And one beheld, the soldier-prophet true, 
And the two chiefs, unlike of soul and will, 
In the twy-coloured eagles straight he knew, 
And spake the omen forth, for good and in. 

Go forth, he cried, and Priam’s town shall fall. 
Yet long the time shall be; and flock and herd, 
The people’s wealth, that roam before the wall, 
Shall force hew down, when Fate shall give the word, 

But O beware! lest wrath in Heaven abide, 
To dim the glowing battle-forge once more, 
And mar the mighty curb of Trojan pride, 
The steel of vengeance, welded as for war! 

For virgin Artemis bears jealous hate 
Against the royal house, the eagle-pair, 
Who rend the unborn brood, insatiate- 
Yea, loathes their banquet on the quivering hare. 

For well she loves-the goddess kind and mild- 
The tender new-born cubs of lions bold, 
Too weak to range-and well the sucking child 
Of every beast that roams by wood and wold. 

So to the Lord of Heaven she prayeth still, 
“Nay, if it must be, be the omen true! 
Yet do the visioned eagles presage ill; 
The end be well, but crossed with evil too!” 

Healer Apollo! be her wrath controll’d 
Nor weave the long delay of thwarting gales, 
To war against the Danaans and withhold 
From the free ocean-waves their eager sails! 

She craves, alas! to see a second life 
Shed forth, a curst unhallowed sacrifice- 
‘Twixt wedded souls, artificer of strife, 
And hate that knows not fear, and fell device. 

At home there tarries like a lurking snake, 
Biding its time, a wrath unreconciled, 
A wily watcher, passionate to slake, 
In blood, resentment for a murdered child. 

Such was the mighty warning, pealed of yore- 
Amid good tidings, such the word of fear, 
What time the fateful eagles hovered o’er 
The kings, and Calchas read the omen clear. 

In strains like his, once more, 
Sing woe and well-a-day! but be the issue fair!

Zeus-if to The Unknown 
That name of many names seem good- 
Zeus, upon Thee I call. 
Thro’ the mind’s every road 
I passed, but vain are all, 
Save that which names thee Zeus, the Highest One, 
Were it but mine to cast away the load, 
The weary load, that weighs my spirit down.

He that was Lord of old, 
In full-blown pride of place and valour bold, 
Hath fallen and is gone, even as an old tale told: 
And he that next held sway, 
By stronger grasp o’erthrown 
Hath pass’d away! 
And whoso now shall bid the triumph-chant arise 
To Zeus, and Zeus alone, 
He shall be found the truly wise.

‘Tis Zeus alone who shows the perfect way 
Of knowledge: He hath ruled, 
Men shall learn wisdom, by affliction schooled. 

In visions of the night, like dropping rain, 
Descend the many memories of pain 
Before the spirit’s sight: through tears and dole 
Comes wisdom o’er the unwilling soul- 
A boon, I wot, of all Divinity, 
That holds its sacred throne in strength, above the sky!

And then the elder chief, at whose command 
The fleet of Greece was manned, 
Cast on the seer no word of hate, 
But veered before the sudden breath of Fate- 

Ah, weary while! for, ere they put forth sail, 
Did every store, each minish’d vessel, fail, 
While all the Achaean host 
At Aulis anchored lay, 
Looking across to Chalcis and the coast 
Where refluent waters welter, rock, and sway;

And rife with ill delay 
From northern Strymon blew the thwarting blast- 
Mother of famine fell, 
That holds men wand’ring still 
Far from the haven where they fain would be!- 
And pitiless did waste 
Each ship and cable, rotting on the sea, 
And, doubling with delay each weary hour, 
Withered with hope deferred th’ Achaeans’ warlike flower. 

But when, for bitter storm, a deadlier relief, 
And heavier with ill to either chief, 
Pleading the ire of Artemis, the seer avowed, 
The two Atreidae smote their sceptres on the plain, 
And, striving hard, could not their tears restrain!

And then the elder monarch spake aloud- 
Ill lot were mine, to disobey! 
And ill, to smite my child, my household’s love and pride! 
To stain with virgin blood a father’s hands, and slay 
My daughter, by the altar’s side! 
‘Twixt woe and woe I dwell- 
I dare not like a recreant fly, 
And leave the league of ships, and fail each true ally; 
For rightfully they crave, with eager fiery mind, 
The virgin’s blood, shed forth to lull the adverse wind- 
God send the deed be well!

Thus on his neck he took 
Fate’s hard compelling yoke; 
Then, in the counter-gale of will abhorr’d, accursed, 
To recklessness his shifting spirit veered- 
Alas! that Frenzy, first of ills and worst, 
With evil craft men’s souls to sin hath ever stirred! 

And so he steeled his heart-ah, well-a-day- 
Aiding a war for one false woman’s sake, 
His child to slay, 
And with her spilt blood make 
An offering, to speed the ships upon their way!

Lusting for war, the bloody arbiters 
Closed heart and ears, and would nor hear nor heed 
The girl-voice plead, 
Pity me, Father! nor her prayers, 
Nor tender, virgin years. 
So, when the chant of sacrifice was done, 
Her father bade the youthful priestly train 
Raise her, like some poor kid, above the altar-stone, 
From where amid her robes she lay 
Sunk all in swoon away- 
Bade them, as with the bit that mutely tames the steed, 
Her fair lips’ speech refrain, 
Lest she should speak a curse on Atreus’ home and seed,

So, trailing on the earth her robe of saffron dye, 
With one last piteous dart from her beseeching eye. 
Those that should smite she smote 
Fair, silent, as a pictur’d form, but fain 
To plead, Is all forgot? 
How oft those halls of old, 
Wherein my sire high feast did hold, 
Rang to the virginal soft strain, 
When I, a stainless child, 
Sang from pure lips and undefiled, 
Sang of my sire, and all 
His honoured life, and how on him should fall 
Heaven’s highest gift and gain!
Agamemnon by Aeschylus