Such prelude spoken to the gods in full, 
To you I turn, and to the hidden thing 
Whereof ye spake but now: and in that thought 
I am as you, and what ye say, say I. 
For few are they who have such inborn grace, 
As to look up with love, and envy not, 
When stands another on the height of weal. 
Deep in his heart, whom jealousy hath seized, 
Her poison lurking doth enhance his load; 
For now beneath his proper woes he chafes, 
And sighs withal to see another’s weal. 

I speak not idly, but from knowledge sure- 
There be who vaunt an utter loyalty, 
That is but as the ghost of friendship dead, 
A shadow in a glass, of faith gone by. 
One only-he who went reluctant forth 
Across the seas with me-Odysseus-he 
Was loyal unto me with strength and will, 
A trusty trace-horse bound unto my car. 
Thus-be he yet beneath the light of day, 
Or dead, as well I fear-I speak his praise. 
Lastly, whate’er be due to men or gods, 

With joint debate, in public council held, 
We will decide, and warily contrive 
That all which now is well may so abide: 
For that which haply needs the healer’s art, 
That will we medicine, discerning well 
If cautery or knife befit the time. 

Now, to my palace and the shrines of home, 
I will pass in, and greet you first and fair, 
Ye gods, who bade me forth, and home again- 
And long may Victory tarry in my train!

CLYTEMNESTRA enters from the palace, followed by maidens bearing crimson robes.
CLYTEMNESTRA

Old men of Argos, lieges of our realm, 
Shame shall not bid me shrink lest ye should see 
The love I bear my lord. Such blushing fear 
Dies at the last from hearts of human kind. 
From mine own soul and from no alien lips, 
I know and will reveal the life I bore. 
Reluctant, through the lingering livelong years, 
The while my lord beleaguered Ilion’s wall. 

First, that a wife sat sundered from her lord, 
In widowed solitude, was utter woe 
And woe, to hear how rumour’s many tongues 
All boded evil-woe, when he who came 
And he who followed spake of ill on ill, 
Keening Lost, lost, all lost! thro’ hall and bower. 
Had this my husband met so many wounds, 
As by a thousand channels rumour told, 
No network e’er was full of holes as he. 
Had he been slain, as oft as tidings came 
That he was dead, he well might boast him now 
A second Geryon of triple frame, 
With triple robe of earth above him laid- 
For that below, no matter-triply dead, 
Dead by one death for every form he bore. 
And thus distraught by news of wrath and woe, 
Oft for self-slaughter had I slung the noose, 
But others wrenched it from my neck away. 
Hence haps it that Orestes, thine and mine, 
The pledge and symbol of our wedded troth, 
Stands not beside us now, as he should stand. 
Nor marvel thou at this: he dwells with one 
Who guards him loyally; ’tis Phocis’ king, 
Strophius, who warned me erst, Bethink thee, queen, 
What woes of doubtful issue well may fall 
Thy lord in daily jeopardy at Troy, 
While here a populace uncurbed may cry, 
“Down witk the council, down!” bethink thee too, 
‘Tis the world’s way to set a harder heel 
On fallen power. 

For thy child’s absence then 
Such mine excuse, no wily afterthought. 
For me, long since the gushing fount of tears 
Is wept away; no drop is left to shed. 
Dim are the eyes that ever watched till dawn, 
Weeping, the bale-fires, piled for thy return, 
Night after night unkindled. If I slept, 
Each sound-the tiny humming of a gnat, 
Roused me again, again, from fitful dreams 
Wherein I felt thee smitten, saw thee slain, 
Thrice for each moment of mine hour of sleep. 

All this I bore, and now, released from woe, 
I hail my lord as watch-dog of a fold, 
As saving stay-rope of a storm-tossed ship, 
As column stout that holds the roof aloft, 
As only child unto a sire bereaved, 
As land beheld, past hope, by crews forlorn, 
As sunshine fair when tempest’s wrath is past, 
As gushing spring to thirsty wayfarer. 
So sweet it is to ‘scape the press of pain. 
With such salute I bid my husband hail 
Nor heaven be wroth therewith! for long and hard 
I bore that ire of old. 

Sweet lord, step forth, 
Step from thy car, I pray-nay, not on earth 
Plant the proud foot, O king, that trod down Troy! 
Women! why tarry ye, whose task it is 
To spread your monarch’s path with tapestry? 
Swift, swift, with purple strew his passage fair, 
That justice lead him to a home, at last, 
He scarcely looked to see.

The attendant women spread the tapestry.

For what remains, 
Zeal unsubdued by sleep shall nerve my hand 
To work as right and as the gods command.

AGAMEMNON still in the chariot

Daughter of Leda, watcher o’er my home, 
Thy greeting well befits mine absence long, 
For late and hardly has it reached its end. 
Know, that the praise which honour bids us crave, 
Must come from others’ lips, not from our own: 
See too that not in fashion feminine 
Thou make a warrior’s pathway delicate; 
Not unto me, as to some Eastern lord, 
Bowing thyself to earth, make homage loud. 
Strew not this purple that shall make each step 
An arrogance; such pomp beseems the gods, 
Not me. A mortal man to set his foot 
On these rich dyes? I hold such pride in fear, 
And bid thee honour me as man, not god. 
Fear not-such footcloths and all gauds apart, 
Loud from the trump of Fame my name is blown; 
Best gift of heaven it is, in glory’s hour, 
To think thereon with soberness: and thou- 
Bethink thee of the adage, Call none blest 
Till peaceful death have crowned a life of weal. 
‘Tis said: I fain would fare unvexed by fear.

CLYTEMNESTRA
Nay, but unsay it-thwart not thou my will!
AGAMEMNON
Know, I have said, and will not mar my word.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Was it fear made this meekness to the gods?
AGAMEMNON
If cause be cause, ’tis mine for this resolve.
CLYTEMNESTRA
What, think’st thou, in thy place had Priam done?
AGAMEMNON
He surely would have walked on broidered robes.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Then fear not thou the voice of human blame.
AGAMEMNON
Yet mighty is the murmur of a crowd.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Shrink not from envy, appanage of bliss.
AGAMEMNON
War is not woman’s part, nor war of words.
CLYTEMNESTRA
Yet happy victors well may yield therein.
AGAMEMNON
Dost crave for triumph in this petty strife?
CLYTEMNESTRA
Yield; of thy grace permit me to prevail!
AGAMEMNON

Then, if thou wilt, let some one stoop to loose 
Swiftly these sandals, slaves beneath my foot; 
And stepping thus upon the sea’s rich dye, 
I pray, Let none among the gods look down 
With jealous eye on me-reluctant all, 
To trample thus and mar a thing of price, 
Wasting the wealth of garments silver-worth. 
Enough hereof: and, for the stranger maid, 
Lead her within, but gently: God on high 
Looks graciously on him whom triumph’s hour 
Has made not pitiless. None willingly 
Wear the slave’s yoke-and she, the prize and flower 
Of all we won, comes hither in my train, 
Gift of the army to its chief and lord. 
-Now, since in this my will bows down to thine, 
I will pass in on purples to my home.

He descends from the chariot, and moves towards the palace.
CLYTEMNESTRA

A Sea there is-and who shall stay its springs? 
And deep within its breast, a mighty store, 
Precious as silver, of the purple dye, 
Whereby the dipped robe doth its tint renew. 
Enough of such, O king, within thy halls 
There lies, a store that cannot fail; but I- 
I would have gladly vowed unto the gods 
Cost of a thousand garments trodden thus, 
(Had once the oracle such gift required) 
Contriving ransom for thy life preserved. 
For while the stock is firm the foliage climbs, 
Spreading a shade, what time the dog-star glows; 
And thou, returning to thine hearth and home, 
Art as a genial warmth in winter hours, 
Or as a coolness, when the lord of heaven 
Mellows the juice within the bitter grape. 
Such boons and more doth bring into a home 
The present footstep of its proper lord. 
Zeus, Zeus, Fulfilment’s lord! my vows fulfil, 
And whatsoe’er it be, work forth thy will!

She follows AGAMEMNON into the palace.
CHORUS singing

strophe 1
Agamemnon by Aeschylus