For Ares, lord of strife, 
Who doth the swaying scales of battle hold, 
War’s money-changer, giving dust for gold, 
Sends back, to hearts that held them dear, 
Scant ash of warriors, wept with many a tear, 
Light to the band, but heavy to the soul; 
Yea, fills the light urn full 
With what survived the flame- 
Death’s dusty measure of a hero’s frame! 

Alas! one cries, and yet alas again! 
Our chief is gone, the hero of the spear, 
And hath not left his peer! 
Ah woe! another moans-my spouse is slain, 
The death of honour, rolled in dust and blood, 
Slain for a woman’s sin, a false wife’s shame! 
Such muttered words of bitter mood 
Rise against those who went forth to reclaim; 
Yea, jealous wrath creeps on against th’ Atreides’ name. 

And others, far beneath the Ilian wall, 
Sleep their last sleep-the goodly chiefs and tall, 
Couched in the foeman’s land, whereon they gave 
Their breath, and lords of Troy, each in his Trojan grave.

Therefore for each and all the city’s breast 
Is heavy with a wrath supprest, 
As deeply and deadly as a curse more loud 
Flung by the common crowd: 
And, brooding deeply, doth my soul await 
Tidings of coming fate, 
Buried as yet in darkness’ womb. 
For not forgetful is the high gods’ doom 
Against the sons of carnage: all too long 
Seems the unjust to prosper and be strong, 
Till the dark Furies come, 
And smite with stern reversal all his home, 
Down into dim obstruction-he is gone, 
And help and hope, among the lost, is none! 

O’er him who vaunteth an exceeding fame, 
Impends a woe condign; 
The vengeful bolt upon his eyes doth flame, 
Sped from the hand divine. 
This bliss be mine, ungrudged of God, to feel- 
To tread no city to the dust, 
Nor see my own life thrust 
Down to a glave’s estate beneath another’s heel! 

Behold, throughout the city wide 
Have the swift feet of Rumour hied, 
Roused by the joyful flame: 
But is the news they scatter, sooth? 
Or haply do they give for truth 
Some cheat which heaven doth frame? 
A child were he and all unwise, 
Who let his heart with joy be stirred. 
To see the beacon-fires arise, 
And then, beneath some thwarting word, 
Sicken anon with hope deferred. 
The edge of woman’s insight still 
Good news from true divideth ill; 
Light rumours leap within the bound 
Then fences female credence round, 
But, lightly born, as lightly dies 
The tale that springs of her surmise.

Several days are assumed to have elapsed.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS

Soon shall we know whereof the bale-fires tell, 
The beacons, kindled with transmitted flame; 
Whether, as well I deem, their tale is true, 
Or whether like some dream delusive came 
The welcome blaze but to befool our soul. 
For lo! I see a herald from the shore 
Draw hither, shadowed with the olive-wreath- 
And thirsty dust, twin-brother of the clay, 
Speaks plain of travel far and truthful news- 
No dumb surmise, nor tongue of flame in smoke, 
Fitfully kindled from the mountain pyre; 
But plainlier shall his voice say, All is well, 
Or-but away, forebodings adverse, now, 
And on fair promise fair fulfilment come! 
And whoso for the state prays otherwise, 
Himself reap harvest of his ill desire!

A HERALD enters. He is an advance messenger from AGAMEMNON’S forces, which have just landed.
HERALD

O land of Argos, fatherland of mine! 
To thee at last, beneath the tenth year’s sun, 
My feet return; the bark of my emprise, 
Tho’ one by one hope’s anchors broke away, 
Held by the last, and now rides safely here. 
Long, long my soul despaired to win, in death, 
Its longed-for rest within our Argive land: 
And now all hail, O earth, and hail to thee, 
New-risen sun! and hail our country’s God, 
High-ruling Zeus, and thou, the Pythian lord, 
Whose arrows smote us once-smite thou no morel 
Was not thy wrath wreaked full upon our heads, 
O king Apollo, by Scamander’s side? 
Turn thou, be turned, be saviour, healer, now 
And hail, all gods who rule the street and mart 
And Hermes hail! my patron and my pride, 
Herald of heaven, and lord of heralds here! 
And Heroes, ye who sped us on our way- 
To one and all I cry, Receive again 
With grace such Argives as the spear has spared. 

Ah, home of royalty, beloved halls, 
And solemn shrines, and gods that front the morn! 
Benign as erst, with sun-flushed aspect greet 
The king returning after many days. 
For as from night flash out the beams of day, 
So out of darkness dawns a light, a king, 
On you, on Argos-Agamemnon comes. 
Then hail and greet him well I such meed befits 
Him whose right hand hewed down the towers of Troy 
With the great axe of Zeus who righteth wrong- 
And smote the plain, smote down to nothingness 
Each altar, every shrine; and far and wide 
Dies from the whole land’s face its offspring fair. 
Such mighty yoke of fate he set on Troy- 
Our lord and monarch, Atreus’ elder son, 
And comes at last with blissful honour home; 
Highest of all who walk on earth to-day- 
Not Paris nor the city’s self that paid 
Sin’s price with him, can boast, Whate’er befall, 
The guerdon we have won outweighs it all. 
But at Fate’s judgment-seat the robber stands 
Condemned of rapine, and his prey is torn 
Forth from his hands, and by his deed is reaped 
A bloody harvest of his home and land 
Gone down to death, and for his guilt and lust 
His father’s race pays double in the dust.

Hail, herald of the Greeks, new-come from war.

All hail! not death itself can fright me now.

Was thine heart wrung with longing for thy land?

So that this joy doth brim mine eyes with tears.

On you too then this sweet distress did fall-

How say’st thou? make me master of thy word.

You longed for us who pined for you again.

Craved the land us who craved it, love for love?

Yea, till my brooding heart moaned out with pain.

Whence thy despair, that mars the army’s joy?

Sole cure of wrong is silence, saith the saw.

Thy kings afar, couldst thou fear other men?

Death had been sweet, as thou didst say but now.

‘Tis true; Fate smiles at last. Throughout our toil, 
These many years, some chances issued fair, 
And some, I wot, were chequered with a curse. 
But who, on earth, hath won the bliss of heaven, 
Thro’ time’s whole tenor an unbroken weal? 
I could a tale unfold of toiling oars, 
Ill rest, scant landings on a shore rock-strewn, 
All pains, all sorrows, for our daily doom. 
And worse and hatefuller our woes on land; 
For where we couched, close by the foeman’s wall, 
The river-plain was ever dank with dews, 
Dropped from the sky, exuded from the earth, 
A curse that clung unto our sodden garb, 
And hair as horrent as a wild beast’s fell. 
Why tell the woes of winter, when the birds 
Lay stark and stiff, so stern was Ida’s snow? 
Or summer’s scorch, what time the stirless wave 
Sank to its sleep beneath the noon-day sun? 
Why mourn old woes? their pain has passed away; 
And passed away, from those who fell, all care, 
For evermore, to rise and live again. 
Why sum the count of death, and render thanks 
For life by moaning over fate malign? 
Farewell, a long farewell to all our woes! 
To us, the remnant of the host of Greece, 
Comes weal beyond all counterpoise of woe; 
Thus boast we rightfully to yonder sun, 
Like him far-fleeted over sea and land. 
The Argive host prevailed to conquer Troy, 
And in the temples of the gods of Greece 
Hung up these spoils, a shining sign to Time. 
Let those who learn this legend bless aright 
The city and its chieftains, and repay 
The meed of gratitude to Zeus who willed 
And wrought the deed. So stands the tale fulfilled.

Thy words o’erbear my doubt: for news of good, 
The ear of age hath ever youth enow: 
But those within and Clytemnestra’s self 
Would fain hear all; glad thou their ears and mine.

CLYTEMNESTRA enters from the palace.
CLYTEMNESTRA

That night, when first the fiery courier came, 
In sign that Troy is ta’en and razed to earth, 
So wild a cry of joy my lips gave out, 
That I was chidden-Hath the beacon watch 
Made sure unto thy soul the sack of Troy? 
A very woman thou, whose heart leaps light 
At wandering rumours!-and with words like these 
They showed me how I strayed, misled of hope. 
Yet on each shrine I set the sacrifice, 
And, in the strain they held for feminine, 
Went heralds thro’ the city, to and fro, 
With voice of loud proclaim, announcing joy; 
And in each fane they lit and quenched with wine 
The spicy perfumes fading in the flame. 
All is fulfilled: I spare your longer tale- 
The king himself anon shall tell me all. 

Remains to think what honour best may greet 
My lord, the majesty of Argos, home. 
What day beams fairer on a woman’s eyes 
Than this, whereon she flings the portal wide, 
To hail her lord, heaven-shielded, home from war? 
This to my husband, that he tarry not, 
But turn the city’s longing into joy! 
Yea, let him come, and coming may he find 
A wife no other than he left her, true 
And faithful as a watch-dog to his home, 
His foemen’s foe, in all her duties leal, 
Trusty to keep for ten long years unmarred 
The store whereon he set his master-seal. 
Be steel deep-dyed, before ye look to see 
Ill joy, ill fame, from other wight, in me!

‘Tis fairly said: thus speaks a noble dame, 
Nor speaks amiss, when truth informs the boast.

CLYTEMNESTRA withdraws again into the palace.
LEADER

So has she spoken-be it yours to learn 
By clear interpreters her specious word. 
Turn to me, herald-tell me if anon 
The second well-loved lord of Argos comes? 
Hath Menelaus safely sped with you?

Alas-brief boon unto my friends it were, 
To flatter them, for truth, with falsehoods fair!