249

How fared? The man-accomplice thus: and she
Who swan-like sang her own death-elegy 24
Lies near, his leman, who for me hath brought
The dainty bride-dish she so trimly wrought,
A seasoning daintier than my daintiest thought.

[She here points scornfully to the dead body of CASSANDRA, lying near that of the King.]

CHORUS.

STROPHE I.

Alas! would Heaven that swiftly some kind lot Would waft me sleep,250 sweet sleep, that hath no end, A fate that to my bed would bind me not,

Nor rack with pangs, but soothe me as a friend ;

For my dear champion, gracious and most kind,

After long suffering for a woman's sake,
Hath at a woman's stroke resigned

The life a woman's hand dared take.

STROPHE II.

O! Helen! witless Helen!
That singly didst destroy
Souls, many souls past telling,

Under the walls of Troy 251

STROPHE III.

And thou thyself didst make

The many-suitored one, the perfect Helen,
Forth into second flowering break,2

252

253

By the blood that ever-welling Nought can wash away nor slake, Which was and is, in that dread dwelling

A Hell-enrooted, an up-towering strife,254
The Waster of a Man's, a Husband's life.*

QUEEN CLYTEMNESTRA.

STROPHE IV.

Nay, on thyself ne'er imprecate

The lot of death, bowed down by these things' weight,

Nor unto Helen turn aside thy wrath,

As to the one man-slayer,

Who singly hath the souls undone

Of many a brave Greek host, their one
Bereaver and betrayer,

Working the woe whose anguish hath
No healer, no allayer.255

CHORUS.

ANTISTROPHE I.

Demon, who on the roofs of this sad home
Lighting, and on the twain Tantalidæ

Dost, sovereign-like, in thy strong masterdom
From woman hold a man-like sovereignty,†
One-souled, whereat my riven heart doth fume:
While o'er the body, like a raven 256 grim,
He stands, and wildly pranks his plume
To hymn aloud his triumph-hymn-

* O Helen, from the day of thy wooing downwards, thou hast been ever a cause of quarrelling and bloodshed. And now by thine elopement from Sparta thou hast given birth to a second and, if possible, more perfectly destructive Helen than even thyself in thine own person; a Fury, that thou hast re-quickened in this house, by reason of the blood of Iphigenia, which would never have been shed, but for thee and thy flight to Troy: and which moreover has been the death of King Agamemnon.

+ O Demon, who from Helen and Clytemnestra hast drawn the terrible authority which thou exercisest over this House.

QUEEN CLYTEMNESTRA.

ANTISTROPHE IV.

The judgment of thy mouth aright

Now hast thou tuned, since thou that Demon-Wight, Whose stature is three cubits,257 dost accost,

Fiend of this race of sorrow;

By him their fierce and feverish thirst
Of lapping blood is inly nurst,

From him their lust they borrow;
For if to-day the old pang seem lost,
Fresh Poison pours to-morrow.

CHORUS.

STROPHE V.

The Demon mighty o'er this house,
And heavy in his hate,

Thou laud'st. Alas! 'tis ill to laud
A curse insatiate.

Woe! woe! through Jove, the cause of all,258

The Great Allworking One,

It comes, for what to mortal men

Apart from Jove is done?

Which of these things without the Gods
Was ended or begun?

و

Woe! woe! for thee, my King! my King!
How shall I weep for thee?

For thee from out my loving soul

What shall my death-song be?

That thrice-accursed spider's web
Thou liest within, beneath,

Close-meshed, and in this godless death
Forth thy dear life dost breathe.

Ah! woe is me! Oh! woe is me!
In this foul villain-bed,-

-Unmeet for any freeborn man

Thereon to lay his head,

By traitorous deed borne down he drops:
From felon-hand hath sped

The stroke, the death-stroke of that glaive,
Two-edged, that leaves him dead.

QUEEN CLYTEMNESTRA.

STROPHE VI.

Thou vauntest that the deed is mine: take heed

Thou say'st thou know'st not what.

I an Atreidan wife am not;

One-in the shape indeed

And fashion of this dead man's wife,

The old grim gaunt Alastor, vengeance rife,

Of Atreus, horrid Banqueter,

Stood-and impersonating her,

Made this man here pay all the price,

And o'er the babes a man full grown for them did

sacrifice.

CHORUS.

ANTISTROPHE V.

That of this murder thou art quit,

Where stands th' Avoucher, where?

With thine perchance his helping hand
The house-Avenger bare,

From its first Fathers; while on tides

That run with kinsmen's blood259

Black Ares drives apace and rides

Right onward o'er the flood,

Where one shall

pay

for the gory clot

Of the children gorged for food.

Woe! woe! for thee my King, my King,
How shall I weep for thee?

For thee, from out my loving soul,

What shall my death-song be?

That thrice accursed spider's web

Thou liest within, beneath,

Close-meshed, and in this godless death

Forth thy dear life dost breathe.

Ah! woe is me! Oh! woe is me
In this foul villain-bed,

Unmeet for any free-born man
Thereon to lay his head,

By traitorous deed borne down he drops,
From felon-hand hath sped

The stroke, the death-stroke, of that glaive
Two-edged, that leaves him dead.

QUEEN CLYTEMNESTRA.

ANTISTROPHE VI.

No, not a villain-death was his I ween,

Nor one for him unmeet,

For bare he not with traitorous feet

A Woe this house within ?

Nay with my branch, from him that sprang,

Iphigenia mourned with many a pang,

Well as he dealt, he fared right well;

Nor let him in the nether hell

Loud vaunt him, for the blade hath brought

Home to his heart the debt he owed, the steel-struck death he wrought.