I, thus perplex'd, yet, woman as I was, But now enough! I'll hear no more from thee; And saving Fortune sat upon our ship Arrives! my eager thoughts fly forward to him,Of a sea-death! but yet our sense so stunn'd, My soul's in preparation to receive him. We scarce could credit it: then our fresh loss Those fair, clear, pearly words thy ears have Thou hast heard all, and heard. But let me question thee; and, Herald, say, Her. His fate we know not; from the Achaian He and his vessel both have disappeared. true. [Exit HERALD. CHORUS. When Helen came to Ilion's towers, O what a glorious sight, I ween, was there! Chor. How spoke the current rumour of the The tranquil beauty of the gorgeous queen fleet? Think they he lives, or perish'd in the storm? Her. All is in doubt: none knows to speak for certain, Elements* Except indeed the orb of day would tell, And sea did both their utmost. In the night Hung soft as breathless summer on her cheeks, slept; And like an idol beaming from its shrine, And though sweet softness hung upon their lids, Yet her young eyes still wounded where they look'd. She breathed an incense like Love's perfumed flower, Blushing in sweetness; so she seem'd in hue, E'en so to Paris' bed the lovely Helen came. hour. 'Twas said of old, and men maintain it still, Fortune will wither on the father's grave, Agamemnon now returns, borne in a sort of triumphal procession; and seated in another car, laden with booty, follows Cassandra, his prisoner of war, and mistress, according to the privilege of the heroes of those days. Clytemnestra greets him with hypocritical joy and veneration; she orders her slaves to cover the ground with the most costly embroideries of purple, that it might not be touched by the foot of the conqueror. Agamemnon, with wise moderation, at first refuses to receive an honour due only to the Gods; at last he yields to her invitations, and enters the house. The Chorus then begin to utter dark forebodings. Clytemnestra returns to allure Cassandra to her destruction by the art of soft persuasion. The latter remains dumb and motionless; but the queen is hardly gone, when, seized with a prophectic rage, she breaks out into the most perplexing lamentations, and afterwards unveils her prophecies more distinctly to the Chorus: she sees in her mind all the enormities which have been perpetrated in that house: the repast of Thyestes, which the sun refused to look on; the shadows of the dilacerated children gazing down on her from the battlements of the palace. She sees also, the death prepared both for Agamemnon and herself-and then, as if seized with overpowering fury, rushes maniaclike, into the house to meet her doom. CLYTEMNESTRA, CASSANDRA, CHORUS. Clyt. Go in-go in! Cassandra! thee I mean, Enter thou too! since in this mansion Jove Has placed thee, nothing wrathfully, to share With many a slave the lavers, as thou stand'st By th' altar of our fortune-giving God.* Come forth from out that wain: neither be thou O'erweening, too high-stomach'd for thy lot;Such once was that of great Alcmena's son. Chor. O be persuaded; come down from thy car. Clyt. I have no time for dallying here; already The victims, rang'd for sacrifice, demand Our presence.-Wouldst thou do our bidding, Take no long time in doing it. If thy tongue *KTATÍOU Baμ. The altar placed in the buttery, or place where provisions were kept, was consecrated to Ctesian Jove, or Jove the Guardian of Property. Ay-but we want no prophets in this house. Cass. Alas! ye Gods, what is she thinking on? And what is this that looks so young and fresh? Mighty, mighty is the load She is unravelling in these dark halls! Chor. What means she? Like shrouds they appear to me, dabbled in blood! Yet 'twill be quick-'tis now upon the stroke! Chor. 'Tis yet all dark to me: by riddles posed I find no way in these blind oracles. Cass. Ha! ha! Alas! alas! what's that? Howl in timbrel'd anthems dark And the stony shower of blood. Chor. Ye Gods! what vengeance of a Fury's this! Cass. Ha! ha! see there! see there! Cass. O Troy! Woes of Troy! now all-prostrate and lone! O ye altars, that blaz'd before Priam's high throne! Vain, vain your blood-offerings, your victims, to save Troy's towers from destruction, Troy's sons from the grave. Even I soon on earth must my warm blood out pour. Chor. That strain's a sequel to the strain before. Cass. Pale phantoms brood within these guarded towers; Screams are heard nightly, and a dismal din Keep the bull from the heifer, drive, drive her Of strange, terrific, and unearthly choirs, away! The bull is enchafed and hoodwink'd, and roars; His black branching horns have received the death-stab. Singing in horrid, full, harmonious chord. He sprawls and falls headlong! he lies in the The Masque of Sisters! the Erinnyes drear! bath, Beside the great smouldering caldron that burns! The caldron burns,—it has a deadly blue! Chor. No deep skill boast I in the spell of Gods; And yet methinks all that she says bears in't The stamp of ill; but when has aught of good From the divining power to man accrued? Its deep ambiguous terms the truth invest With mysteries that awe the inmost soul. Cass. Alas! alas! ah, wretch! ah, luckless fate! Myself, myself I moan! Wretch that I am! why hast thou brought me here, Unless to lie beside him in his death? Chor. O sure thou art one of a deep-raging soul, Driven mad by some god, and, (like her, the sweet bird, Who wails Ityn, her Ityn,) with unwearied voice, But vex'd heart, pouring forth thy sad lay. Cass. Ah, ah! the shrill Nightingale! O how I moan As I think of her fate, so unlike to my own; She has wings, and she lives without sorrow or fear, But my doom is the axe or the sharp-edg'd spear! Chor. Ah! whence are these sorrows, that gush from thine eyes, As if thou wert dreaming of woe? And that ominous cry, that wild scream of affright? Whence, whence that dark spell of more than man's lore, That ill-boding, horrible spell? Cass. O nuptials of Paris! O nuptials of death To his friends! O Scamander, my sweet native stream! Ah, wretch that I am! then I roved by thy stream, Young, careless, and happy! but now I must go To Cocytus' banks,-there to sing my dark woe! Chor. What's this thou hast oracled?-horrid, yet clear A babe might e'en know it.—Mine engored heart Is with terror struck down, as thou wail'st thy dark fate, Making moan, that astounds me to hear. They are all seated in the rooms above, Chor. How can an oath, the evil fix'd so fast, Help it or cure it? But thou movest our wonder, Bred in strange land, in city stranger-tongued, Far beyond seas, that thou shouldst speak as if Thou hadst been present at the scenes thou speak'st of. Cass. Prophet Apollo gave me this high boon. Chor. From love of thee? the God, felt he de Cass. I said it should be, but I spoke him false.t Chor. At that time was thou of his arts possest? Cass. E'en so, that I was then a prophetess Foretelling to my country all its woes! The crime in the family of Atreus, here alluded to, was the adultery of Thyestes with Aërope, his brother's Otherwise the first crime upon record of this unfortunate wife, which formed the subject of Euripides' Cressæ. family was the treacherous murder of Myrtilus by Pelops, on the false accusation of his wife Hippodamia. See the story told at full length, and not much to the credit of this young Grecian princess, in Eustathius, 185, edit. Rom. The intrigue of Thyestes and Aërope is alluded to also in Eurip. Elec. 720. to her of inspiration, and her chaste deception of him, All this story of Apollo's love for Cassandra, his gift are commonly known. Lycophron, in his Alexandra, makes her give the same history of it. Chor. How then? And didst thou 'scape | Off with ye, laurels, necklaces, and wands! The crown of the prophetic maiden's gone! Apollo's wrath? Cass. For my transgression, none believed my Chor. To us thy words seem worthy of belief. [Tearing her robes. Away, away! die ye ere yet I die! Horrible shadows! with hands full of flesh! fell! No, 'tis all joy, and welcome home, sweet lord, Another gallant at death-deeds will come! I I say, the gods have sworn that he shall come. And here, too, weeping on a foreign land? I have a word with ye, ye gates of hell! Chor. Thyestes' bloody feast I oft have heard I pray ye, let me have a mortal stroke, of Her drift beyond that point I cannot see. Cass. I say, thou shalt see Agamemnon's death! And hast o'erlooked my oracles indeed. Chor. But they are dark, and hard for us to find. Help! help! Lycean Apollo! Ah me! ah me! That without struggling, all this body's blood Chor. O woeful creature, woeful, too, and wise! Cass. Hide where I will; there's no escape from fate. Chor. Yet is there some advantage in delay. little. Chor. Know then, thou'lt suffer from being Cass. But to die gloriously is honour's crown. words. Cass. Oh Father! oh!-Thou and thy noble Chor. What ails thee now? What caus'd that | sidered, in some degree, as a history of that great Chor. What means foh, foh? Some loathing at thy heart? Cass. The house breathes scents of murder. Cass. Wailing my own and Agamemnon's fate, Woman's for woman's; Man's for man's, for this Chor. Oh! I do pity thee, unhappy maid! Cass. Once more! once more! oh let my voice be heard! I love to sing the dirges of the dead, My own death knell, myself my death knell The sun rides high, but soon will set for me; [Exit CASSANDRA. Scarcely has the prophetess withdrawn, than we hear behind the scenes the groans of the murdered king. The palace opens and Clytemnestra is seen standing beside the dead body of her lord-an undaunted criminal, who not only confesses the deed, but boasts of it as a just requital for Agamemnon's sacrifice of Iphigeneia to his own ambition. ON THOSE WHO FELL AT THER- THESE, too, defenders of their country fell; event. The scene is at Susa, and near the tomb of Darius. ATOSSA, CHORUS. Atoss. Indulge me, friends, who wish to be informed. Where, in what clime, the towers of Athens rise? Chor. Far in the west, where sets the imperial sun. Atoss. Yet my son willed the conquest of this town. Chor. May Greece, through all her states, bend to his power. Atoss. Do they send numerous armies to the field? Chor. Armies, that to the Medes have wrought much woe. Atoss. Have they sufficient treasures in their houses? Chor. Their rich earth is a copious fount of silver. Atoss. From the strong bow wing they the barbed shaft? Chor. No; but they have stout spears and massy bucklers. Atoss. What monarch reigns, and who commands their army? Chor. Slaves to no lord, they own not kingly power. Atoss. How can they then resist the invading Chor. So as to destroy the armies of Darius. sons there. Chor. But if I judge aright, thou soon shalt hear Each circumstance; for here's a Persian messenger. Tidings, no doubt, he brings of good or ill. Enter MESSENGER. Mess. Woe to the towns of Asia's peopled Woe to the land of Persia, once the port Ah me! How sad his task, who brings ill tidings. Their mighty souls to gloomy death betray'd: Beheld the ruin which my tongue would utter. Immortal is their fame who, suffering well, FROM THE PERSIANS. "THE PERSIANS" may be considered rather in the light of a proud triumphal song in honour of Liberty, than of a regular tragedy. It was exhibited eight years after the defeat of Xerxes at Salamis, whilst the memory of each circumstance was yet recent, so that the narration may be con Chor. Alas! Is Ellas then unscathed? And has strand Of Salamis and all the neighbouring shores. notes Wailing the wretched Persians. Oh, how ill Mess. O Salamis, how hateful is thy name! |