The CHORUS sings its welcome.)
Hail to thee, chief of Atreus' race,
Returning proud from Troy subdued!
How shall I greet thy conquering face?
How nor a fulsome praise obtrude,
Nor stint the meed of gratitude?
For
mortal men who fall to ill
Take little heed of open truth,
But seek unto its
semblance still:
The show of
weeping and of ruth
To the
forlorn will all men pay,
But, of the grief their eyes display,
Nought to the heart doth
pierce its way.
And, with the
joyous, they beguile
Their lips unto a feigned smile,
And force a joy, unfelt the while;
But he who as a
shepherd wise
Doth know his flock, can ne'er misread
Truth in the
falsehood of his eyes,
Who veils beneath a kindly guise
A lukewarm love in deed.
And thou, our leader-when of yore
Thou badest Greece go forth to war
For Helen's sake-I dare avow
That then I held thee not as now;
That to my
vision thou didst seem
Dyed in the hues of disesteem.
I held thee for a pilot ill,
And
reckless, of thy proper will,
Endowing others doomed to die
With vain and forced audacity!
Now from my heart, ungrudgingly,
To those that
wrought, this word be said-
Well fall the labour ye have sped-
Let time and search, O king, declare
What men within thy city's bound
Were loyal to the kingdom's care,
And who were
faithless found.
AGAMEMNON (still
standing in the chariot)
First, as is meet, a king's All-hail be said
To Argos, and the gods that guard the land-
Gods who with me availed to speed us home,
With me availed to wring from Priam's town
The due of justice. In the court of heaven
The gods in conclave sat and judged the cause,
Not from a pleader's tongue, and at the close,
Unanimous into the urn of doom
This
sentence gave, On Ilion and her men,
Death: and where hope drew nigh to pardon's urn
No hand there was to cast a vote therein.
And still the smoke of fallen Ilion
Rises in sight of all men, and the flame
Of Ate's hecatomb is living yet,
And where the towers in dusty ashes sink,
Rise the rich fumes of pomp and
wealth consumed
For this must all men pay unto the gods
The meed of mindful hearts and gratitude:
For by our hands the meshes of revenge
Closed on the prey, and for one woman's sake
Troy trodden by the Argive
monster lies-
The foal, the shielded band that leapt the wall,
What time with autumn sank the Pleiades.
Yea, o'er the
fencing wall a lion sprang
Ravening, and lapped his fill of blood of kings.
Such prelude
spoken to the gods in full,
To you I turn, and to the
hidden thing
Whereof ye spake but now: and in that thought
I am as you, and what ye say, say I.
For few are they who have such inborn grace,
As to look up with love, and envy not,
When stands another on the
height of weal.
Deep in his heart, whom
jealousy hath seized,
Her
poison lurking doth
enhance his load;
For now beneath his proper woes he chafes,
And sighs
withal to see another's weal.
I speak not idly, but from knowledge sure-
There be who vaunt an utter loyalty,
That is but as the ghost of friendship dead,
A shadow in a glass, of faith gone by.
One only-he who went
reluctant forth
Across the seas with me-Odysseus-he
Was loyal unto me with strength and will,
A
trusty trace-horse bound unto my car.
Thus-be he yet beneath the light of day,
Or dead, as well I fear-I speak his praise.
Lastly, whate'er be due to men or gods,
With joint
debate, in public council held,
We will decide, and warily contrive
That all which now is well may so abide:
For that which haply needs the healer's art,
That will we medicine, discerning well
If cautery or knife befit the time.
Now, to my palace and the shrines of home,
I will pass in, and greet you first and fair,
Ye gods, who bade me forth, and home again-
And long may Victory tarry in my train!
(CLYTEMNESTRA enters from the palace, followed by maidens
bearing
crimson robes.)
CLYTEMNESTRA
Old men of Argos, lieges of our realm,
Shame shall not bid me
shrink lest ye should see
The love I bear my lord. Such blushing fear
Dies at the last from hearts of human kind.
From mine own soul and from no alien lips,
I know and will reveal the life I bore.
Reluctant, through the lingering livelong years,
The while my lord beleaguered Ilion's wall.
First, that a wife sat sundered from her lord,
In widowed
solitude, was utter woe
And woe, to hear how rumour's many tongues
All boded evil-woe, when he who came
And he who followed spake of ill on ill,
Keening Lost, lost, all lost! thro' hall and bower.
Had this my husband met so many wounds,
As by a thousand channels rumour told,
No
network e'er was full of holes as he.
Had he been slain, as oft as
tidings came
That he was dead, he well might boast him now
A second Geryon of
triple frame,
With
triple robe of earth above him laid-
For that below, no matter-triply dead,
Dead by one death for every form he bore.
And thus distraught by news of wrath and woe,
Oft for self-slaughter had I slung the noose,
But others wrenched it from my neck away.
Hence haps it that Orestes, thine and mine,
The
pledge and
symbol of our
wedded troth,
Stands not beside us now, as he should stand.
Nor
marvel thou at this: he dwells with one
Who guards him loyally; 'tis Phocis' king,
Strophius, who warned me erst, Bethink thee, queen,
What woes of
doubtful issue well may fall
Thy lord in daily jeopardy at Troy,
While here a
populace uncurbed may cry,
"Down witk the council, down!"
bethink thee too,
'Tis the world's way to set a harder heel
On fallen power.
For thy child's
absence then
Such mine excuse, no wily afterthought.
For me, long since the gushing fount of tears
Is wept away; no drop is left to shed.
Dim are the eyes that ever watched till dawn,
Weeping, the bale-fires, piled for thy return,
Night after night unkindled. If I slept,
Each sound-the tiny humming of a gnat,
Roused me again, again, from fitful dreams
Wherein I felt thee
smitten, saw thee slain,
Thrice for each moment of mine hour of sleep.
All this I bore, and now, released from woe,
I hail my lord as watch-dog of a fold,
As saving stay-rope of a storm-tossed ship,
As
column stout that holds the roof aloft,
As only child unto a sire bereaved,
As land
beheld, past hope, by crews
forlorn,
As
sunshine fair when tempest's wrath is past,
As gushing spring to thirsty wayfarer.
So sweet it is to 'scape the press of pain.
With such
salute I bid my husband hail
Nor heaven be wroth therewith! for long and hard
I bore that ire of old.
Sweet lord, step forth,
Step from thy car, I pray-nay, not on earth
Plant the proud foot, O king, that trod down Troy!
Women! why tarry ye, whose task it is
To spread your monarch's path with tapestry?
Swift, swift, with
purple strew his passage fair,
That justice lead him to a home, at last,
He scarcely looked to see.
(The
attendant women spread the tapestry.)
For what remains,
Zeal unsubdued by sleep shall nerve my hand
To work as right and as the gods command.
AGAMEMNON (still in the chariot)
Daughter of Leda, watcher o'er my home,
Thy greeting well befits mine
absence long,
For late and hardly has it reached its end.
Know, that the praise which honour bids us crave,
Must come from others' lips, not from our own:
See too that not in fashion feminine
Thou make a warrior's
pathway delicate;
Not unto me, as to some Eastern lord,
Bowing thyself to earth, make
homage loud.
Strew not this
purple that shall make each step
An
arrogance; such pomp beseems the gods,
Not me. A
mortal man to set his foot
On these rich dyes? I hold such pride in fear,
And bid thee honour me as man, not god.
Fear not-such footcloths and all gauds apart,
Loud from the trump of Fame my name is blown;
Best gift of heaven it is, in glory's hour,
To think thereon with soberness: and thou-
Bethink thee of the adage, Call none blest
Till
peaceful death have crowned a life of weal.
'Tis said: I fain would fare unvexed by fear.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Nay, but unsay it-thwart not thou my will!
AGAMEMNON
Know, I have said, and will not mar my word.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Was it fear made this
meekness to the gods?
AGAMEMNON