Until the guard upon Messapius' peak
Saw the far flame gleam on Euripus' tide,
And from the high-piled heap of withered furze
Lit the new sign and bade the message on.
Then the strong light, far-flown and yet undimmed,
Shot thro' the sky above Asopus' plain,
Bright as the moon, and on Cithaeron's crag
Aroused another watch of flying fire.
And there the sentinels no whit disowned,
But sent redoubled on, the hest of flame
Swift shot the light, above Gorgopis' bay,
To Aegiplanctus' mount, and bade the peak
Fail not the
onwardordinance of fire.
And like a long beard streaming in the wind,
Full-fed with fuel, roared and rose the blaze,
And
onward flaring, gleamed above the cape,
Beneath which shimmers the Saronic bay,
And
thence leapt light unto Arachne's peak,
The mountain watch that looks upon our town.
Thence to th' Atreides' roof-in lineage fair,
A bright
posterity of Ida's fire.
So sped from stage to stage, fulfilled in turn,
Flame after flame, along the course ordained,
And lo! the last to speed upon its way
Sights the end first, and glows unto the goal.
And Troy is ta'en, and by this sign my lord
Tells me the tale, and ye have
learned my word.
LEADER
To heaven, O queen, will I upraise new song:
But, wouldst thou speak once more, I fain would hear
From first to last the
marvel of the tale.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Think you-this very morn-the Greeks in Troy,
And loud
therein the voice of utter wail!
Within one cup pour
vinegar and oil,
And look! unblent, unreconciled, they war.
So in the twofold issue of the strife
Mingle the victor's shout, the
captives' moan.
For all the conquered whom the sword has spared
Cling weeping-some unto a brother slain,
Some childlike to a nursing father's form,
And wail the loved and lost, the while their neck
Bows down already 'neath the
captive's chain.
And lo! the victors, now the fight is done,
Goaded by
restlesshunger, far and wide
Range all disordered thro' the town, to snatch
Such
victual and such rest as chance may give
Within the
captive halls that once were Troy-
Joyful to rid them of the frost and dew,
Wherein they couched upon the plain of old-
Joyful to sleep the
gracious night all through,
Un
summoned of the watching sentinel.
Yet let them
reverence well the city's gods,
The lords of Troy, tho' fallen, and her
shrines;
So shall the spoilers not in turn be spoiled.
Yea, let no
craving for
forbidden gain
Bid conquerors yield before the darts of greed.
For we need yet, before the race be won,
Homewards, unharmed, to round the course once more.
For should the host wax
wanton ere it come,
Then, tho'the sudden blow of fate be spared,
Yet in the sight of gods shall rise once more
The great wrong of the slain, to claim revenge.
Now,
hearing from this woman's mouth of mine,
The tale and eke its
warning, pray with me,
Luck sway the scale, with no
uncertain poise,
For my fair hopes are changed to fairer joys.
LEADER
A
gracious word thy woman's lips have told,
Worthy a wise man's
utterance, O my queen;
Now with clear trust in thy
convincing tale
I set me to
salute the gods with song,
Who bring us bliss to counterpoise our pain.
(CLYTEMNESTRA goes into the palace.)
CHORUS (singing)
Zeus, Lord of heaven! and
welcome night
Of
victory, that hast our might
With all the glories crowned!
On towers of Ilion, free no more,
Hast flung the
mighty mesh of war,
And closely girt them round,
Till neither
warrior may 'scape,
Nor stripling
lightly overleap
The trammels as they close, and close,
Till with the grip of doom our foes
In slavery's coil are bound!
Zeus, Lord of hospitality,
In
grateful awe I bend to thee-
'Tis thou hast struck the blow!
At Alexander, long ago,
We marked thee bend thy vengeful bow,
But long and warily withhold
The eager shaft, which, uncontrolled
And loosed too soon or launched too high,
Had wandered bloodless through the sky.
strophe 1
Zeus, the high God!-whate'er be dim in doubt,
This can our thought track out-
The blow that fells the
sinner is of God,
And as he wills, the rod
Of
vengeance smiteth sore. One said of old,
The gods list not to hold
A
reckoning with him whose feet oppress
The grace of holiness-
An
impious word! for whenso'er the sire
Breathed forth
rebellious fire-
What time his household overflowed the
measureOf bliss and health and treasure-
His children's children read the
reckoning plain,
At last, in tears and pain.
On me let weal that brings no woe be sent,
And therewithal, content!
Who spurns the
shrine of Right, nor
wealth nor power
Shall be to him a tower,
To guard him from the gulf: there lies his lot,
Where all things are forgot.
antistrophe 1
Lust drives him on-lust,
desperate and wild,
Fate's sin-contriving child-
And cure is none; beyond
concealment clear,
Kindles sin's baleful glare.
As an ill coin beneath the wearing touch
Betrays by stain and smutch
Its metal false-such is the sinful wight.
Before, on pinions light,
Fair Pleasure flits, and lures him childlike on,
While home and kin make moan
Beneath the grinding burden of his crime;
Till, in the end of time,
Cast down of heaven, he pours forth fruitless prayer
To powers that will not hear.
And such did Paris come
Unto Atreides' home,
And
thence, with sin and shame his
welcome to repay,
Ravished the wife away-
strophe 2
And she, unto her country and her kin
Leaving the clash of shields and spears and arming ships,
And
bearing unto Troy
destruction for a dower,
And overbold in sin,
Went fleetly thro' the gates, at
midnight hour.
Oft from the prophets' lips
Moaned out the
warning and the wail-Ah woe!
Woe for the home, the home! and for the chieftains, woe!
Woe for the bride-bed, warm
Yet from the lovely limbs, the
impress of the form
Of her who loved her lord,
awhile ago
And woe! for him who stands
Shamed, silent, unreproachful, stretching hands
That find her not, and sees, yet will not see,
That she is far away!
And his sad fancy, yearning o'er the sea,
Shall
summon and recall
Her wraith, once more to queen it in his hall.
And sad with many memories,
The fair cold beauty of each sculptured face-
And all to hatefulness is turned their grace,
Seen blankly by
forlorn and
hungering eyes!
antistrophe 2
And when the night is deep,
Come visions, sweet and sad, and
bearing pain
Of hopings vain-
Void, void and vain, for
scarce the
sleeping sight
Has seen its old delight,
When thro' the grasps of love that bid it stay
It vanishes away
On silent wings that roam adown the ways of sleep.
Such are the sights, the sorrows fell,
About our hearth-and worse,
whereof I may not tell.
But, all the wide town o'er,
Each home that sent its master far away
From Hellas' shore,
Feels the keen
thrill of heart, the pang of loss, to-day.
For, truth to say,
The touch of bitter death is manifold!
Familiar was each face, and dear as life,
That went unto the war,
But
thither,
whence a
warrior went of old,
Doth
nought return-
Only a spear and sword, and ashes in an urn!
strophe 3
For Ares, lord of strife,
Who doth the swaying scales of battle hold,
War's money-changer, giving dust for gold,
Sends back, to hearts that held them dear,
Scant ash of
warriors, wept with many a tear,
Light to the band, but heavy to the soul;
Yea, fills the light urn full
With what survived the flame-
Death's dusty
measure of a hero's frame!
Alas! one cries, and yet alas again!
Our chief is gone, the hero of the spear,
And hath not left his peer!
Ah woe! another moans-my
spouse is slain,
The death of honour, rolled in dust and blood,
Slain for a woman's sin, a false wife's shame!
Such muttered words of bitter mood
Rise against those who went forth to reclaim;
Yea,
jealous wrath creeps on against th' Atreides' name.
And others, far beneath the Ilian wall,
Sleep their last sleep-the
goodly chiefs and tall,