Part 8 (2/2)

THE ARGIVE WOMEN[2]

CHTHONOe MYRTILLA RHODOPE PASIPHa.s.sA GORGO SITYS

SCENE

The women's house in the House of Paris in Troy.

TIME.--The Tenth year of the War.

_Helen's women are lying alone in the twilight hour. Chthonoe presently rises and throws a little incense upon the altar flame. Then she begins to speak to the Image of Aphrodite in a low and tired voice._

CHTHONOe

G.o.ddess of burning and little rest, By the hand swaying on thy breast, By glancing eye and slow sweet smile Tell me what long look or what guile Of thine it was that like a spear Pierced her heart, who caged me here In this close house, to be with her Mistress at once and prisoner!

Far from earth and her pleasant ways I lie, whose nights are as my days In this dim house, where on the wall I watch the shadows rise and fall And know not what is reckt or done By men and horses out in the sun, Nor heed their traffic, nor their cheer As forth they go or back, but hear The fountain plash into the pond, The brooding doves, and sighs of fond Lovers whose lips yearn as they sever For longer joy, joy such as never Hath man but in the mind. But what Men do without, that I know not Who see them but as shadows thrown Upon a screen. I see them blown Like clouds of flies about the plain Where the winds sweep them and make vain Their panoplies. They hem the verge Of this high wall to guard us--urge Galloping horses into war And meet in shock of battle, far Below us and our dreams: withal Ten years have past us in this thrall Since Helen came with eyes agleam To Troy, and trod the ways of dream.

GORGO

Men came about us, crying, ”The Greeks!

s.h.i.+ps out at sea with high-held peaks Like questing birds!” But I lay still Kissing, nor turned.

RHODOPE

So I, until The herald broke into my sleep, Crying Agamemnon on the deep With s.h.i.+ps from high Mykenai. Then I minded he was King of Men-- But not of women in the arms They loved.

MYRTILLA

I heard their shrill alarms Faint and far off, like an old fame.

Below this guarded house men came-- Chariots and horses clasht; they cried King Agamemnon in his pride, Or Hector, or young Diomede; But I was kissing, could not heed Aught save the eyes that held mine bound.

Anon a hush--anon the sound Of hooves resistless, pounding--a cry, ”Achilles! Save yourselves!” But I-- Clinging I lay, and sighed in sign That love must weary at last, even mine-- Even mine, Sweetheart!

PASIPHa.s.sA

Who watcht when flared Lord Hector like a meteor, dared The high stockade and fired the s.h.i.+ps?

I watcht his lips who had had my lips.

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