For — thanks for sustenance repaying
With ravage of sheep slaughtered —
It made unbidden feast;
With blood the house was watered,
To household came a woe there was no staying:
Great mischief many-slaying!
From God it was — some priest
Of Até, in the house, by nurture thus increased.
At first, then, to the city of Ilion went
A soul, as I might say, of windless calm —
Wealth’s quiet ornament,
An eyes’-dart bearing balm,
Love’s spirit-biting flower.
But — from the true course bending —
She brought about, of marriage, bitter ending:
Ill-resident, ill-mate, in power
Passing to the Priamidai — by sending
Of Hospitable Zeus —
Erinus for a bride, — to make brides mourn, her dower.
Spoken long ago
Was the ancient saying
Still among mortals staying:
“Man’s great prosperity at height of rise
Engenders offspring nor unchilded dies;
And, from good fortune, to such families,
Buds forth insatiate woe.”
Whereas, distinct from any,
Of my own mind I am:
For ‘t is the unholy deed begets the many,
Resembling each its dam.
Of households that correctly estimate,
Ever a beauteous child is born of Fate.
But ancient Arrogance delights to generate
Arrogance, young and strong mid mortals’ sorrow,
Or now, or then, when comes the appointed morrow.
And she bears young Satiety;
And, fiend with whom nor fight nor war can be,
Unholy Daring — twin black Curses
Within the household, children like their nurses.
But Justice shines in smoke-grimed habitations,
And honours the well-omened life;
While, — gold-besprinkled stations
Where the hands’ filth is rife,
With backward-turning eyes
Leaving, — to holy seats she hies,
Not worshipping the power of wealth
Stamped with applause by stealth:
And to its end directs each thing begun.
Approach then, my monarch, of Troia the sacker, of Atreus the son!
How ought I address thee, how ought I revere thee, — nor yet overhitting
Nor yet underbending the grace that is fitting?
Many of mortals hasten to honour the seeming-to-be —
Passing by justice: and, with the ill-faring, to groan as he groans all are free.
But no bite of the sorrow their liver has reached to:
They say with the joyful, — one outside on each, too,
As they force to a smile smileless faces.
But whoever is good at distinguishing races
In sheep of his flock — it is not for the eyes
Of a man to escape such a shepherd’s surprise,
As they seem, from a well-wishing mind,
In watery friendship to fawn and be kind.
Thou to me, then, indeed, sending an army for Helena’s sake,
(I will not conceal it) wast — oh, by no help of the Muses! — depicted
Not well of thy midriff the rudder directing, — convicted
Of bringing a boldness they did not desire to the men with existence at stake.
But now — from no outside of mind, nor unlovingly — gracious thou art
To those who have ended the labour, fulfilling their part;
And in time shalt thou know, by inquiry instructed,
Who of citizens justly, and who not to purpose, the city conducted.
AGAMEMNON.
First, indeed, Argos, and the gods, the local,
‘T is right addressing — those with me the partners
In this return and right things done the city
Of Priamos: gods who, from no tongue hearing
The rights o’ the cause, for Ilion’s fate man-slaught’rous
Into the bloody vase, not oscillating,
Put the vote-pebbles, while, o’ the rival vessel,
Hope rose up to the lip-edge: filled it was not.
By smoke the captured city is still conspicuous:
Até’s burnt offerings live: and, dying with them,
The ash sends forth the fulsome blasts of riches.
Of these things, to the gods grace many-mindful
‘T is right I render, since both nets outrageous
We built them round with, and, for sake of woman,
It did the city to dust — the Argeian monster,
The horse’s nestling, the shield-bearing people
That made a leap, at setting of the Pleiads,
And, vaulting o’er the tower, the raw-flesh-feeding
Lion licked up his fill of blood tyrannic.
I to the gods indeed prolonged this preface;
But — as for thy thought, I remember hearing —
I say the same, and thou co-pleader hast me.
Since few of men this faculty is born with —
To honour, without grudge, their friend, successful.
For moody, on the heart, a poison seated
Its burthen doubles to who gained the sickness:
By his own griefs he is himself made heavy,
And out-of-door prosperity seeing groans at.
Knowing, I’d call (for well have I experienced)
“Fellowship’s mirror,” “phantom of a shadow,”
Those seeming to be mighty gracious to me:
While just Odusseus — he who sailed not willing —
When joined on, was to me the ready trace-horse.
This of him, whether dead or whether living,
I say. For other city-and-gods’ concernment —
Appointing common courts, in full assemblage
We will consult. And as for what holds seemly —
How it may lasting stay well, must be counselled:
While what has need of medicines Paionian
We, either burning or else cutting kindly,
Will make endeavour to turn pain from sickness.
And now into the domes and homes by altar
Going, I to the gods first raise the right-hand —
They who, far sending, back again have brought me.
And Victory, since she followed, fixed remain she!
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Men, citizens, Argeians here, my worships!
I shall not shame me, consort-loving manners
To tell before you: for in time there dies off
The diffidence from people. Not from others
Learning, I of myself will tell the hard life
I bore so long as this man was ‘neath Ilion.
First: for a woman, from the male divided,
To sit at home alone, is monstrous evil —
Hearing the many rumours back-revenging:
And for now This to come, now That bring after
Woe, and still worse woe, bawling in the household!
And truly, if so many wounds had chanced on
My husband here, as homeward used to dribble
Report, he’s pierced more than a net to speak of!
While, were he dying (as the words abounded)
A triple-bodied Geruon the Second,
Plenty above — for loads below I count not —
Of earth a three-share cloak he’d boast of taking,
Once only dying in each several figure!
Because of suchlike rumours back-revenging,
Many the halters from my neck, above head,
Others than I loosed — loosed from neck by main force!
From this cause, sure, the boy stands not beside me —
Possessor of our troth-plights, thine and mine too —
As ought Orestes: b
e not thou astonished!
For, him brings up our well-disposed guest-captive
Strophios the Phokian — ills that told on both sides
To me predicting — both of thee ‘neath Ilion
The danger, and if anarchy’s mob-uproar
Should overthrow thy council; since ‘t is born with
Mortals, — whoe’er has fallen, the more to kick him.
Such an excuse, I think, no cunning carries!
As for myself — why, of my wails the rushing
Fountains are dried up: not in them a drop more!
And in my late-to-bed eyes I have damage,
Bewailing what concerned thee, those torch-holdings
For ever unattended to. In dreams — why,
Beneath the light wing-beats o’ the gnat, I woke up
As he went buzzing — sorrows that concerned thee
Seeing, that filled more than their fellow-sleep-time.
Now, all this having suffered, from soul grief-free
I would style this man here the dog o’ the stables,
The saviour forestay of the ship, the high roof’s
Ground-prop, son sole-begotten to his father,
— Ay, land appearing to the sailors past hope,
Loveliest day to see after a tempest,
To the wayfaring-one athirst a well-spring,
— The joy, in short, of ‘scaping all that’s — fatal!
I judge him worth addresses such as these are
— Envy stand off! — for many those old evils
We underwent. And now, to me — dear headship! —
Dismount thou from this car, not earthward setting
The foot of thine, O king, that’s Ilion’s spoiler!
Slave-maids, why tarry? — whose the task allotted
To strew the soil o’ the road with carpet-spreadings.
Immediately be purple-strewn the pathway,
So that to home unhoped may lead him — Justice!
As for the rest, care shall — by no sleep conquered —
Dispose things — justly (gods to aid!) appointed.
AGAMEMNON.
Offspring of Leda, of my household warder,
Suitably to my absence hast thou spoken,
For long the speech thou didst outstretch! But aptly
To praise — from others ought to go this favour.
And for the rest, — not me, in woman’s fashion,
Mollify, nor — as mode of barbarous man is —
To me gape forth a groundward-falling clamour!
Nor, strewing it with garments, make my passage
Envied! Gods, sure, with these behoves we honour:
But, for a mortal on these varied beauties
To walk — to me, indeed, is nowise fear-free.
I say — as man, not god, to me do homage!
Apart from foot-mats both and varied vestures,
Renown is loud, and — not to lose one’s senses,
God’s greatest gift. Behoves we him call happy
Who has brought life to end in loved well-being.
If all things I might manage thus — brave man I!
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Come now, this say, nor feign a feeling to me!
AGAMEMNON.
With feeling, know indeed, I do not tamper!
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Vowed’st thou to the gods, in fear, to act thus?
AGAMEMNON.
If any, I well knew resolve I outspoke.
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
What think’st thou Priamos had done, thus victor?
AGAMEMNON.
On varied vests — I do think — he had passaged.
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Then, do not, struck with awe at human censure. . . .
AGAMEMNON.
Well, popular mob-outcry much avails too.
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Ay, but the unenvied is not the much valued.
AGAMEMNON.
Sure, ‘t is no woman’s part to long for battle.
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Why, to the prosperous, even suits a beating.
AGAMEMNON.
What? thou this beating us in war dost prize too?
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Persuade thee! power, for once, grant me — and willing!
AGAMEMNON.
But if this seem so to thee — shoes, let someone
Loose under, quick — foot’s serviceable carriage!
And me, on these sea-products walking, may no
Grudge from a distance, from the god’s eye, strike at!
For great shame were my strewment-spoiling — riches
Spoiling with feet, and silver-purchased textures!
Of these things, thus then. But this female-stranger
Tenderly take inside! Who conquers mildly
God, from afar, benignantly regardeth.
For, willing, no one wears a yoke that’s servile:
And she, of many valuables, outpicked
The flower, the army’s gift, myself has followed.
So, — since to hear thee, I am brought about thus, —
I go into the palace — purples treading.
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
There is the sea — and what man shall exhaust it? —
Feeding much purple’s worth-its-weight-in-silver
Dye, ever fresh and fresh, our garments’ tincture;
At home, such wealth, king, we begin — by gods’ help —
With having, and to lack, the household knows not.
Of many garments had I vowed a treading
(In oracles if fore-enjoined the household)
Of this dear soul the safe-return-price scheming!
For, root existing, foliage goes up houses,
O’erspreading shadow against Seirios dog-star;
And, thou returning to the hearth domestic,
Warmth, yea, in winter dost thou show returning.
And when, too, Zeus works, from the green-grape acrid,
Wine — then, already, cool in houses cometh —
The perfect man his home perambulating!
Zeus, Zeus Perfecter, these my prayers perfect thou!
Thy care be — yea — of things thou mayst make perfect!
CHOROS.
Wherefore to me, this fear —
Groundedly stationed here
Fronting my heart, the portent-watcher — flits she?
Wherefore should prophet-play
The uncalled and unpaid lay,
Nor — having spat forth fear, like bad dreams — sits she
On the mind’s throne beloved — well-suasive Boldness?
For time, since, by a throw of all the hands,
The boat’s stern-cables touched the sands,
Has past from youth to oldness, —
When under Ilion rushed the ship-borne bands.
And from my eyes I learn —
Being myself my witness — their return.
Yet, all the same, without a lyre, my soul,
Itself its teacher too, chants from within
Erinus’ dirge, not having now the whole
Of Hope’s dear boldness: nor my inwards sin —
The heart that’s rolled in whirls against the mind
Justly presageful of a fate behind.
But I pray — things false, from my hope, may fall
Into the fate that’s not-fulfilled-at-all!
Especially at least, of health that’s great
The term’s insatiable: for, its weight
— A neighbour, with a common wall between —
Ever will sickness lean;
And destiny, her course pursuing straight,
Has struck man’s ship against a reef unseen.
Now, when a portion, rather than the treasure,
Fear casts from sling, with peril in right measure,
It has not sunk — the universal freight,
(With misery freighted over-full)
Nor has
fear whelmed the hull.
Then too the gift of Zeus,
Two-handedly profuse,
Even from the furrows’ yield for yearly use
Has done away with famine, the disease;
But blood of man to earth once falling — deadly, black —
In times ere these, —
Who may, by singing spells, call back?
Zeus had not else stopped one who rightly knew
The way to bring the dead again.
But, did not an appointed Fate constrain
The Fate from gods, to bear no more than due,
My heart, outstripping what tongue utters,
Would have all out: which now, in darkness, mutters
Moodily grieved, nor ever hopes to find
How she a word in season may unwind
From out the enkindling mind.
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Take thyself in, thou too — I say, Kassandra!
Since Zeus — not angrily — in household placed thee
Partaker of hand-sprinklings, with the many
Slaves stationed, his the Owner’s altar close to.
Descend from out this car, nor be high-minded!
And truly they do say Alkmené’s child once
Bore being sold, slaves’ barley-bread his living.
If, then, necessity of this lot o’erbalance,
Much is the favour of old-wealthy masters:
For those who, never hoping, made fine harvest
Are harsh to slaves in all things, beyond measure.
Thou hast — with us — such usage as law warrants.
CHOROS.
To thee it was, she paused plain speech from speaking.
Being inside the fatal nets — obeying,
Thou mayst obey: but thou mayst disobey too!
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Why, if she is not, in the swallow’s fashion,
Possessed of voice that’s unknown and barbaric,
I, with speech — speaking in mind’s scope — persuade her.
CHOROS.
Follow! The best — as things now stand — she speaks of.
Obey thou, leaving this thy car-enthronement!
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Well, with this thing at door, for me no leisure
To waste time: as concerns the hearth mid-navelled,
Already stand the sheep for fireside slaying
By those who never hoped to have such favour.
If thou, then, aught of this wilt do, delay not!
But if thou, being witless, tak’st no word in,
Speak thou, instead of voice, with hand as Kars do!
CHOROS.
She seems a plain interpreter in need of,
The stranger! and her way — a beast’s new-captured!
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Why, she is mad, sure, — hears her own bad senses, —
Who, while she comes, leaving a town new-captured,
Yet knows not how to bear the bit o’ the bridle
Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 305