of his fate. 
 Made trial of the weight 
 Of shameful counsel, and became 
 Himself a counsellor of shame. 
 For like a change of tempest-boding wind 
 To mortal mind. 
 Suggestion first breathed in 
 Grows to the fury and the act of sin. 
 — See now to slay his child 
 The father reconciled, 
 That ships may aid 
 The vengeful wars that women made. 
 And spread on speeding gales 
 Their festival of sails, 
 He to the heartless lords of strife 
 Makes over that dear life. 
 No reckoning theirs 
 
 Of startled childhood's tears or daughter's prayers. 
 B 17 
 
Nay, it is he, the father, gives command 
 
 To them that be at hand, 
 
 Following the priestly service round 
 
 To pitch of temple-sound, 
 
 In order of blood-ritual, instead 
 
 Of kid, at the great-altar head, 
 
 The body of maiden-sacrifice to lift. 
 
 See from her upraised form the garments drift, 
 
 Her scarf of crocus dye. 
 
 But they have caught the struggling cry, 
 
 Which ere it left those lovely lips 
 
 Had called down doom and night's eclipse 
 
 Upon that house of blood. The last 
 
 Despairing look is on her tyrants cast. 
 
 Pity she seemeth still to seek, 
 
 Her eyes say what her lips would speak, 
 
 As in a picture. Nevermore 
 
 Will she appear her father's guests before. 
 
 The darhng of his pride. 
 
 As when in high hall, fondly by his side, 
 
 The third libation past and song begun. 
 
 With right good will, most loved and innocent one, 
 
 She did her clear and childish voice upraise 
 
 In his dear praise. 
 
 — As Calchas said, so it befell. 
 If of the future we would tell, 
 l8 
 
This prophet-listening brings the scale to rest 
 
 At silence. There's a Wisdom doth attest 
 
 The ranging of our sight, 
 
 And still from daily light 
 
 Doth hide all but the issue of a day. 
 
 Still we can weigh 
 
 The good that is with what may be. 
 
 — The Queen approaches. She 
 
 May still some part of good prefer, 
 
 And Argos still for guidance look to her. 
 
 [Enter Clytemnestra from the palace. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 — Queen Clytemnestra, great as are thy cares 
 In the long-lasting absence of the king. 
 So great the duty that we owe to thee. 
 Therefore, that thou enlighten us, we crave, 
 Not importunely, but with patience even ; 
 Why hast thou thus ordained a festival ; 
 What tidings, of what happy consequence, 
 Dost thou possess ? 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 This is the hour of dawn. 
 And if I tell you tidings, 'tis to say. 
 This is the dawn of our long night of hope. 
 What more ? Shall I say then that Priam's city 
 Hath unto Argos fallen ? 
 
 19 
 
Chorus 
 
 This if thou saidst, 
 Mine ears could scarce receive. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Hear it again. 
 Troy falls to us. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 O, then, mine eyes are dim. 
 This, this is news. 
 
 Clytemnestra* 
 yes, you weep for joy. 
 
 Chorus 
 A proof of this, queen ; some witness, sign — 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 Why should the gods mock us ? 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Was it a dream ? 
 A visitant of sleep too credulous ? 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Am I a visionary, so to be 
 Beguiled ? 
 
 20 
 
Chorus 
 Some rumour thou hast ta'en for truth. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 So childish, I ? 
 
 Chorus 
 Nay, then ; when fell the city ? 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 This night — the mother of this dawn. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 None could 
 Have brought the news so soon. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 What of the fire 
 — Hephaistus' signal, first on Ida sprung, 
 And hither westward journeying, destined torch 
 Of courient flame ; instant in Lemnos, soon 
 In Athos streaming from the peak of god, 
 And lighting on the mounds of Thracian seas 
 Like drifts of dawn to the Euboean shore, 
 Makistus' watchers there. Sleepless they rise, 
 And set in train those sentinels of light 
 That wink across the dark and inland strait, 
 Messapius opposite, his parched heaths 
 
 21 
 
A crimson cloud. Asopus winds below 
 
 Through all his valley, as in midnights when 
 
 Cithaeron's moon sinks westerly upon 
 
 His height divine. On, on those beacons spread, 
 
 And now the lake Gorgopis overpast, 
 
 And ^giplanctus' summit fired, therefrom 
 
 The torrent flame, blown like a giant's beard, 
 
 Brushes the walls of Saron's ferry ; thence 
 
 Arachnaeus not far, whose kindly heights 
 
 Our neighbour and familiar vision fill. 
 
 The light that lingers yet is Ida's own. 
 
 And Troy burns here. This is the sign I give. 
 
 And by the statutes of the torch-racers. 
 
 One from another catching speed of light, 
 
 So that the last is first, — this is the word 
 
 My lord hath sent me, out of Troy. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 For this 
 We'll praise the gods in due time, save that now 
 Not one word would we lose of this great theme. 
 Beseech you, with your tidings to the end. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Methinks I hear the captured city voice 
 Confusion. Well, the elements make not 
 For peace. Victor and vanquished, vinegar 
 And oil — as soon would they assort within 
 
 22 
 
The crucible. Hark — 'tis the living seek 
 Their dead. Soon chains shall rack the sobbing throats. 
 After the night of stubborn battle, men 
 Would break their fast ; a weary soldiery 
 Camp in the streets and eat the bread of chance. 
 Happy, for they have roof for dwelling now ; 
 No more black watch and meagre rest beneath 
 The tentless cold of heaven, and they will be 
 As housed men, their sleep unsentinePd. 
 But let them not forget the native gods 
 To hold in awe, that victors in their turn 
 Become not captives of a wrath revealed 
 To the inflamed eyes of sacrilege. 
 And spoilers of the sacred field. Enough. 
 Race so near home must be run to the end. 
 Yet — if it otherwise befell, and if 
 The army had escaped — still there are those 
 On whom the penalty, though long delayed 
 Must fall. Well, these are woman's words you hear, 
 S And may the issue be more plain to see ; 
 The good for choice, and my choice over all. > 
 
 Chorus 
 0, manlike as thou speakest ; taking sign 
 From thee, I will approach the gods, assured 
 Of grace enough to foil disaster. 
 
 Zeus ! thy h'ght we see, 
 
 And Night, thou marshal of eternity, 
 
 23 
 
Who didst within thy starry net enfold ] 
 
 The towered Troyan hold. ' I 
 
 — That now, of all j 
 
 Who in those meshes captive lay, j 
 
 None who was mighty then, and none so small 
 
 But in the sack of doom is borne away. 
 
 For this acclaim 
 
 Zeus, whose vengeful thunder's flame, 
 
 To the instant golden 
 
 Of starry time withhold en, 
 
 A bolt infalHble 
 
 On Alexander fell. 
 
 Its journey from the place 
 
 Of thunder ye may trace 
 
 To the lightning fall. v 
 
 'Tis said, withal, 
 
 That heaven-begotten wrath 
 
 Disdains to follow in the path 
 
 Of man's deluded choice. 
 
 List not, 'tis error's voice. 
 
 Wiser their children are. 
 
 Whose fathers, plotting in the realms of war 
 
 Carried beyond its place 
 
 The swollen scutcheon of their race ; 
 
 Whose faithful service, lent 
 
 Only to enterprise of fair intent, 
 
 Had never failed. But earthly gain 
 
 Little avails that tyrant whose brute reign 
 
 24 
 
spurns the mild sanctities of justice. Him 
 
 Doth frenzy dim 
 
 Of an ancestral impulse bend 
 
 To the resistless end. 
 
 The irremediable blight 
 
 Of nature maketh in the light 
 
 A baleful showing, as beneath 
 
 His hand, the burnisher discovereth 
 
 An ill-mixed bronze, a metal base. 
 
 The people of his race 
 
 Take up the burden of their lord's defeat. 
 
 When from her cage the fleet 
 
 Captive, wild hope, hath flown, 
 
 And remedy is none. 
 
 But echo far the cries 
 
 Of passion's children, in derisive skies. 
 
 — None other, but the same 
 
 Was Paris, when he came, 
 
 Guest, to entreat in shameful sort the spouse 
 
 Of host. 
 
 She, from her husband's house 
 Fugitive, in her ear 
 Clashing of shield and spear, 
 Ships lading war, hath come 
 With doom for dower, to Ilium ; 
 Daring, greatly daring, she, 
 The tongues of prophecy 
 
 25 
 
Not silent ; woe, they cry. 
 
 Woe to the house and them that stand thereby. 
 
 For errant love, the trespass that effaced 
 
 Fair paths of memory traced 
 
 By married feet. Who now remembers him. 
 
 Alone in palace dim. 
 
 When griefs dumb scourge and whispered ban 
 
 Speak more than words of desolation can ; 
 
 And troubled as with seaward dreams 
 
 The phantom-rule of silence seems, 
 
 And mourns a queen's departed grace. 
 
 Image of her in sculptured face 
 
 Intolerable appears. 
 
 And love himself a mask of famine wears. 
 
 The heavy eyes are famine's. 
 
 Dreams of sleep 
 Still lure those baffled wings to keep 
 The paths of no return, and stay 
 The traveller at the gates of day. 
 So, heavier to sustain 
 Than sorrow's self, those shapes of pain 
 Stand round the hearthstone drear. 
 And worse than battle's brunt to bear. 
 Against the soldier's citadel of home 
 Legions of trouble come. 
 Pierced to the heart are they 
 Who cheered the warrior forth and bade not stay 
 Him who should soon return. 
 But not this funeral-ship, this urn, 
 
 26 
 
These ashes. Never these. 
 
 Yet what 
 Hath Ares in his balance ? Not 
 Gold, no nor other merchandise 
 Than the white dust that lies 
 At Ilium's furnace-gates. 
 With this he freights 
 For mourners the funestral vessel cold, 
 And fills the vase of old 
 Renown ; such tribute theirs 
 Who fall, but chiefly his who bears 
 The stroke of battle, sought in name 
 Of honour and unsullied fame 
 Of house and sacred home. 
 Whether from thence there come 
 Mute threnody and uncomplaint. 
 Or if rebellious voices taint 
 The air of praise. 
 
 And envy 'gainst the avengers' house inveighs 
 And fair, forbye. 
 
 The dead that still in earth of Ilium lie, 
 That conquered land, which hath 
 Its conquerors taken prisoner in death's path. 
 
 If it become a people's curse. 
 
 Deadly is that rancour of tongues, and worse 
 
 To look for. As night loads 
 
 The listening mind with terror, gods, 
 
 27 
 
The avengers of blood-guiltiness, 
 
 These are not blind, nor less 
 
 Watchful Erynnus is in her dark place, 
 
 Of fortune's scale, quick to displace 
 
 The beam. When evil seems to prosper most, 
 
 The abyss receives, and all is lost ; 
 
 And sunken in heaven's thunderstroke 
 
 The ears that listened when the flatterer spoke. 
 
 — Be mine no more nor less 
 
 Than the unenvied mean of happiness. 
 
 Never the stricken sun 
 
 Which captive eyes look on. 
 
 Light my life's journey, nor 
 
 Myself a conqueror. 
 
 Fresh from the joyful flame 
 Runs rumour — whether in truth's name, 
 Or falsehood's, who shall tell ? 
 There are false gods, as well. 
 But 'tis a child, or fool, whose spirit fires 
 At kindled torch and with the flame expires. 
 ^A woman 'tis, who doth prefer 
 To what is true, that which seems best to her, 
 And to fresh pasture flies 
 Outside all reason's boundaries. 
 
 ^1^^ — Soon shall we know whether a heart of truth 
 In this fable of fire, or torch of dream 
 Delight our eyes. Herald himself I see ; 
 28 
 
Under the olive shadows, hard from shore. 
 
 The road returns to dust. Dust tells his speed. 
 
 Swifter than flame of the green mountain wood, 
 
 And words to come, clearer than smoke of fire. 
 
 Rejoice ; prepare all for rejoicing now. 
 
 Or — silent be the word — if any speak it. 
 
 Of his faith's treason let him pluck the fruit. 
 
 Herald 
 
 My native land ! The years have past, the light 
 
 Of this tenth summer brings me to thy shore. 
 
 One hope, among the many blighted, lives. 
 
 If it were hope, Argos, that kept in mind 
 
 But never dared to build on thy dear soil 
 
 The allotment of a tomb. Now praise the earth. 
 
 The sun, and Zeus the country's god, and him 
 
 The Pythian — not on us his arrows fall. 
 
 Not now, as once by strange Scamander. Now 
 
 'Tis Apollo, Saviour, Healer, Lord. 
 
 And praise to other gods ; to those of old 
 
 Arenas and the fields of peace. Him too. 
 
 The patron of my life, the adored, the first 
 
 Of Heralds, Hermes. So would I approach 
 
 The chiefs of our renown, whose spirits urged 
 
 Ours to the test of war, that from the path 
 
 Of spear returned, they may with grace receive 
 
 Our remnant. Hail, then, hearthstone of our race, 
 
 And palace of our king ; as oft of old. 
 
 Sun-spirits of the holy place of home, 
 
 29 
 
In order seasonal, your gracious eyes 
 Let rest on him returned, to light your dark. 
 As well as ours. Let all be well that waits 
 For him, all welcome. Good it seems, for out 
 Of Justice' hand — from Zeus himself he took 
 The spade that levelled Troy. Remaineth there 
 No altar, no place for an altar, no 
 Life ; — underground the seed of it is dead. 
 Such was his word ; such was the yoke he put 
 On Troy. Who else ? Elder of Atreus' House, 
 Man happiest in his choice of gods — who else 
 Of mortals worthier ? Not for Paris now 
 Is left to boast the advantage his in scale 
 Of deed and penalty. He held the stakes, 
 And with that forfeit went not he alone, 
 But home and country and his father's house. 
 
 Chorus 
 Hail ! Messenger. 
 
 Herald ' 
 
 Moment so charged with joy ! 
 I'd not gainsay the fate that slew me now. 
 
 Chorus 
 So lovely seems thy native land ? 
 
 Herald 
 
 So fair, 
 Tears come. 
 
 30 
 
Chorus 
 From us that sweet distemper's caught. 
 
 Herald 
 Plain words can reach a child's heart. Such is mine. 
 
 Chorus 
 As you were stricken, so were we. 
 
 Herald 
 
 You mean ^ 
 The land we longed for longed for our return ? 
 
 Chorus 
 With many a sigh, in gloom of heart. "^ 
 
 Herald 
 
 Was heart 
 So strained ? And whence the burden of it ? 
 
 Chorus 
 
 lUs 
 There are, on which physician Silence waits. 
 
 Herald 
 
 Alarms that fill an empty house. Whence then 
 The assault you feared ? 
 
 31 
 
Chorus 
 
 Just now you said 
 That death were happiness. 
 
 Herald 
 
 When all's well done, 
 As must be true at last. To tell the worst 
 Is but to say that of the enterprise 
 A part went wrong. Better than this may be. 
 There are gods, doubtless they know. My story's one 
 Of hardship ; meagre fare aboard and ill 
 Lodging ashore, if harbour made at all. 
 No day of grateful memory to break 
 The luckless process. Then, to come to land, 
 To bed outside the foeman's walls upon 
 The aguish earth, beneath the watering skies. 
 Soon marish-like, with matted clothes and hair, 
 We grew foul creatures. Winter cold, the same 
 That laid the small birds dead in Ida's snow ; 
 And heat, as when the breathless waters even 
 Swooned to the noonday tropic and became 
 A waveless hush upon a muted shore. 
 But why take up old burdens in the tale 
 Of things ended ? The dead themselves have made 
 An end of all desire to live again, 
 And shall they die again in our report ? 
 There is enough on the fair side the scale. 
 Balm for survivors, over land and sea 
 
 32 
 
Flying with eager hearts towards some goal 
 
 And residue of good, as seemly is, 
 
 In the still shining sunlight of their day. 
 
 Remains to us on Hellas' temple walls 
 
 To fix the seal and the eternal fame 
 
 Of Troy captured. And they who gaze thereon 
 
 Will praise our land, our leaders and our god, 
 
 Who brought these things to pass. I have said all. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Who shall gainsay ? Not I, for unto age 
 Fair knowledge ever brings a spirit of youth. 
 But first the King's house — Clytemnestra first 
 Let touch this gift of fame. Then may we taste. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 When on the night's horizon first appeared 
 The writ of Troy in flames, did I delay 
 Pasan ? Already is the city awake. 
 One said to me, a trick of flame, forsooth. 
 Can on a woman's mind project this folly, 
 And stand for Trojan fall. Enough was said 
 To prove me mad. Yet unto sacrifice 
 Did I proceed, the while with fair address 
 My women went the temple round and fed 
 With sweets the hungry censers lapping flame. 
 — Herald, I have no need of your report ; 
 My lord's own words shall satisfy me soon. 
 
 c 33 
 
Howbeit, do aught you know to speed him ; say 
 
 His city awaits his coming ; say, his queen. 
 
 To her — to woman — never sight more fair 
 
 Than this of prosperous gods and opening gates 
 
 Upon the homeward road of war. And then, 
 
 For him, returned at last, who left his house 
 
 In faithful keeping, dog-like faith to find, 
 
 And battle done with trespass ; undisturbed 
 
 The seal he fastened for inviolate time. 
 
 I know not ill, and the repute of ill 
 
 Touching another man leaves me unstained 
 
 As metal dipped in dye. Truth to the brim 
 
 Pours out my boastful cup. Who'd flinch from it ? 
 
 No woman of my race. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Interpreter 
 Of words — hear these ; she speaks them well ; there's 
 
 much 
 To learn of her. But tell me. Herald, — 'tis 
 Of Menelaus that I ask — has he. 
 The joint desire of all our people, part 
 In your return ? 
 
 • Herald 
 
 I would not, if I could. 
 Dress out ill news as fair ; fruit that would rot 
 Soon as you plucked it. 
 
 34 
 
Chorus 
 
 And the good you told 
 Lose virtue of truth. So to divorce from truth 
 Helps not to hide. 
 
 Herald 
 
 He's gone, then, whom you said. 
 He and his crew out of our sight are gone. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 What, from the field of war, from Troas shore 
 Set earlier sail ? Or from the common fleet 
 Did tempest gulf him ? 
 
 Herald 
 
 That, a goodly aim, 
 Cuts off betimes the unwilling story. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Yet 
 Some tale of life or death must be to tell. 
 What say the shipmen ? 
 
 Herald 
 
 What avails to say, 
 When none knows anything ? Unless the Sun 
 Of earth, the cherisher of life, should know 
 His foster-children. 
 
 35 
 
Chorus 
 
 By what malice, then, 
 Inhuman, came the storm, and ended how ? 
 
 Herald 
 
 I would not mar the day of auspices 
 
 With other tales than good. There are other gods ; 
 
 As when the herald of defeated camps, 
 
 Visaged with those disasters, to his city bears 
 
 Arms of calamity ; the wound of state 
 
 Envenoming the private wounds of war. 
 
 A deathly curse it is the stifled dirge 
 
 Erynnus has to sing ; not saviour deeds. 
 
 Not Victory when it comes. And with the tale 
 
 Of peace, how should I blend a stormful strain ? 
 
 — Yet be it said, the end found troubles still, 
 
 And gods not all appeased. Since, foes before, 
 
 Water and Fire made peace between them, us 
 
 Wretched, to overthrow. By night it came, 
 
 Tempest upon the sea, unloading winds 
 
 Of Thrace, like bellowing herds upon us, ship 
 
 Foundering on ship in smoking surges pent 
 
 And blind. Mad shepherd drove our flock that night. 
 
 And dawn that day, dawn on the -^gean field, 
 
 That ready seemed for harvest, flowering 
 
 With many a drowned corpse and floating spar ; 
 
 While we and our miraculous vessel rode 
 
 In some divine security, our helm 
 
 36 
 
In hand of saviour Fortune, to avoid 
 
 The fangs of coast and sea. Which death escaped, 
 
 Aghast in that pale light, our shrunken sail 
 
 And loss beholding, we with scanty fare 
 
 Pastured our starving hope to see again 
 
 Our comrades ; who, if they survive, in turn 
 
 Will think of us as dead. And so we too 
 
 May hope ; — that somewhere still the light of day 
 
 Kindles on Menelaus, as on us. 
 
 Under the hand of Zeus, not mindful yet 
 
 Utterly to destroy and from its place 
 
 Uproot our nation. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Helen, the Conquer ess ! 
 
 — One pastured to the lips in prophecies, 
 
 Some sibyl named thee well. 
 
 And at thy cradle sponsor stood to tell 
 
 Thine afterfame, 
 
 — dreadful history in a name ! 
 
 — Helen of Troy to be. 
 
 Of annal'd war by land and sea, 
 
 Of arms, of men, 
 
 Helen of nations. When 
 
 At last, from silken pale 
 
 Of thy sea-gazing, thou didst give a sail 
 
 To the giant-seeded winds of the west. 
 
 Instant upon the quest * 
 
 37 
 
Of thy light-running keel appeared 
 Myriads, whose clashing bucklers cheered 
 The hounds of blood, and hurled 
 On Simois green the hunters of the world. 
 
 So at the doors of Ilium Vengeance stands 
 Accountant, in her hands 
 The marriage-marring evidence of fate, 
 And the law violate 
 Of Zeus, guest-guardian. She 
 Waits, with dun adversity. 
 On those who in the bridal courts prolong 
 Their spendthrift song. 
 Until that hymenaean falters. Hear 
 In Priam's city at last the accent drear 
 Of dolorous change. 
 
 Hear Paris called the ill-wived. Voice of how strange 
 Groomsmen ! But they have drawn their singing- 
 breath 
 In an age of death. 
 
 There was a man brought home with thought to tame 
 
 The lion-cub reft of his milky dam. 
 
 In his boon whelphood what 
 
 A playmate for the younger ! — not 
 
 Unapt to rouse 
 
 Mirth of the elder house. 
 
 This little weanling oft 
 
 With cringing stomach and entreatment soft 
 
 38 
 
Will at their doors look in, 
 
 And table-mercies win. 
 
 Then trust with trust and kind with kind 
 
 Repaid, the prosperous mite will find 
 
 Caress more freely given. 
 
 And lap-room even. 
 
 But Time, which to maturity- 
 Leads on born savagery, 
 And adult Nature shows the beast of blood 
 In cruel mood 
 
 Returning shepherd-kindness. He has broken 
 Into the sacred pasture, and for token 
 The ruddy lintel smeared 
 And startled homestead cleared 
 Of frightened men, while he the unbidden feast 
 Pursues ; — intemperate priest 
 Of doom, which Ignorance in his mansion bred, 
 At cost uncovenanted. 
 
 Came thus to Troas one, and came with her 
 
 A prosperous weather, as it were 
 
 Summer of idle calm 
 
 That sowed sweet harm 
 
 Of Eros' flower, and sought beneath those eyes 
 
 The dangers of love's paradise. 
 
 — A marriage-change ; 
 
 And then, what consort strange 
 
 39 
 
Is this, who next to Priam's throne 
 Of Priam's people friend hath none. 
 But for herself and for the land 
 Hath furnished to the hand 
 Of what offended god, 
 In what demented haste, this rod, 
 This justice- wanting 
 Erynnus, women-haunting ? 
 
 Life's ancient learning, bent 
 
 With failing eyes on truth, describes the event 
 
 Of human happiness. 
 
 — Not issueless 
 
 Falls the fair branch of fortune, not 
 
 Unfruitful dies, but hath an heir begot, 
 
 Ill-graft upon the parent name of bHss, 
 
 Sorrow, 'tis said, his generation is. 
 
 — Cold creed, not mine ! Despair 
 
 If good should evil bear. 
 
 Rather, 'tis evil that begets his kind ; 
 
 And to my mind 
 
 Truth with itself is reconciled 
 
 If fair have fair to child. 
 
 The Pride of Life, the pampered, still 
 
 Insatiate, hardening human will 
 
 At every turn of fate, to oppose 
 
 The holy gods ; — her progeny are those 
 
 Shadows of mortal path 
 
 And that earnest of death which hath 
 
 40 
 
In the old semblance, to the long-spared home, 
 At the master-moment, come. 
 
 And if mid the hearth-stains of poverty 
 
 The lamp of Justice kindles, she 
 
 Finding a pure faith there, 
 
 Stays, though in many a palace fair 
 
 Rest comes not to an eye that sees 
 
 The soul's uncleannesses, 
 
 The guilty palm of power, whose boastful days 
 
 Herself hath numbered, looking divers ways. 
 
 [Enter Agamemnon, with his following. Cassandra 
 is seated in the mule-car. 
 
 — He comes ! — The King ! 
 
 — lord of Atreus House, Troy-conquering, 
 
 If doubts arrest 
 
 The voices of thy triumph, 'tis but lest 
 
 The excess of praise mere adulation prove ; 
 
 'Tis but that truth we love 
 
 More than that seeming which is everywhere ; 
 
 — The face men wear 
 
 Of gratulation, oft a veil too thin 
 
 To hide the unsmiling soul within ; 
 
 Or if grief calls 
 
 For a fraternal tear, the semblance falls 
 
 From a dry casket. Undeceived is he 
 
 Who in the market of humanity 
 
 41 
 
His cattle knows ; 
 
 And thou, remembering the part we chose 
 
 In times gone by, 
 
 Not then the flatterer's, when thou didst try 
 
 Our counsel ; when the war 
 
 Of Helen came, and not as things now are, 
 
 We did thy wisdom call 
 
 In question, and thy aim depict in all 
 
 Its threatening hues, as when 
 
 It came to force upon reluctant men 
 
 The courage of fierce sacrifice. 
 
 And pay that altar-price, 
 
 — Know, then, the measure of good will 
 
 Which doth our welcome fill. 
 
 And taketh in, as well it should. 
 
 The mighty issue thou hast brought to good. 
 
 And know, as soon thou wilt. 
 
 How justly, or otherwise, each man hath dealt 
 
 His share of commonweal. 
 
 Which one proved false, and which did strictly deal. 
 
 Agamemnon 
 
 Argos, by thee and by thy people-gods 
 Be heard the first of this new voice of mine. 
 To mine own house, by their solicitude 
 Returned, who at their bidding went away. 
 It was no mortal voice that gave Troy doom. 
 By lot announced, when none profanely cast 
 Into the opposing cup a rebel vote 
 
 42 
 
Averse to blood ; none failed us ; so Troy fell. 
 
 — Witness her burning ! What sweet airs prolong 
 
 The Ate-life in ashes and send forth 
 
 Burnt odours with the carnal flames of wealth's 
 
 Blown sacrifice ! To the gods, to the gods return 
 
 Measures of praise heaped in the scale with these 
 
 Vindictive spoils. Not to the spoiler in 
 
 The chase of love this bursting net of gain. 
 
 The male beast turned. — Thou Argive troop, compact 
 
 Of shield, taking thy leap at last amid 
 
 The storms of sunset, thou the battlement 
 
 Hast cleared ; a lion now, with jaws that drip 
 
 Majestic blood. To the gods, to the gods again 
 
 These firstfruits.— Now to you whose weight of care 
 
 Has held me listener, till I could have ta'en 
 
 The burden up and spoken in your stead. 
 
 — It is not in the heart of every man 
 
 To gladden at the welfare of his friend. 
 
 The envious canker there, an eye distressed 
 
 Looks out on neighbour fortune, so to find 
 
 Home-burdens doubled. Often have I proved 
 
 And torn the mask from many a flattering word 
 
 Of many a seeming friend. — Yet there was one, 
 
 Ulysses. He did with rough words dispute 
 
 My sailing-counsel ; but, embarked, stood true. 
 
 And held the course with me. I speak of him ; 
 
 I know not if 'tis of the dead I speak. 
 
 — There's much to do ; let us take counsel on 
 
 The state and the divine action of men. 
 
 43 
 
-^4-A 
 
 If good be proved, how to renew that good 
 To everlasting ; or, if evil be. 
 Whether fire purge it or remedial knife 
 Cut out the part diseased. — But now, 'tis home 
 I enter ; and — the gods first even there- 
 Greet gods of home ; the same who sent me forth, 
 Bring me again. — ^Ye powers attending me 
 In battle, stay my feet in paths of peace. 
 
 [Enter Clytemnestra. While Agamemnon stands in 
 salutation of the gods, she addresses the Chorus 
 first. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 You citizens, elders of Argos, to you 
 
 I may refer, with less misgiving, my theme 
 
 Of wifely duty. Humility, and fear. 
 
 Wear out in time. The hard lot I have borne 
 
 While he — while this man— conquered Troy — 'tis my 
 
 Affair and knowledge. What is known to all 
 
 Is the state of that woman whom her husband 
 
 Deserts for war. The empty house, the cold 
 
 Alarms, dinning on the wrought mind, they come. 
 
 One on another rumour, heaping dread. 
 
 Wounds ; — if the word of wounds were always true, 
 
 This man of hers was riddled like a sieve. 
 
 Deaths ; — what was Geryon in his digged grave, 
 
 Casting the triple cloak of earth he wore ? 
 
 A man of fewer lives, I ween, than this. 
 
 44 
 
Why, in that gloss of maddening rumour, what 
 
 Marvel if it were said — if it were true, 
 
 They cut me from the noose, and left me life 
 
 I could not away with ? — Then — -he is not here, 
 
 The child, the master-witness of my faith. 
 
 And thine — Orestes. Nay, but marvel not ; 
 
 A neighbour cares for him, a friend at arms, 
 
 Strophios the Phocian ; one who, warning, gave 
 
 Shape to the fears that clung about me ; — -death 
 
 In Troas field ; kingdom without a king ; 
 
 Dispersed council, and this house of thine 
 
 At rabble-mercy. Was not this enough ? 
 
 Is human-kind to trust ? Hard do I seem ? 
 
 The springs are dry, there is not a drop remains. 
 
 This harm was done to the once-ready fount 
 
 Of tears. 'Twas that night-watching, that 
 
 Unkindled fire, for thee. That broken sleep, 
 
 Those pestered dreams, when the light-buzzing sense 
 
 Wove in the minutes of too straitened sleep 
 
 Patterns of fear which would have overflowed 
 
 The waking hour. Now all is past I look 
 
 On thee, strayed guardian of the fold returned, 
 
 Strong helmsman, grounded column of the roof, 
 
 Sole prop of parentage infirm, land past 
 
 The hope of sailors, when with land appears 
 
 Fair dawn upon the winter of the seas ; 
 
 When, too, the endless traveller nears the green 
 
 Of desert-wells. Surely there is no sweet 
 
 Like that which never can be. Such the words 
 
 45 
 
I deem to fit thy coming. Stand aside, 
 Envy ! Though past, were there not ills we bore ? 
 — Dear lord, descend ! But not to earth, O king, 
 Troy-conqueror, come thy feet. Down, slaves, and 
 
 spread 
 The footway ; laggards in the task assigned, 
 Why this delay ? Set straight, of broidered wealth, 
 A regal carpet. Justice to his house 
 Unhoped for, guide him. — For the rest, not sleep 
 Shall mask disclosure of our mind, and still 
 Justly, and with the gods, and after fate. 
 
 Agamemnon 
 
 Daughter of Leda, guardian of my house ; 
 Thou hast given me greeting, so extending speech 
 To suit an absence long. More measured praise 
 Had come from other lips, in awe of heaven. 
 , — For that, I am no woman, whom soft things 
 Like words, content ; no satrap, pleased with court 
 Agape, and earth-obeisance. Never spread 
 For me the invidious ground of honour gods 
 Alone may safely tread. I fear that path ; 
 Mortal I am, give me a man's due, not 
 A god's. My fame subsists without the mark 
 Of this dyed blazon ; were it not that heaven's 
 Best gift is other, even a guiltless mind, 
 And none will know, until the end, if life 
 Have prospered ; till the end and all well done, 
 If he have courage left for happiness. ^ 
 
 46 
 
Clytemnestra 
 
 Tell me — and let thine answer not admit 
 Misunderstanding;. 
 
 'O* 
 
 Agamemnon 
 That it never shall. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 Thou hast made a boast of piety. 
 
 Agamemnon 
 
 If not I, 
 Who then should so ? 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Not Priam, if victor he. 
 
 Agamemnon 
 
 No, by my faith, he'd tread the purple path 
 Here strown. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 'Tis human blame you fear in this, 
 
 Agamemnon 
 Strong censors of our acts are human tongues. 
 
 47 
 
Clytemnestra 
 
 They are envious tongues. But without envy none 
 Shall emulate. 
 
 Agamemnon 
 
 Is it a woman's part 
 So to persist in strife of reason ? 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Yet 
 It is a part of power to yield sometimes. 
 
 Agamemnon 
 Thou hast set some pressing store on this. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 And still 
 Am urging, in the hope still to prevail. 
 
 Agamemnon 
 
 So be it. Forward then, some slave, to strip 
 These sandals, lest the insulting feet should mar 
 That cloth of price, fabric of Tyrian seas ; 
 And such ill-thrift, contemptuous use of wealth. 
 Bring down the jealous armoury of heaven. 
 Let be then. But — this stranger-woman. Ah ! 
 Bid welcome here kindly, for kindness is 
 The temper of power, and the gods look for it 
 
 48 
 
Where'er the abashed human spirit sustains 
 Violence of slavery ; and this woman, this 
 Princess ; — -where the luxuriant bloom of life 
 Excels in kings' houses, — she is that flower, 
 The prize of kings ; and to whose arms but ours 
 Should victory, dealing in spoils of fight, 
 Deliver her ? — But since I am constrained, 
 All by thy ruling here, my subject feet, 
 On threshold purple-dight, let enter home. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 There is a field wherein is harvested 
 
 The flower of the eternal sea, whose dyes 
 
 Beseem the fadeless garment of our pride. 
 
 And while our lack in this wise is no more 
 
 Than ocean's penury, or heaven's eclipse. 
 
 Which never yet hath ceased to shine on us, 
 
 I had put leagues of purple down, to hear 
 
 Rumour of thy recall, or oracle 
 
 Prolong thy day of life 'neath foreign suns. 
 
 For even thus, if the tree's root survive, 
 
 Fair shade its distant leaf extendeth o'er 
 
 A barren and deserted homestead, still 
 
 Slakening the rule of Sirius' droughty star. 
 
 And now thou hast entered, like a winter sun. 
 
 The very hearth-place ; like the breath that cools 
 
 Days after harvest, and the winepress full, 
 
 As Is thy life filled with deeds harvested. 
 
 D 49 
 
— O Father Zeus ! — and my remaining prayer 
 Fulfil ! — and that which shall be, be thy will. 
 
 [Exeunt, into the palace, Agamemnon and 
 Clytemnestra. Cassandra remains 
 seated in the mule-car. 
 
 Chorus 
 O gathering shade ! 
 Is it phantom-bodied fear hath cast 
 The prophet forth, and the unbidden singer made 
 A soHtary ? Is it the tangled past 
 Of dreams, which the fair forms of day release, 
 And waking courage solves ? — The day has come. 
 And still it is not these. 
 The day of IHum 
 Hath aged to this hour. 
 The ships of saiHng memory. 
 The empty strand. 
 
 Is it their return I see, 
 
 When, stricken from my hand 
 
 The lyre, and by the voice within 
 
 Confused, breath comes not but with threnody 
 
 And dron'd Erynnus ? Though in that fierce din 
 
 Heart burst, yet Righteousness 
 
 Will on the panting torrent press 
 
 Her labour to the end ; 
 
 And in that whirlpool I 
 
 50 
 
With feeble clamour lend 
 To fathomless woe 
 A voice of prayer, and know 
 'Tis without hope I cry. 
 
 There is no well-to-fare 
 
 In life, when best to win 
 
 Is to find wanting there. 
 
 It is not Health at all. 
 
 So neighboured by Disease, 
 
 Who, ever at the wall, 
 
 A crouching shadow is, 
 
 Intent to enter in. 
 
 — That fair ship, seeming to maintain 
 
 Her even course, beset 
 
 By the unknown, the sunken rock, the bane 
 
 Of sailors ; — yet 
 
 The master-wisdom, reckoning 
 
 His freightage, may the over-burthen note, 
 
 And from the bulwarks fling 
 
 Unvalued jettison, a toll to fate ; 
 
 Leavening, until she float 
 
 Again, his ship, his substance, his estate 
 
 Upon the waters. Thus 
 
 Comes hope to the seafarer ; yea, 
 
 And to the needy slaves of dearth. 
 
 When the all-gatherer, Zeus, 
 
 Of harvest, spills his plenty in the way 
 
 Of annual earth. 
 
 51 
 
But hope to you, O men of blood, 
 
 Comes not at all. 
 
 The drops of sacred blood once spilled 
 
 Have no recall. 
 
 Was one of old time skilled 
 
 To raise the dead ? 
 
 His fate but showed 
 
 Whereto the empery of nature led. 
 
 — Ah no ! Could some divine 
 
 Amend the human lot once drawn. 
 
 And night of destiny 
 
 Merge in alternate dawn. 
 
 Swifter than any tongue, heart of mine, 
 
 With tidings such as these should be. 
 
 Thou hadst shown it now. But hark ! 
 
 Upon what fearful summons do I grope 
 
 With trembling shades and scarce for dread suspire ? 
 
 No thread of hope 
 
 Drawn from the stranded dark 
 
 And patterned fire. 
 
 {Enter Clytemnestra. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Enter. Cassandra is thy name ? Thou too 
 Wilt find provision made. Need it be said. 
 The peace which Zeus hath given extends to thee, 
 A portion in our feast, however small ; 
 A place beside our altar, though a slave's. 
 
 52 
 
I 
 
 Come down. Look not above thee. So did not 
 Alcmena's son, reputed to have borne 
 The yoke of slavery in a foreign mart. 
 Besides, if need to serve, 'tis well to have 
 Of possible masters, not the newly rich. 
 For those whom fortune hath surprised are raw 
 To none so much as to their servants. We 
 Are of the temper that belongs to power. 
 This you will prove. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 She waits your answer. She has said but fair. 
 And you, who are the spoil of destiny. 
 Will choose to obey ; or, if you do not choose, 
 Will still obey. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 There is a barbarous kind 
 Of speech, like the bird-clamour of the roof. 
 About our ears. Therewith a barbarous way 
 Of understanding. If she be not one 
 Of these, persuasion wins. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 How else, for all 
 The choice there is ? No better to sit there, 
 Than follow, as she bids thee. 
 
 53 
 
Clytemnestra 
 
 This is as much 
 Of outdoor leisure as I have to spend. 
 Fire burns upon the household altar, there 
 The sheep of sacrifice are tied and wait 
 For us, who have waited long enough for this. 
 — Dost still delay ? Thy lot is not thine own ; 
 But this occasion is the gods', and this 
 We share with thee. — She hears me not ! Uncouth. 
 — Attempt not then thy barbarous speech, but make 
 Some sign, with what civility thou canst. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Ah, 'tis interpreter she needs. How like 
 Some wild thing newly taken in the net. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Yes, from the newly taken city come, 
 She rages and still starts at every sound. . 
 
 The bridle is not used to fit, there's froth, | 
 
 There's red aversion foamed at the mouth. But 
 
 wait ; 
 The reins are mine. 
 
 [Exit Clytemnestra into the palaci» | 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Ah, piteous creature, hear ; it is not I 
 
 Am angered with thee. At thy journey's end, 
 
 54 
 
Come down, attempt the yoke, with needful grace 
 For what must needs be borne. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 hear me, hear me, gods. 
 Apollo, O Apollo. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 But when did he thou callest, when 
 Did Loxias give heed to voice of fear ? 
 
 Cassandra 
 Hear; save. 
 Apollo, Apollo, 
 
 Chorus 
 
 She calls again on whom 'tis weariness 
 For grief to call. He is not Sorrow's god. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 The streets are full of his name. 
 
 But he is mine. 
 
 Apollo. 
 
 Ah, now thou leavest me ; ah, now thou art gone. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Her own despair is now the prophetess, 
 Divinity left in a mind enslaved. 
 
 55 
 
Cassandra 
 
 The many voices thou hearest ; 
 
 But me, 
 
 Apollo, Apollo, 
 
 Me whither hast thou led ? Unto what roof ? 
 
 Chorus 
 
 The House of Atreus, since thou askest this. 
 But do we tell thee aught thou dost not know ? 
 
 Cassandra 
 Woe, woe, hereby. 
 
 Hate, hate — the gods know it for hate. 
 Murder — she goeth not abroad ; 
 She need but listen here * 
 
 For step of friend. 
 Hangs ever here 
 The rope that hanged. 
 This choking — so breath must fail. 
 This damp — they have not drained 
 The death-places of blood, men's blood — 
 
 Chorus 
 Hound-like, on scent of blood — 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 And children's. 0, these are my witnesses. 
 Ye know the truth I tell, for they cry out 
 
 56 
 
In death, their bodies burned, their flesh, their flesh 
 A father's banquet. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 We are thy witnesses. 
 Soothsayer, yes. We ask not this to say. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 But what is now — but what is now 
 Of horror heaped within those doors ? 
 What fiend's work plotting ? None 
 Can save, none can remove. 
 Help so far off is none, none, none. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Things of the past which thou hast told are known 
 To all the race, but not these present fears. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Wilt do it, wretched one ? 
 
 Couched is he ? Bathest thou his journey's dust ? 
 
 — I'll not tell the end, it is too near. 
 
 Those hands — one is stretched forth already. 
 
 No, 'tis the other reaches forth to kill. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Away with thoughts not to be guessed at, things 
 Unseen. The eye is blurred that sees these things. 
 
 57 
 
Cassandra 
 
 Nay, but 'tis plain ; 
 
 The victim's quite enmeshed. Death has him fast. 
 
 Ruin for consort, who escape the snare 
 
 Of such a bedfellow ? She has him fast. 
 
 — Voices that haunt the house, 
 
 Begin again, let wail. They are not satisfied, 
 
 So there's another due for vengeance. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 The voice thou hearest and still callest on. 
 Is it Erynnus ? Not that thy word is clear. 
 Only before my heart's dull vision blood 
 Rains purple down, Hke drops 
 Of mortal issue, from the wounded frame 
 Of life, when sunset yields to dark. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Look, look ! — For pity unlock 
 
 Those monstrous nuptials. 
 
 A horn'd dagger she hides. Black, black it is. 
 
 A bathrobe hides it. 
 
 He on the crystal edge 
 
 Hath fallen, and from the cleansing laver's hp 
 
 Hath taken stain of death. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 I cannot claim to have followed to the end 
 
 That wisdom's theme wherewith the gods have filled 
 
 58 
 
The lips of prophets, but this truth is mine ; 
 
 The things they have to tell an evil likeness wear 
 
 To naught of good to men. 
 
 Come art, the many, the sweet-syllabled, 
 
 Come melody the most divine. 
 
 The burden is the same, that teaches only fear. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 heavy fate, now is my turn of death, 
 
 To enter on the stream of destiny. 
 
 Me hither, wretched, wherefore didst thou lead, 
 
 Thyself O foully slain, to die with thee ? 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Who art thou, what is thy lament ? 
 
 Is for thyself the passion'd strain. 
 
 Wherein the mortal means are spent 
 
 On more than mortal ? Art thou she 
 
 Who " Itys " cries 
 
 And " Itys," and again ; 
 
 — The singer of brown dusk, the nightingale 
 
 Of earth far-blossoming with pain. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 The nightingale ! Who hears 
 That voice ? as if it were 
 
 59 
 
** earth ! O sorrow ! " — But they gave 
 
 A winged shape to her, 
 
 And a sweet life away from tears. 
 
 — In my cold death is none to save. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 This voice that is despair, 
 
 So sweetly sounds, 
 
 'Tis some divine possession. Yet 
 
 A note of terror breaks the bounds 
 
 Of a pure music, shadows that beset 
 
 The path, and horror lurking there. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Paris, thou and thy bride ! 
 
 Thou hast ruined us, my brother. Ah ! 
 
 Scamander, river of home ! 
 
 My way was deep in green 
 
 By thy old waterside, 
 
 Where I remember always to have been. 
 
 Alas, no more. 
 
 But I that never left thee, unto this have come, 
 
 waiUng river, dark shore. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Who is so new to life as not to hear 
 In these the tones of death ? 
 
 6o 
 
— As though myself did overtake 
 Some treacherous blow, so clear 
 The word she saith, 
 
 That grips my heart, as it would break. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 My country ! O the burdens borne. 
 
 The battles, and the end ! 
 
 My father's house ! the stones uptorn 
 
 For altars, and the fields 
 
 Em-ptied of grazing herds, to spend 
 
 On fruitless heaven and doom they could not 
 
 stay. 
 — Enough, even my spirit yields. 
 I must put all away. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 It follows, all. 
 
 As the spirit, dropt from what height 
 Informs thee, in the language used of pain, 
 — voice most musical ! 
 
 — And death, ranging beyond my sight, 
 And where to question is in vain. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 No longer, as it were the bride of fear. 
 The Oracle peers from a veil obscure. 
 
 6i 
 
Comes now, as oft at restless dawn, a wind. 
 And with that change to visible, the waves 
 Gather a greater head of waters, to 
 The plunge of last calamity. — Enough 
 Ye know to join your witness unto mine, 
 Following the tracks of ancient trouble here. 
 Ye singers of this house did ne'er march forth 
 To happy music ; ne'er had good to tell 
 Of this your dwelling. So much, then, ye know 
 Of spirits that haunt, of revellers within. 
 That sit at table there, and will not move, 
 — 'Tis Murder fills the cup — till from the roof 
 The midnight chanty shrieks, voice unto voice 
 Calling out of the past, they mouth the tale 
 Like garbage. Once a brother's bed defiled. 
 What crime obscene answered the trampler's guilt ? 
 - — I have said it, all have I divined. Must I 
 Seem some loose teller of wild fortunes at 
 Your doors ? Must I approve myself again ? 
 — Believe — swear ye believe that what I know 
 Is of my own divining. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 I could swear. 
 But though my faith were uttered on an oath 
 What help were that to thee ? I am amazed 
 That one, as thou, a stranger born, from far 
 And newly come to us, should know these things. 
 
 62 
 
Cassandra 
 
 It was Apollo's gift to me. Time was 
 When I had shame in saying it. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Was he 
 Thy lover, then ? And did the favour sought 
 By him, a god, of thee a mortal — 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Nay 
 But in fair seemi'ng and yet godlike he 
 My suitor was. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 To wedlock couldst thou come, 
 And children born to him ? 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Loxias ! — I made 
 Consent, I promised, I deceived 
 
 Chorus 
 When he had filled thee with this gift divine ? 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Yes — after he had given. The city then 
 Was marvelling at my power. 
 
 63 
 
Chorus 
 
 What then ? Did he, 
 Did Loxias let thee go unscathed ? 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Alas 
 For my unfaith ! What prophetess was I ? 
 Henceforth no man believed me. 
 
 Chorus 
 Believe thee ! 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Nay, but I 
 
 O, rid me of this thing, 'tis evil, evil. 
 On such a brink I sway, of such a burden 
 Possessed, at any word of it I am lost. 
 — ^Those children ! — Look, those little ones again, 
 Do ye see them ? So like shades transfixed in dream ; 
 So motionless they sit, as fitting those 
 Surprised with death by those who fondled them. 
 Their hands, those small dead hands, they seem to 
 
 hold 
 Some offering of themselves. A father ? — not 
 A father takes their gory contents ; no, 
 'Tis horror-past, pity cannot reach there. 
 And vengeance ? Is it for this that I see such 
 
 64 
 
Home-keeping, nerveless thing of lion-kind 
 Turn himself in the absent monarch's lair ? 
 This is a king Slavery herself must own, 
 And we of wasted Troy attest his power. 
 And yet he knows not how he stands in terms 
 Of hell's conspiracy with the tongue that gave 
 Him welcome and is waiting chance to bite. 
 — 'Tis of the bitch I speak, she only dares 
 The female part of murder. Is there name 
 Of her among unnameable, beasts that creep 
 Before and after ? Such was Scylla, hid 
 In gulfs that swallow shipwreck. Such was she, 
 Mother of death, that warred on her own kind. 
 Didst hear the gladness feigned for his return ? 
 The peal of triumph, as in battle swells 
 The turn of victory ? It matters not 
 What ye did hear, nor what ye take from me. 
 There is what shall be, and shall be too soon 
 To cost the prophetess more pains than these. 
 Your faith stands with your pity, not far off. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Tale of his children's flesh Thyestes had 
 To banquet on, I understood too well. 
 Horror best left in its unfigured shade. 
 The rest I follow not to understand. 
 
 Cassandra 
 Not when I speak of Agamemnon's end ? 
 
 E 65 
 
Chorus 
 
 Take care of words like these, though for thyself 
 Thou'rt desperate. 
 
 Cassandra 
 There's no help in words of yours. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 No, not if these things were. But they are not, 
 And may not be. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Be the protesting word 
 Your care. Theirs is to kill. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Whose ? What, I say ? 
 What man's ? 
 
 Cassandra 
 Thou hast not listened well. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 No, not 
 To gather this. 
 
 66 
 
Cassandra 
 
 As though I did not speak 
 Your tongue. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 In oracles as dark to see, 
 The Pythian speaks the tongue of Hellas too. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Ah, not again ! — Lycian Apollo, ah, 
 
 Put out the fire ! it draws too near. 
 
 — One of a race of kings, this lion's mate, 
 
 In her lord's absence couches with a wolf. 
 
 If such a one hath spite, how should it spare 
 
 A wretch like me ? She'll not forget to mix 
 
 My portion in the draught of death. For him 
 
 A dagger sharpened ; for my presence here 
 
 With him, the thrust deep, deep as vengeance 
 
 Can take it. O, this mockery on my breast. 
 
 This mantic wreath I have worn, this prophet's staff ; 
 
 Should these survive mine injury of death ? 
 
 — Lie there and do no harm ; the vanity 
 
 Will not be found again in woman weak 
 
 As I, to wear prophetic likeness. None 
 
 Will touch. Take back thy gift, Apollo ! See, 
 
 He has divested me, looks on me now 
 
 As I was, but for the shame that's past. I had friends 
 
 Whose mockery drove me wild, and to think all 
 
Mine enemies. They called me — >what ? 
 
 I might have been a vagrant in their path, 
 
 Witless, and hunger-driven to frenzy, asking 
 
 This charity of them — to be believed. 
 
 Here is an end. My lord of wisdom, he 
 
 Has brought me to the wisdom of the dead. 
 
 For altar — my father's house, 
 
 And the lov'd temple-service there 1 
 
 — This block, this blood-splash, this before mine 
 
 eyes. 
 Vengeance ? Yes, there will be to pay this debt 
 Of dying, someone to make pay the price. 
 Another branch of murder-bearing tree, 
 Son of his father, and his mother too, 
 Avenging one upon the other. He 
 Shall wander out of exile, to renew 
 The home-acquaintances, builders of wrath, 
 And cope the muniment of death. For him 
 No other way but to seek out the place 
 That saw his sire struck down. For him no choice, 
 Bound by no oath but what the heavens have sworn. 
 — I weep not for the sorrows of this house, 
 Seeing my own, my Ilium come to what 
 These eyes have seen, my people come to this, 
 And in heaven's judgment come. I have come too, 
 To endure as they ; I can endure as well 
 To die. I will address me to these doors, 
 Ask death to open to me. I think there is 
 No more to ask ; only that when it fall, 
 
 68 
 
The blow may end me, and no need to shrink 
 Or struggle ; but a closing of the eyes 
 On a swift-running stream. ^ 
 
 Chorus 
 
 0, whither now 
 Hath sorrow led thee ? Wisdom to what bourne 
 Arrived, that looking, as thou seem'st to do, 
 On thine own death, thou canst go to it thus, 
 All-knowing, to endure ; not as the ox 
 That paces slow the route of sacrifice. 
 And yet as far from fear ? 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Help there is none, 
 t O strangers. So what need prolong the hour ? 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Yet, to put off the hour, this is the thought 
 Even of age, when we have come to it. 
 
 Cassandra 
 \ The day has come, I am not its fugitive. 
 
 Chorus 
 \ What courage ! so to bear. 
 
 69 
 
Cassandra 
 
 'Tis all they need, 
 Who miss the path of happiness. "^ 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Grace left 
 To those unfortunate — nobly to face 
 The end. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 My father ! so didst thou, and so 
 We of thy house. And yet — 
 
 Chorus 
 
 What comes to thee ? What labour of the heart 
 For breath ? 
 
 I 
 
 Cassandra . 
 
 These walls — a smell of blood — of blood — % 
 
 Chorus J 
 
 A burning on the hearth, an incense strange 
 To thee. 
 
 Cassandra 
 No, no, a breath of open graves. 
 
 70 
 
Chorus 
 
 No words of mine can balm instil in what 
 Thou tastest now. 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 As well within as here, 
 To handle that last cup. Is it finished with him ? 
 Hath Agamemnon tasted ? — I have yet 
 Life — to be rid of. Strangers, farewell. 
 I was to dwell with you. 
 Alas, you say. But no. Behold me now, 
 Not like that shrieking bird in quickset fear, 
 No, not like that. I want your witness still 
 To that dead woman which is myself ; — when for 
 
 my cause 
 Yet other woman perish, aye, and man too, 
 For other man ill-mated. — I was to be 
 Your guest, but life is done. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 0, for compassion's sake — beseech the gods 
 That otherwise — 
 
 Cassandra 
 
 Not a word, not for myself 
 I pray, yet one word more. It is to thee. 
 To thee. Sun of my life, light of last day. 
 — Thou seest none my avenger ; me a slave 
 
 71 
 
They kill, and fear no reckoning. Yet not so ; 
 Mine are the avengers of the mightier dead 
 That die with me. This, this is human, this 
 Is life. Joy was a shadow, and no more 
 The marks of pain. Behold, how easy 'tis 
 To rub them off. The writing's vanished. This 
 Is only more to pity. 
 
 [Exit Cassandra, into the palace. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 O house of fame. 
 
 Example to the world of power ; 
 
 Hath no one of thy name. 
 
 Even at this hour, 
 
 Prudence to shut the door in fortune's face, 
 
 Or deprecate, at least. 
 
 The gifts unloaded there ? 
 
 For lUium's captive grace 
 
 Stands at the conqueror's feast, 
 
 Gods of homecoming fair 
 
 Attend ; whence then this cry 
 
 Of blood once shed ? 
 
 If he, the glorious living, die 
 
 For so long dead, 
 
 An end would be . ' 
 
 To all that earthly-dwellers have. 
 
 Or hope to save. 
 
 From the ill-genius of mortality. 
 
 72 
 
Agamemnon (Within) 
 Smitten am I . . . 
 
 Chorus (Leader) 
 Silence ! — Whose voice is that, whose voice of death ? 
 
 Agamemnon 
 Again ! 
 
 Chorus (Leader) 
 'Tis ended ! — 'tis the King ! — what coimsel, say ? 
 
 Various Voices of the Chorus 
 Mine is — to the city— rouse we all we can. 
 
 — Nay — in with us — the evidence of guilt 
 Is there to take red-handed. 
 
 — I am for doing — and that quickly— what ? 
 
 — One thing is clear — a tyranny prepares 
 To fasten on us. 
 
 — Yet we do naught — their ready hands will bring 
 To scorn our purpose thus deferred. 
 
 — We should have been prepared. Counsel is hard 
 To suit to action. 
 
 73 
 
— Counsel will not bring 
 The dead to life. 
 
 — No, nor our own lives given. 
 But 'tis a dastard purchase, at the cost. 
 
 — Aye, death were better than such tyranny. 
 
 — But — to make sure — art certain it was death ? 
 
 — How sounded it ? Let us not say too much ; 
 'Tis but conjecture, there is yet to know. 
 
 — To know — aye, there's the point — how fares it with 
 The King? 
 
 [Enter Clytemnestra from the palace, dis- 
 closing the bodies of Agamemnon and 
 Cassandra 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Now I can speak, where opportunity 
 Was never truth to tell, but always false. 
 Always to fear. How else ? When enemies 
 Go in another likeness, we must wear 
 That hkeness too, and with a friendly gesture 
 Invite. It was a snare set long ago, 
 No risk could be admitted to the issue. 
 Sudden it seems, but much went to it, this 
 
 74 
 
Is but the final cast. Yet more than that. 
 
 'Twas here I struck, and here I stand assured 
 
 Of all I struck for, even to own the deed. 
 
 And say, was it not well done, that gave no chance 
 
 To escape, nor made uncertainty of death ? 
 
 Fairly I cast, and drew the net ashore. 
 
 Seamless I wove, that the rich dress might suit. 
 
 I struck him in it twice. 
 
 As many times he groaned, and therewith took 
 
 The pose of death. I had done ; but to make up 
 
 The tale of tribute due to gods who wait 
 
 Beneath the earth for souls of passing men, 
 
 And so they should not wait for him in vain, 
 
 I struck once more, the third time. To be sure, 
 
 His parting breath did linger not at all. 
 
 And life ran fountain-free and slaughter-red ; 
 
 I was myself bedewed, a darksome kind 
 
 Of rain ; but, O, gods never opened heaven 
 
 On such a thirsty earth as I, nor brought 
 
 A more delightful season to the womb 
 
 Of life's expectant pain. But ye know not 
 
 How these things be ; — old men of Argos, get 
 
 What joy you can from things that make for joy. 
 
 I tend triumphant altars ; I would make 
 
 Libation here ; this, this should be the flesh 
 
 Of sacrifice, were it seemly, as 'tis just ; 
 
 — justice never to be questioned ! Cup 
 
 Thou hast drained ; yea, thou, who didst it fill for us 
 
 With imprecation ; thou hast tasted, thou ! 
 
 75 
 
Chorus 
 
 And this thy husband ! amazing tongue, 
 That darest all unspeakable to speak ! 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Yes, in a woman, 'tis no doubt beyond 
 Belief. And then, that I should tell of it. 
 And in the telling show no natural fear. 
 Nor nice regard for aught I might receive 
 Of praise or blame from you who know so much, 
 Such as, I was his wife, and this was he, 
 My husband — now the corpse of my right hand ; 
 And justice done, and I again, the doer. 
 So stands the case that naught could make more 
 plain. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 What taste of earth, defamed, 
 
 Or poison-seas hath passed 
 
 Thy lips, that frenzy led. 
 
 And world aghast. 
 
 Thou hast strange altars fed 
 
 With sacrifice unnamed ? 
 
 And thou, unnameable — the race 
 
 Of men, earth's remnant left inhabited, 
 
 Will look not on thy face. 
 
 76 
 
I 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 So ready are ye with justice, to pronounce 
 Hate, execration, banishment, in name 
 Of public conscience^ This for me, but what 
 For him, who brought our human flesh to trade 
 Of butchery ; who, that time, when pastures teemed 
 With eligible sacrifice, sought out 
 His child — and of my children one — that one 
 I was mother to, that sweetest breath he cast 
 To Thracian dragon-mouths, unravelling 
 The winds' foul magic. Could ye not have joined 
 The human hunt, and tracked the pestilence 
 To him who breathed it first ? Instead of which 
 Ye put the scent of crime upon my deeds, 
 And, justice-mongering, dilate on them. 
 Proceed, and get the better if ye can 
 Of truth, and use the power ye have not now. 
 rU suffer you, though even yet the gods 
 Put off the issue. You, even you, will learn. 
 
 Chorus 
 A burden to breaking *tis, 
 And reason over-reaching ; loud 
 To speak. — What madness this, 
 That shakes a dripping shroud, 
 To dash thine eyes 
 With blood, and drive to spend 
 The last thou hast on that which all denies, 
 But blow for blow and friendlessness for friend ! 
 
 77 
 
Clytemnestra 
 
 Ha, there's the sanction of divine in this 
 
 The oath I swear. Hear it, by Ate and 
 
 Erynnus, names of dread whose service due 
 
 To Justice put it in my hands to slay 
 
 The murderer of my child. I do not think. 
 
 While I have one to mend my fire at home. 
 
 That Fear will have for me his quaking guest. 
 
 .^gisthus, he it is who stands with me. 
 
 The shield behind my point of courage. What 
 
 Of him ? Nay, rather, what of this ? Here 
 
 lies 
 The woman, too, and not the only one. 
 A little more of honey-sweet and less 
 Of poison-barb he left behind with those 
 Of Chryseis' coast-girls, altar-flames, I trow ; 
 — This one he hath had allayed for him too soon. 
 For bedmate, something of the sibyl-kind. 
 Ah, the wise spending of the curtained time ! 
 Shipboard as well, so favourably planned 
 For converse. They have paid for what they 
 
 had. 
 We'll count the cost, as so much he, and she, 
 Swan-song to boot, the dying flavour fled. 
 So much, cold sweetheart. Does it balance ? She 
 Has not subtracted, by her lying there, 
 More than a very little from the pleasure 
 With which, awhile, I did for my own board 
 Contract. 
 
 78 
 
Chorus 
 
 Shut down, shut down 
 
 The Hght of day in us, 
 
 Lead darkness on 
 
 To endless sleep, that thus 
 
 The vision of him here 
 
 Become not now, through hours untold. 
 
 Bedridden thought's attendant fear ; 
 
 Our king, our strength, 
 
 Our counsellor. 
 
 By woman dead at length, 
 
 Who, living, bore 
 
 A burden woman-heaped of old. 
 
 ■ — Helen, for thee 
 
 What Ilian numbers fled 
 
 On spirit-wings the Ilian shore ? 
 
 Misguided Helen, see 
 
 Whom thou hast added to thy dead, 
 
 And now canst add no more. 
 
 For thou, of tendril'd strife 
 
 The stem that grew. 
 
 All-clasping, shadowy. 
 
 The walls that were the house of life, 
 
 Blood-watering, hast brought to flower anew 
 
 Dead-branched memory. 
 
 79 
 
Clytemnestra 
 
 Ask not for Death — he's here ; 
 
 Spend not your breath beside 
 
 To catch at Helen's name. 
 
 She need not bear the blame 
 
 For all the deaths that Greeks have died, 
 
 For every man's heart that hath turned to fear. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 A spirit accurst, a power malign, 
 
 Descends, Tantalus, 
 
 On thee and house of thine. 
 
 One, woman-habited. 
 
 Appears and speaks to us 
 
 In tones that still the feast of death prolong. 
 
 The raven o'er its dead 
 
 Speaks that tongue. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 A spirit accurst !— ye have it, nay, 
 Could not avoid it, where 
 It comes forever in your way, 
 Untimely foetus, cast again, 
 Again to rear, 
 
 A monster suckling — 'tis to allay 
 That blood-accustomed thirst, lie here 
 The newly slain. 
 
 80 
 
Chorus 
 
 Ye have named it — of 
 
 Our demon-mastered race 
 
 Soul-clutching terror, lurking in hearth-place. 
 
 Have we not cried, Enough ? 
 
 To Zeus we have cried, cause divine. 
 
 Are these works thine ? 
 
 Without thee, nothing ; none 
 
 Beside thee, god. Thou and thy works are one. 
 
 But 0, our Ring, our King ! 
 
 The tears thy friendless people shed ! 
 
 For us the net they fling 
 
 That gathers thee with the unkingHke dead. 
 
 — 'Twas not thy fighting-breath, 
 
 Alas, that fled 
 
 A secret-handed death. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 The hand that slew the Argive King, 
 — Remember this— 
 
 It was not Argive Queen ; I am not I, 
 No, no : — phantom-inhabiting 
 This body, spirit-centred here, 
 The old plagues fly. 
 
 And he whom rumoured fate hath chosen to die, 
 Was not my husband ; not his wife was I, 
 F 8l 
 
Howbeit my bed his bier. 
 
 And though my table seems to have 
 
 Feast spread of unclean thing, 
 
 It is that Atreus-memory, which gave 
 
 Young limbs for banqueting. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Who, that is witness here, 
 
 Of murder, shall another witness bear 
 
 To what thou sayest ? how runs the tale ? 
 
 How Hfts in thee the ancestral veil ? 
 
 How springs to light, beneath 
 
 Thy hand, the unforgetting skill of death. 
 
 Lurking, long generations down. 
 
 And rained on by the drops self-sown, 
 
 And adult-harvested, 
 
 To freshen stains of infant-dead ? 
 
 — But 0, our King, our King ! 
 
 The tears thy friendless people shed ! 
 
 For us the net they fling 
 
 That gathers thee with the unkingUke dead. 
 
 — ''Twas not thy fighting-breath 
 Alas, that fled 
 A secret-handed death. 
 82 
 
Clytemnestra 
 
 That secret hand again ! 
 
 — Who first sowed strife, 
 
 A vast night-growing bane, 
 
 Shedding unspoken thoughts of death ? 
 
 Who dragged beneath 
 
 The shadow of its pain 
 
 My branch of weeping life, 
 
 Iphigeneia, thy child ? 
 
 [Addressing the corpse of Agamemnon 
 — Take with thee underground 
 Those lips defiled 
 With blasphemies of love. 
 Front hell with them, let sound 
 That boast — and still find breath enough 
 To awake the anguished wound. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Stunned out of thought 
 
 I stagger, all my counsel is 
 
 To fling hands of despair 
 
 Against this bringing all to naught, 
 
 This ruining kingdom, this 
 
 Dark-raining air. 
 
 That lashes to the fall 
 
 Their blood-sprent towers. 
 
 — What, stand they yet ? Is all 
 
 Over ? The empty hours 
 
 83 
 
Of silence hold 
 
 A sound of grinding ; Fate her hand hath freed, 
 
 And lethal weapon tries 
 
 On other stones for other deed 
 
 That secret lies 
 
 In story untold. 
 
 Earth should have covered me, 
 
 Or ever silver-sided stream 
 
 Became his blood-bath and his seat of death. 
 
 Who is there gathereth 
 
 To sepulture ? Who starteth theme 
 
 Of royal grief, and maketh last amends ? 
 
 — If thou, of all the race, 
 
 Think to do aught of mourning-kind, 
 
 His spirit yet defends 
 
 Itself from this disgrace, 
 
 And there are wanting not 
 
 Tears, and there is a grief to find 
 
 That looks not from thy face. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Ye trouble yourselves, where naught 
 
 Follows from all the counsel ye may give. 
 
 It falls on us to act. Burial, some prepare. 
 
 Mourners, we leave. 
 
 A houseful, doubtless. — What 
 
 Of further escort ; those 
 
 84 
 
He should find midway the darkness, where 
 
 The pale dividing river flows ? 
 
 Feet that have trod the wild, 
 
 Eager to meet, 
 
 Arms to embrace, and lips to greet. 
 
 — Iphigeneia, his child ; 
 
 She will be there. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 She bears all down, answer I need. 
 
 Reason with reason wars, reason is none. 
 
 Spoiled is the spoiler now, the seed 
 
 Of death is in the reaping. One 
 
 Who can to everlasting wait, 
 
 Ponders the deed. 
 
 And if he speak, it is a word of fate 
 
 That solemn sounds. 
 
 But nothing frees 
 
 From the unbroken bounds 
 
 Of these wall'd secrecies. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 How near ye come to truth, how near 
 
 The oracular, the dark. 
 
 The uninterpreted. 
 
 I wish — 'I wish that here 
 
 Such spirit would bring 
 
 His demon-understanding into pact 
 
 85 
 
With mine ; — bury the dead, 
 
 Let be what has been, 
 
 Hard though it was to bear. 
 
 Away — away. Be seen 
 
 No longer at our door. 
 
 Waste with self-inflicted death 
 
 Another race, untried, 
 
 And able still to bear. 
 
 My spirit saith. 
 
 Surrender all ;— kingdom and wealth beside, 
 
 But kill no more. 
 
 [Enter ^Egisthus. 
 
 iEciSTHUS 
 
 day of kindness ! In thy face I see 
 The looks of heaven compassionate the pain 
 Of earth. Justice is visible, and Fate 
 Hath woven to the light, that all may mark 
 The pattern of Erynnus on the robe 
 Whose workmanship I love, wherein he lies. 
 In this ye may behold a father's hand. 
 Atreus, this dead man's sire, was ruler here. 
 Thyestes, my father, was this Atreus' brother. 
 Our fathers, then, dwelt here, and enmity 
 Arose between them. So my father fled. 
 Then followed him in exile, as it were, 
 Some word of reconcilement ; and in hope 
 Of peace, and eager, came Thyestes back, 
 
 86 
 
My father, to his home. He found not death ; 
 
 But in that house, where home and children 
 
 were, 
 As was most fit, more than a friend should find, 
 A feast already spread ; Atreus must show 
 A brother's token of forgiveness. Food 
 Was set before them. Atreus sat not near 
 His brother. Atreus kept the dish his side, 
 Wherefrom he served his brother. 'Twas a mess 
 Whose indistinguishable part he served. 
 Remained the tokens ; — sodden fingers, feet — 
 To show at last, whereby Thyestes knew 
 His children. Ah, taste unprocurable 
 Of death ! A father's vomit — hear the curse 
 That overturned the board ! No more shall 
 
 house 
 Of Pelops stand, no more shall Atreus stand. 
 Ye feel the shock this day ; ye see the fallen. 
 — Of this unbuilding, 'tis my boast to have been 
 The just artificer. Thyestes' child 
 I was, the new-born left of those he had. 
 And in his bosom he seized me when he fled. 
 Justice has reared me, brought me back to be 
 In my own house a stranger, yet at home. 
 The while I had this man to wait for, fasten 
 This thing upon him, find his death within 
 My compass. So to plant the stakes of doom 
 For him, spending myself upon his death, 
 Were beautifully to contrive my own. 
 
 87 
 
Chorus 
 
 Here is ill done, iEgisthus, and no room, 
 
 For thoughts bemused with sounding words of thine, 
 
 All we have heard is that thou hadst the will 
 
 To do this deed ; nay, more, the craft to work 
 
 This piteous ending ; and thou knowest well. 
 
 Justice can make no answer, but in terms 
 
 Of thy own kind, by force outweighing force, 
 
 — The people's arm is long, the curse of it 
 
 Lies not in tongues ; so many are the hands 
 
 That take to stoning. 
 
 ^GISTHUS 
 
 So speaks the lower deck 
 That pulls the galley. There are higher ranks 
 Direct the course. 'Tis hard for age like thine 
 To learn, and to be bidden what to learn ; 
 And yet thou'rt like to learn. Prison and pain 
 Of famine, are not these subtle physicians 
 To malady of age ? Is it blindness ? No. 
 Ye see whither ye are driven. Is it heels ye fling 
 Against the whip ? False step to chastisement ! 
 
 Chorus 
 
 What shall I tell of thee ? A woman's part 
 Prolonged at home, when men were fighting ? What 
 Was wanting of adulterous and false 
 In one who worked to such an end as this ? 
 
 88 
 
JEgistuvs 
 
 There is the sounding of a world of troubles 
 Through all our ears, for thee. What other kind 
 Of Orpheus art thou, charming with thy song 
 Out of their lairs the barking mouths, the pack 
 Insensible, which Orpheus never led ? 
 An altered government will mean a cage 
 For these wild ways. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 As though an Argive State 
 Could fashion thee its tyrant !— who thyself 
 Barest not to do the deed which thou hadst planned, 
 Deputing murder — 
 
 iEciSTHUS 
 
 How should I, suspect 
 To all the house through my old enmity, 
 Make veiled approach ? The woman's chance it 
 
 was. 
 Unquestioned. Now it is my part to rule ; 
 And I, with this man's substance to my hand. 
 Shall have the wherewithal to lay on him 
 Who lighter rein esteems not, what shall test 
 His champing mettle, and the bit will hold. 
 Or for a stable-fellow he shall have 
 The kindless sort, and dark to fast upon. 
 Until his eye lack fire. 
 
 89 
 
Chorus 
 
 This man, I say, 
 Thou'rt not, who could despoil this dead man of 
 His life, unless a woman did it, matching 
 Thy cowardice with her poison-spirit, marring 
 The place of home and its divinity 
 Enshrined. Orestes !— Father, looks thy son 
 On light of day that shall endure until 
 He make a night of death to hide these twain ? 
 
 ^GISTHUS 
 
 What meanest thou ? Whether word or action touch 
 Thy meaning nearest, thou shalt know, and soon. 
 — Out, out, my waiting swords ! Your time has come. 
 [Enter Armed Followers of ^Egisthus. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Out, out ! — 'That means, prepare ! Out, every man, 
 his sword, 
 
 iEciSTHUS 
 
 I, too, shall have a hand at last, come death to me ! 
 
 Chorus 
 Now bring thy word to pass, put it to fortune's proof. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 No more — O, as thou lov'st me, do no more. 
 My friend, what we have gathered should suffice, 
 
 90 
 
Where all we gather is but pain and death. 
 Old men, go to your homes. And thou, too, go ! 
 Before 'tis done, and then no more to do. 
 But all to suffer. Besides, there is to make 
 Secure what's done. 'Tis not in us to show 
 Unwounded courage fit for further bout 
 With fate. And if this last counsel of mine 
 Seem but a woman's, it is better so. 
 
 -^GISTHUS 
 
 Not prune the rampant growth of tongues like these ? 
 — ^Their words, if left to fall, a dangerous seed 
 May prove. It is not wisdom in a king 
 To leave them there. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 'Tis not in Argive bom 
 To own thee king. 
 
 -^GISTHUS 
 
 Put off to other days 
 The issue we shall join. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Divinity 
 Direct Orestes to this aim ! 
 
 91 
 
iEciSTHUS 
 
 Ah, he 1 
 The fugitive picks up a scanty meal J 
 
 Of hope. ^ 
 
 Chorus 
 And thou — thou battenest here, the while 
 Sick Justice spurns the board. 
 
 I 
 
 iEciSTHUS ^ 
 
 Has he a fool's 
 Impunity to speak again ? 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Canst crow. 
 Thou, on thy roost, thou and thy mate beside. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 Have patience such as words like these do not deserve. 
 For thou and I need much to order all things well. 
 
 Printed by Maxell, Wttson & Vin^y, Ld., London and Aylesbury. 
 
i 
 
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