doubtful
heart makes treach'rous ear.
Aeschylus
_ nor her prayers,
Nor tender, virgin years.
So, when the chant of sacrifice was done,
Her father bade the youthful priestly train
Raise her, like some poor kid, above the altar-stone,
From where amid her robes she lay
Sunk all in swoon away--
Bade them, as with the bit that mutely tames the steed,
Her fair lips' speech refrain,
Lest she should speak a curse on Atreus' home and seed,
So, trailing on the earth her robe of saffron dye,
With one last piteous dart from her beseeching eye
Those that should smite she smote--
Fair, silent, as a pictur'd form, but fain
To plead, _Is all forgot?
How oft those halls of old,
Wherein my sire high feast did hold,_
_Rang to the virginal soft strain,
When I, a stainless child,
Sang from pure lips and undefiled,
Sang of my sire, and all
His honoured life, and how on him should fall
Heaven's highest gift and gain! _
And then--but I beheld not, nor can tell,
What further fate befel:
But this is sure, that Calchas' boding strain
Can ne'er be void or vain.
This wage from Justice' hand do sufferers earn,
The future to discern:
And yet--farewell, O secret of To-morrow!
Fore-knowledge is fore-sorrow.
Clear with the clear beams of the morrow's sun,
The future presseth on.
Now, let the house's tale, how dark soe'er,
Find yet an issue fair! --
So prays the loyal, solitary band
That guards the Apian land.
[_They turn to Clytemnestra, who leaves the altars and comes
forward. _
O queen, I come in reverence of thy sway--
For, while the ruler's kingly seat is void,
The loyal heart before his consort bends.
Now--be it sure and certain news of good,
Or the fair tidings of a flatt'ring hope,
That bids thee spread the light from shrine to shrine,
I, fain to hear, yet grudge not if thou hide.
CLYTEMNESTRA
As saith the adage, _From the womb of Night
Spring forth, with promise fair, the young child Light. _
Ay--fairer even than all hope my news--
By Grecian hands is Priam's city ta'en!
CHORUS
What say'st thou?
doubtful heart makes treach'rous ear.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Hear then again, and plainly--Troy is ours!
CHORUS
Thrills thro' my heart such joy as wakens tears.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Ay, thro' those tears thine eye looks loyalty.
CHORUS
But hast thou proof, to make assurance sure?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Go to; I have--unless the god has lied.
CHORUS
Hath some night-vision won thee to belief?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Out on all presage of a slumb'rous soul!
CHORUS
But wert thou cheered by Rumour's wingless word?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Peace--thou dost chide me as a credulous girl.
CHORUS
Say then, how long ago the city fell?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Even in this night that now brings forth the dawn.
CHORUS
Yet who so swift could speed the message here?
CLYTEMNESTRA
From Ida's top Hephaestus, lord of fire,
Sent forth his sign; and on, and ever on,
Beacon to beacon sped the courier-flame.
From Ida to the crag, that Hermes loves,
Of Lemnos; thence unto the steep sublime
Of Athos, throne of Zeus, the broad blaze flared.
Thence, raised aloft to shoot across the sea,
The moving light, rejoicing in its strength,
Sped from the pyre of pine, and urged its way,
In golden glory, like some strange new sun,
Onward, and reached Macistus' watching heights.
Nor tender, virgin years.
So, when the chant of sacrifice was done,
Her father bade the youthful priestly train
Raise her, like some poor kid, above the altar-stone,
From where amid her robes she lay
Sunk all in swoon away--
Bade them, as with the bit that mutely tames the steed,
Her fair lips' speech refrain,
Lest she should speak a curse on Atreus' home and seed,
So, trailing on the earth her robe of saffron dye,
With one last piteous dart from her beseeching eye
Those that should smite she smote--
Fair, silent, as a pictur'd form, but fain
To plead, _Is all forgot?
How oft those halls of old,
Wherein my sire high feast did hold,_
_Rang to the virginal soft strain,
When I, a stainless child,
Sang from pure lips and undefiled,
Sang of my sire, and all
His honoured life, and how on him should fall
Heaven's highest gift and gain! _
And then--but I beheld not, nor can tell,
What further fate befel:
But this is sure, that Calchas' boding strain
Can ne'er be void or vain.
This wage from Justice' hand do sufferers earn,
The future to discern:
And yet--farewell, O secret of To-morrow!
Fore-knowledge is fore-sorrow.
Clear with the clear beams of the morrow's sun,
The future presseth on.
Now, let the house's tale, how dark soe'er,
Find yet an issue fair! --
So prays the loyal, solitary band
That guards the Apian land.
[_They turn to Clytemnestra, who leaves the altars and comes
forward. _
O queen, I come in reverence of thy sway--
For, while the ruler's kingly seat is void,
The loyal heart before his consort bends.
Now--be it sure and certain news of good,
Or the fair tidings of a flatt'ring hope,
That bids thee spread the light from shrine to shrine,
I, fain to hear, yet grudge not if thou hide.
CLYTEMNESTRA
As saith the adage, _From the womb of Night
Spring forth, with promise fair, the young child Light. _
Ay--fairer even than all hope my news--
By Grecian hands is Priam's city ta'en!
CHORUS
What say'st thou?
doubtful heart makes treach'rous ear.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Hear then again, and plainly--Troy is ours!
CHORUS
Thrills thro' my heart such joy as wakens tears.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Ay, thro' those tears thine eye looks loyalty.
CHORUS
But hast thou proof, to make assurance sure?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Go to; I have--unless the god has lied.
CHORUS
Hath some night-vision won thee to belief?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Out on all presage of a slumb'rous soul!
CHORUS
But wert thou cheered by Rumour's wingless word?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Peace--thou dost chide me as a credulous girl.
CHORUS
Say then, how long ago the city fell?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Even in this night that now brings forth the dawn.
CHORUS
Yet who so swift could speed the message here?
CLYTEMNESTRA
From Ida's top Hephaestus, lord of fire,
Sent forth his sign; and on, and ever on,
Beacon to beacon sped the courier-flame.
From Ida to the crag, that Hermes loves,
Of Lemnos; thence unto the steep sublime
Of Athos, throne of Zeus, the broad blaze flared.
Thence, raised aloft to shoot across the sea,
The moving light, rejoicing in its strength,
Sped from the pyre of pine, and urged its way,
In golden glory, like some strange new sun,
Onward, and reached Macistus' watching heights.
