Works of Aeschylus - Aeschylus [7]
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.
Chorus:
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.
Re-enter 'Clymemnestra:
Last 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!
Herald:
'Tis fairly said: thus speaks a noble dame,
Nor speaks amiss, when truth informs the boast.
Exit Clytemnestra.
Chorus:
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?
Herald:
Alas--brief boon unto my friends it were,
To flatter them, for truth, with falsehoods fair!
Chorus:
Speak joy, if truth be joy, but truth, at worst--
loo plainly, truth and joy are here divorced.
Herald:
The hero and his bark were rapt away
Far from the Grecian fleet? 'tis truth I say.
Chorus:
Whether in all men's sight from Ilion borne,
Or from the fleet by stress of weather torn?
Herald:
Full on the mark thy shaft of speech doth light,
And one short word hath told long woes aright.
Chorus:
But say, what now of him each comrade saith?
What their forebodings, of his life or death?
Herald:
Ask me no more: the truth is known to none,
Save the earth-fostering, all-surveying Sun,
Chorus:
Say, by