Part 2 (1/2)
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.
There, with no dull delay nor heedless sleep, The watcher sped the tidings on in turn, Until the guard upon Messapius' peak Saw the far flame gleam on Euripus' tide, And from the high-piled heap of withered furze Lit the new sign and bade the message on.
Then the strong light, far flown and yet undimmed, Shot thro' the sky above Asopus' plain, Bright as the moon, and on Cithaeron's crag Aroused another watch of flying fire.
And there the sentinels no whit disowned, But sent redoubled on, the hest of flame-- Swift shot the light, above Gorgopis' bay, To Aegiplanctus' mount, and bade the peak Fail not the onward ordinance of fire.
And like a long beard streaming in the wind, Full-fed with fuel, roared and rose the blaze, And onward flaring, gleamed above the cape, Beneath which s.h.i.+mmers the Saronic bay, And thence leapt light unto Arachne's peak, The mountain watch that looks upon our town.
Thence to th' Atrides' roof--in lineage fair, A bright posterity of Ida's fire.
So sped from stage to stage, fulfilled in turn, Flame after flame, along the course ordained, And lo! the last to speed upon its way Sights the end first, and glows unto the goal.
And Troy is ta'en, and by this sign my lord Tells me the tale, and ye have learned my word.
CHORUS
To heaven, O queen, will I upraise new song: But, wouldst thou speak once more, I fain would hear From first to last the marvel of the tale.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Think you--this very morn--the Greeks in Troy, And loud therein the voice of utter wail!
Within one cup pour vinegar and oil, And look! unblent, unreconciled, they war.
So in the twofold issue of the strife Mingle the victor's shout, the captives' moan.
For all the conquered whom the sword has spared Cling weeping--some unto a brother slain, Some childlike to a nursing father's form, And wail the loved and lost, the while their neck Bows down already 'neath the captive's chain.
And lo! the victors, now the fight is done, Goaded by restless hunger, far and wide Range all disordered thro' the town, to s.n.a.t.c.h Such victual and such rest as chance may give Within the captive halls that once were Troy-- Joyful to rid them of the frost and dew, Wherein they couched upon the plain of old-- Joyful to sleep the gracious night all through, Unsummoned of the watching sentinel.
Yet let them reverence well the city's G.o.ds, The lords of Troy, tho' fallen, and her shrines; So shall the spoilers not in turn be spoiled.
Yea, let no craving for forbidden gain Bid conquerors yield before the darts of greed.
For we need yet, before the race be won, Homewards, unharmed, to round the course once more.
For should the host wax wanton ere it come, Then, tho' the sudden blow of fate be spared, Yet in the sight of G.o.ds shall rise once more
The great wrong of the slain, to claim revenge.
Now, hearing from this woman's mouth of mine, The tale and eke its warning, pray with me, _Luck sway the scale, with no uncertain poise.
For my fair hopes are changed to fairer joys._
CHORUS
A gracious word thy woman's lips have told, Worthy a wise man's utterance, O my queen; Now with clear trust in thy convincing tale I set me to salute the G.o.ds with song, Who bring us bliss to counterpoise our pain.
[_Exit Clytemnestra._
Zeus, Lord of heaven! and welcome night Of victory, that hast our might With all the glories crowned!
On towers of Ilion, free no more, Hast flung the mighty mesh of war, And closely girt them round, Till neither warrior may 'scape, Nor stripling lightly overleap The trammels as they close, and close, Till with the grip of doom our foes In slavery's coil are bound!
Zeus, Lord of hospitality, In grateful awe I bend to thee-- 'Tis thou hast struck the blow!
At Alexander, long ago, We marked thee bend thy vengeful bow, But long and warily withhold The eager shaft, which, uncontrolled And loosed too soon or launched too high, Had wandered bloodless through the sky.
Zeus, the high G.o.d!--whate'er be dim in doubt, This can our thought track out-- The blow that fells the sinner is of G.o.d, And as he wills, the rod