Peace! pray not thou for death as though Thine heart was whelmed beneath this woe, Nor turn thy wrath aside to ban The name of Helen, nor recall How she, one bane of many a man, Sent down to death the Danaan lords, To sleep at Troy the sleep of swords, And wrought the woe that shattered all.

CHORUS

Fiend of the race! that swoopest fell Upon the double stock of Tantalus, Lording it o'er me by a woman's will, Stern, manful, and imperious?

A bitter sway to me!

Thy very form I see, Like some grim raven, perched upon the slain, Exulting o'er the crime, aloud, in tuneless strain!

CLYTEMNESTRA

Right was that word--thou namest well The brooding race-fiend, triply fell!

From him it is that murder's thirst, Blood-lapping, inwardly is nursed-- Ere time the ancient scar can sain, New blood comes welling forth again.

CHORUS

Grim is his wrath and heavy on our home, That fiend of whom thy voice has cried, Alas, an omened cry of woe unsatisfied, An all-devouring doom!

Ah woe, ah Zeus! from Zeus all things befall-- Zeus the high cause and finisher of all!-- Lord of our mortal state, by him are willed All things, by him fulfilled!

Yet ah my king, my king no more!

What words to say, what tears to pour Can tell my love for thee?

The spider-web of treachery She wove and wound, thy life around, And lo! I see thee lie, And thro' a coward, impious wound Pant forth thy life and die!

A death of shame--ah woe on woe!

A treach'rous hand, a cleaving blow!

CLYTEMNESTRA

My guilt thou harpest, o'er and o'er!

I bid thee reckon me no more As Agamemnon's spouse.

The old Avenger, stern of mood For Atreus and his feast of blood, Hath struck the lord of Atreus' house, And in the semblance of his wife The king hath slain.-- Yea, for the murdered children's life, A chieftain's in requital ta'en.

CHORUS

Thou guiltless of this murder, thou!

Who dares such thought avow?

Yet it may be, wroth for the parent's deed, The fiend hath holpen thee to slay the son.

Dark Ares, G.o.d of death, is pressing on Thro' streams of blood by kindred shed, Exacting the accompt for children dead, For clotted blood, for flesh on which their sire did feed.

Yet ah my king, my king no more!

What words to say, what tears to pour Can tell my love for thee?

The spider-web of treachery She wove and wound, thy life around, And lo! I see thee lie, And thro' a coward, impious wound Pant forth thy life and die!

A death of shame--ah woe on woe!

A treach'rous hand, a cleaving blow!

CLYTEMNESTRA

I deem not that the death he died Had overmuch of shame: For this was he who did provide Foul wrong unto his house and name: His daughter, blossom of my womb, He gave unto a deadly doom, Iphigenia, child of tears!

And as he wrought, even so he fares.

Nor be his vaunt too loud in h.e.l.l; For by the sword his sin he wrought, And by the sword himself is brought Among the dead to dwell.

CHORUS

Ah whither shall I fly?

For all in ruin sinks the kingly hall; Nor swift device nor shift of thought have I, To 'scape its fall.

A little while the gentler rain-drops fail; I stand distraught--a ghastly interval, Till on the roof-tree rings the bursting hail Of blood and doom. Even now fate whets the steel On whetstones new and deadlier than of old, The steel that smites, in Justice' hold, Another death to deal.

O Earth! that I had lain at rest And lapped for ever in thy breast, Ere I had seen my chieftain fall Within the laver's silver wall, Low-lying on dishonoured bier!

And who shall give him sepulchre, And who the wail of sorrow pour?

Woman, 'tis thine no more!

A graceless gift unto his shade Such tribute, by his murd'ress paid!

Strive not thus wrongly to atone The impious deed thy hand hath done.

Ah who above the G.o.d-like chief Shall weep the tears of loyal grief?

Who speak above his lowly grave The last sad praises of the brave?

CLYTEMNESTRA

Peace! for such task is none of thine.

By me he fell, by me he died, And now his burial rites be mine!

Yet from these halls no mourners' train Shall celebrate his obsequies; Only by Acheron's rolling tide His child shall spring unto his side, And in a daughter's loving wise Shall clasp and kiss him once again!

CHORUS

Lo! sin by sin and sorrow dogg'd by sorrow-- And who the end can know?

The slayer of to-day shall die to-morrow-- The wage of wrong is woe.

While Time shall be, while Zeus in heaven is lord, His law is fixed and stern; On him that wrought shall vengeance be outpoured-- The tides of doom return.

The children of the curse abide within These halls of high estate-- And none can wrench from off the home of sin The clinging grasp of fate.

CLYTEMNESTRA

Now walks thy word aright, to tell This ancient truth of oracle; But I with vows of sooth will pray To him, the power that holdeth sway O'er all the race of Pleisthenes-- _Tho' dark the deed and deep the guilt, With this last blood, my hands have spilt, I pray thee let thine anger cease!

I pray thee pa.s.s from us away To some new race in other lands, There, if than wilt, to wrong and slay The lives of men by kindred hands._

For me 'tis all sufficient meed, Tho' little wealth or power were won, So I can say, _'Tis past and done.

The b.l.o.o.d.y l.u.s.t and murderous, The inborn frenzy of our house, Is ended, by my deed!_

[_Enter Aegisthus._

AEGISTHUS

Dawn of the day of rightful vengeance, hail!

I dare at length aver that G.o.ds above Have care of men and heed of earthly wrongs.

I, I who stand and thus exult to see This man lie wound in robes the Furies wove, Slain in requital of his father's craft.

Take ye the truth, that Atreus, this man's sire, The lord and monarch of this land of old, Held with my sire Thyestes deep dispute, Brother with brother, for the prize of sway, And drave him from his home to banishment.

Thereafter, the lorn exile homeward stole And clung a suppliant to the hearth divine, And for himself won this immunity?

Not with his own blood to defile the land That gave him birth. But Atreus, G.o.dless sire Of him who here lies dead, this welcome planned-- With zeal that was not love he feigned to hold In loyal joy a day of festal cheer, And bade my father to his board, and set Before him flesh that was his children once.

First, sitting at the upper board alone, He hid the fingers and the feet, but gave The rest--and readily Thyestes took What to his ignorance no semblance wore Of human flesh, and ate: behold what curse That eating brought upon our race and name!

For when he knew what all unhallowed thing He thus had wrought, with horror's bitter cry Back-starting, spewing forth the fragments foul, On Pelops' house a deadly curse he spake?

_As darkly as I spurn this d.a.m.ned food, So perish all the race of Pleisthenes!_ Thus by that curse fell he whom here ye see, And I--who else?--this murder wove and planned; For me, an infant yet in swaddling bands, Of the three children youngest, Atreus sent To banishment by my sad father's side: But Justice brought me home once more, grown now To manhood's years; and stranger tho' I was, My right hand reached unto the chieftain's life, Plotting and planning all that malice bade.

And death itself were honour now to me, Beholding him in Justice' ambush ta'en.