With those who would not listen, now descends
To that dark kingdom where his empire ends.
Chorus-

Strange that Apollo should the laurel wreath
Of Prophecy he crowned your head withal
Himself disgrace. But something have we heard
Of some divine revenge for slighted love.
Cassandra-

Ay-and as if in malice to attest

With one expiring beam of Second-sight
Wherewith his victim he has cursed and blest,
Ere quenched forever in descending night;
As from behind a veil no longer peeps

The Bride of Truth, nor from their hidden deeps
Darkle the waves of Prophecy, but run

Clear from the very fountain of the Sun.

and rightly called

me bloodhound: ye

Ye called-
That like old lagging dogs in self-despite
Must follow up the scent with me; with me,
Who having smelt the blood about this house
Already spilt, now bark of more to be.

For, though you hear them not, the infernal Choir
Whose dread antiphony forswears the lyre,
Who now are chanting of that grim carouse
Of blood with which the children fed their Sire,
Shall never from their dreadful chorus stop
Till all be counter-pledged to the last drop.
Chorus-

Hinting at what indeed has long been done,
And widely spoken, no Apollo needs;
And for what else you aim at — still in dark
And mystic language-

Cassandra

Nay, then, in the speech,

She that reproved me was so glib to teach

Before yon Sun a hand's breadth in the skies
He moves in shall have moved, those age-sick eyes
Shall open wide on Agamemnon slain

Before your very feet. Now, speak I plain?
Chorus-

Chorus

Woman! Accomplices- With whom?

Cassandra

Who brandishing aloft the ax of doom,

With Her,

That just has laid one victim at her feet,
Looks round her for that other, without whom
The banquet of revenge were incomplete.
Yet ere I fall will I prelude the strain
Of Triumph, that in full I shall repeat
When, looking from the twilight Underland,
I welcome Her as she descends amain,
Gashed like myself, but by a dearer hand.
For that old murdered Lion with me slain,
Rolling an awful eyeball through the gloom
He stalks about of Hades up to Day,
Shall rouse the whelp of exile far away,
His only authentic offspring, ere the grim
Wolf crept between his Lioness and him;
Who with one stroke of Retribution, her
Who did the deed, and her adulterer,
Shall drive to hell; and then, himself pursued
By the winged Furies of his Mother's blood,
Shall drag about the yoke of Madness, till
Released, when Nemesis has gorged her fill,
By that same God, in whose prophetic ray
Viewing To-morrow mirrored as To-day,

And that this House of Atreus the same wine
Themselves must drink they brewed for me and mine;
I close my lips forever with one prayer,

That the dark Warder of the World below
Would ope the portal at a single blow.

Chorus.

And the raving voice, that rose
Out of silence into speech
Overshooting human reach,
Back to silence foams and blows,

Leaving all my bosom heaving-
Wrath and raving all, one knows;
Prophet-seeming, but if ever

Of the Prophet God possest,
By the Prophet's self-confest
God-abandoned-woman's shrill
Anguish into tempest rising,
Louder as less listened.

Still

Spite of Reason, spite of Will,
What unwelcome, what unholy,
Vapor of Foreboding, slowly
Rising from the central soul's
Recesses, all in darkness rolls?
What! shall Age's torpid ashes
Kindle at the ransom spark

Of a raving maiden ? Hark!
What was that behind the wall?
A heavy blow

a groan a fall
Some one crying-Listen further—
Hark again then, crying "Murder!"
Some one who then? Agamemnon?
Agamemnon? - Hark again!

Murder! murder! murder! murder!

Help within there! Help without there!
Break the doors in! -

Clytemnestra [appearing from within, where lies AGAMEMNON

dead]

Spare your pain.

Look! I who but just now before you all
Boasted of loyal wedlock unashamed,
Now unashamed dare boast the contrary.
Why, how else should one compass the defeat
Of him who underhand contrives one's own,

Unless by such a snare of circumstance

As, once enmeshed, he never should break through?

The blow now struck was not the random blow

Of sudden passion, but with slow device

Prepared, and leveled with the hand of time.

I

say
And now stand here to face the consequence.
Ay, in a deadlier web than of that loom

it who devised it; I who did;

In whose blood-purple he divined a doom,
And feared to walk upon, but walked at last,
Entangling him inextricably fast,

I smote him, and he bellowed; and again

I smote, and with a groan his knees gave way;
And, as he fell before me, with a third
And last libation from the deadly mace
I pledged the crowning draught to Hades due,
That subterranean Savior - of the Dead!
At which he spouted up the Ghost in such
A burst of purple as, bespattered with,
No less did I rejoice than the green ear

Chorus

Rejoices in the largess of the skies
That fleeting Iris follows as it flies.

Oh, woman, woman, woman!

By what accursed root or weed

Of Earth, or Sea, or Hell, inflamed,
Darest stand before us unashamed
And, daring do, dare glory in the deed!
Clytemnestra-

Chorus

Oh, that I dreamed the fall of Troy, as you
Belike of Troy's destroyer. Dream or not,

Here lies your King-my Husband - Agamemnon,
Slain by this right hand's righteous handicraft.

Like you, or like it not, alike to me;

To me alike whether or not you share

In making due libation over this

Great Sacrifice—if ever due, from him

Who, having charged so deep a bowl of blood,
Himself is forced to drink it to the dregs.

Woman, what blood but that of Troy, which Zeus
Foredoomed for expiation by his hand

Thou!

For whom the penalty was pledged? And now,
Over his murdered body, Thou
Talk of libation! - Thou! Thou!
But mark! Not thine of sacred wine
Over his head, but ours on thine

Of curse, and groan, and torn-up stone,
To slay or storm thee from the gate,
The City's curse, the People's hate,
Execrate, exterminate-

Clytemnestra

Ay, ay, to me how lightly you adjudge

Exile or death, and never had a word

Of counter condemnation for Him there;

Who, when the field throve with the proper flock

For Sacrifice, forsooth let be the beast,

And with his own hand his own innocent

Blood, and the darling passion of my womb-
Her slew- to lull a peevish wind of Thrace.
And him who cursed the city with that crime
You hail with acclamation; but on me,
Who only do the work you should have done,
You turn the ax of condemnation. Well;
Threaten you me, I take the challenge up;

1

Chorus

Here stand we face to face; win Thou the game,
And take the stake you aim at; but if I—
Then, by the Godhead that for me decides,
Another lesson you shall learn, though late.

Man-mettled evermore, and now

Manslaughter-maddened! Shameless brow!
But do you think us deaf and blind
Not to know, and long ago,
What Passion under all the prate
Of holy justice made thee hate

Where Love was due, and love where -
Clytemnestra-

Chorus

Nay, then, hear!

By this dead Husband, and the reconciled
Avenging Fury of my slaughtered child,
I swear I will not reign the slave of fear
While he that holds me, as I hold him, dear,
Kindles his fire upon this hearth: my fast
Shield for the time to come, as of the past.
Yonder lies he that in the honeyed arms
Of his Chryseides under Troy walls

Dishonored mine: and this last laureled wench,
Prophetic messmate of the rower's bench,
Thus far in triumph his, with him along

Shall go, together chanting one death song
To Hades-fitting garnish for the feast

Which Fate's avenging hand through mine hath drest.
Woe, woe, woe, woe!

That death as sudden as the blow
That laid Thee low would me lay low
Where low thou liest, my sovereign Lord!
Who ten years long to Trojan sword
Devoted, and to storm aboard,

In one ill woman's cause accurst,
Liest slain before thy palace door
By one accursedest and worst!

Call not on Death, old man, that, called or no,

Comes quick; nor spend your ebbing breath on me,
Nor Helena: who but as arrows be

Shot by the hidden hand behind the bow.

Chorus-Alas, alas! The Curse I know

That round the House of Atreus clings,

About the roof, about the walls,

Shrouds it with his sable wings;