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But turn the city's longing into joy!

Yea, let him come, and coming may he find
A wife no other than he left her, true

And faithful as a watch-dog to his home,
His foemen's foe, in all her duties leal,

Trusty to keep for ten long years unmarred
The store whereon he set his master-seal.

Be steel deep-dyed, before ye look to see
Ill joy, ill fame, from other wight, in me!

HERALD
'Tis fairly said: thus speaks a noble dame,

Nor speaks amiss, when truth informs the boast.
(CLYTEMNESTRA withdraws again into the palace.)

LEADER
So has she spoken-be it yours to learn

By clear interpreters her specious word.
Turn to me, herald-tell me if anon

The second well-loved lord of Argos comes?
Hath Menelaus safely sped with you?

HERALD
Alas-brief boon unto my friends it were,

To flatter them, for truth, with falsehoods fair!
LEADER

Speak joy, if truth be joy, but truth, at worst-
Too plainly, truth and joy are here divorced.

HERALD
The hero and his bark were rapt away

Far from the Grecian fleet; 'tis truth I say.
LEADER

Whether in all men's sight from Ilion borne,
Or from the fleet by stress of weather torn?

HERALD
Full on the mark thy shaft of speech doth light,

And one short word hath told long woes aright.
LEADER

But say, what now of him each comrade saith?
What their forebodings, of his life or death?

HERALD
Ask me no more: the truth is known to none,

Save the earth-fostering, all-surveying Sun.
LEADER

Say, by what doom the fleet of Greece was driven?
How rose, how sank the storm, the wrath of heaven?

HERALD
Nay, ill it were to mar with sorrow's tale

The day of blissful news. The gods demand
Thanksgiving sundered from solicitude.

If one as herald came with rueful face
To say, The curse has fallen, and the host

Gone down to death; and one wide wound has reached
The city's heart, and out of many homes

Many are cast and consecrate to death,
Beneath the double scourge, that Ares loves,

The bloody pair, the fire and sword of doom-
If such sore burden weighed upon my tongue,

'Twere fit to speak such words as gladden fiends.
But-coming as he comes who bringeth news

Of safe return from toil, and issues fair,
To men rejoicing in a weal restored-

Dare I to dash good words with ill, and say
For fire and sea, that erst held bitter feud,

Now swore conspiracy and pledged their faith,
Wasting the Argives worn with toil and war.

Night and great horror of the rising wave
Came o'er us, and the blasts that blow from Thrace

Clashed ship with ship, and some with plunging prow
Thro' scudding drifts of spray and raving storm

Vanished, as strays by some ill shepherd driven.
And when at length the sun rose bright, we saw

Th' Aegaean sea-field flecked with flowers of death,
Corpses of Grecian men and shattered hulls.

For us indeed, some god, as well I deem,
No human power, laid hand upon our helm,

Snatched us or prayed us from the powers of air,
And brought our bark thro'all, unharmed in hull:

And saving Fortune sat and steered us fair,
So that no surge should gulf us deep in brine,

Nor grind our keel upon a rocky shore.
So 'scaped we death that lurks beneath the sea,

But, under day's white light, mistrustful all
Of fortune's smile, we sat and brooded deep,

Shepherds forlorn of thoughts that wandered wild
O'er this new woe; for smitten was our host,

And lost as ashes scattered from the pyre.
Of whom if any draw his life-breath yet,

Be well assured, he deems of us as dead,
As we of him no other fate forebode.

But heaven save all! If Menelaus live,
He will not tarry, but will surely come:

Therefore if anywhere the high sun's ray
Descries him upon earth, preserved by Zeus,

Who wills not yet to wipe his race away,
Hope still there is that homeward he may wend.

Enough-thou hast the truth unto the end.
(The HERALD departs.)

CHORUS (singing)
strophe 1

Say, from whose lips the presage fell?
Who read the future all too well,

And named her, in her natal hour,
Helen, the bride with war for dower

'Twas one of the Invisible,
Guiding his tongue with prescient power.

On fleet, and host, and citadel,
War, sprung from her, and death did lour,

When from the bride-bed's fine-spun veil
She to the Zephyr spread her sail.

Strong blew the breeze-the surge closed oer
The cloven track of keel and oar,

But while she fled, there drove along,
Fast in her wake, a mighty throng-

Athirst for blood, athirst for war,
Forward in fell pursuit they sprung,

Then leapt on Simois' bank ashore,
The leafy coppices among-

No rangers, they, of wood and field,
But huntsmen of the sword and shield.

antistrophe 1
Heaven's jealousy, that works its will,

Sped thus on Troy its destined ill,
Well named, at once, the Bride and Bane;

And loud rang out the bridal strain;
But they to whom that song befell

Did turn anon to tears again;
Zeus tarries, but avenges still

The husband's wrong, the household's stain!
He, the hearth's lord, brooks not to see

Its outraged hospitality.
Even now, and in far other tone,

Troy chants her dirge of mighty moan,
Woe upon Paris, woe and hate!

Who wooed his country's doom for mate-
This is the burthen of the groan,

Wherewith she wails disconsolate
The blood, so many of her own

Have poured in vain, to fend her fate;
Troy! thou hast fed and freed to roam

A lion-cub within thy home!
strophe 2

A suckling creature, newly ta'en
From mother's teat, still fully fain

Of nursing care; and oft caressed,
Within the arms, upon the breast,

Even as an infant, has it lain;
Or fawns and licks, by hunger pressed,

The hand that will assuage its pain;
In life's young dawn, a well-loved guest,

A fondling for the children's play,
A joy unto the old and grey.

antistrophe 2
But waxing time and growth betrays

The blood-thirst of the lion-race,
And, for the house's fostering care,

Unbidden all, it revels there,
And bloodyrecompense repays-

Rent flesh of kine, its talons tare:
A mighty beast, that slays, and slays,

And mars with blood the household fair,
A God-sent pest invincible,

A minister of fate and hell.
strophe 3

Even so to Ilion's city came by stealth
A spirit as of windless seas and skies,

A gentle phantom-form of joy and wealth,
With love's soft arrows speeding from its eyes-

Love's rose, whose thorn doth pierce the soul in subtle wise.
Ah, well-a-day! the bitter bridal-bed,

When the fair mischief lay by Paris' side!
What curse on palace and on people sped

With her, the Fury sent on Priam's pride,
By angered Zeus! what tears of many a widowed bride!

antistrophe 3
Long, long ago to mortals this was told,

How sweet security and blissful state
Have curses for their children-so men hold-

And for the man of all-too prosperous fate
Springs from a bitter seed some woe insatiate.

Alone, alone, I deem far otherwise;
Not bliss nor wealth it is, but impious deed,

From which that after-growth of ill doth rise!
Woe springs from wrong, the plant is like the seed-

While Right, in honour's house, doth its own likeness breed.
strophe 4

Some past impiety, some grey old crime,
Breeds the young curse, that wantons in our ill,

Early or late, when haps th'appointed time-
And out of light brings power of darkness still,

A master-fiend, a foe, unseen, invincible;
A pride accursed, that broods upon the race

And home in which dark Ate holds her sway-
Sin's child and Woe's, that wears its parents' face;

antistrophe 4
While Right in smoky cribs shines clear as day,

And decks with weal his life, who walks the righteous way.
From gilded halls, that hands polluted raise,

Right turns away with proud averted eyes,
And of the wealth, men stamp amiss with praise,

Heedless, to poorer, holier temples hies,
And to Fate's goal guides all, in its appointed wise.

(AGAMEMNON enters, riding in a chariot and accompanied by
a great procession. CASSANDRA follows in another chariot.



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