ACT III

[_Enter_ Eurybates _with laurel-wreathed spear_.]

_Eurybates:_ Ye shrines and altars of the heavenly gods, Ye Lares of my fathers, after long And weary wanderings, scarce trusting yet My longing eyes, I give ye grateful thanks. Pay now your vows which you have vowed to heaven, Ye Argive people; for behold, your king, 395 The pride and glory of this land of Greece, Back to his father's house as victor comes.

[_Enter_ Clytemnestra _in time to hear the concluding words of the herald_.]

_Clytemnestra:_ Oh, joyful tidings that I long to hear! But where delays my lord, whom I with grief For ten long years have waited? Doth the sea Still stay his course, or hath he gained the land?

_Eurybates:_ Unharmed, by glory crowned, increased in praise, 400 He hath set foot upon the long-sought shore.

_Clytemnestra:_ Then hail this day with joy, and thank the gods Who, though their favoring aid was late bestowed, At last have smiled propitious on our cause. But tell me thou, does yet my brother live? Say, too, how fares my sister Helena? 405

_Eurybates:_ If prayer and hope prevail, they yet survive; No surer tidings is it given to speak Of those who wander on the stormy sea. Scarce had the swollen highways of the deep Received our fleet, when ship from kindred ship Was driven, and lost amid the gathering gloom. E'en Agamemnon's self in doubt and fear 410 Went wandering upon the trackless waste, And suffered more from Neptune's buffetings Than he had e'er endured in bloody war. And now, a humble victor, home he comes, With but a shattered remnant of his fleet.

_Clytemnestra:_ But say what fate has swallowed up my ships, And scattered our great chieftains o'er the sea? 415

_Eurybates:_ A sorry tale 'twould be: thou bid'st me mix The bitter message with the sweet. But I, Alas, am sick at heart, and cannot tell For very horror our most woeful tale.

_Clytemnestra:_ But tell it even so; for he who shrinks From knowledge of his woe has greater fear. And ills half seen are worse than certainty. 420

_Eurybates:_ When Troy lies smouldering 'neath our Grecian fires We quickly lot the spoil, and seek the sea In eager haste. And now our weary sides Are easéd of the falchion's wonted load; Our shields along the vessels' lofty sterns Unheeded hang, and once again our hands, Long used to swords, are fitted to the oar; 425 And all impatiently we wait the word. Then flashed from Agamemnon's ship the sign That bade us homeward speed, and clear and loud The trumpet pealed upon our joyful ears; The flagship's gilded prow gleamed on ahead, The course directing for a thousand ships. 430 A kindly breeze first stole into our sails And urged us softly on; the tranquil waves Scarce rippled with the Zephyr's gentle breath; The sea was all a-glitter with the fleet Which lit e'en while it hid the watery way. 'Tis sweet to see the empty shores of Troy, 435 The broad plains left in lonely solitude. The eager sailors ply the bending oars, Hands aiding sails, and move their sturdy arms With rhythmic swing. The furrowed waters gleam, And sing along the sides, while rushing prows 440 Besprinkle all the sea with hoary spray. When fresher breezes fill our swelling sails, We cease from toil, and, stretched along the thwarts, We watch the far-off shores of Ilium, Fast fleeing as our vessels seaward fare; 445 Or tell old tales of war: brave Hector's threats, His corpse dishonored, and again restored To purchased honors of the funeral pyre; And Priam sprinkling with his royal blood The sacred altar of Hercean Jove. Then to and fro amid the briny sea The dolphins sport, and leap the heaving waves 450 With arching backs; now race in circles wide, Now swim beside us in a friendly band, Now dash ahead or follow in our wake; Anon in wanton sport they smite our prows, And so our thousand rushing barks surround. 455 Now sinks the shore from view, the spreading plains; And far-off Ida seems a misty cloud. And now, what but the sharpest eye can see, Troy's rising smoke blurs dim the distant sky. The sun was bringing weary mortals rest, 460 And waning day was giving place to night; When clouds began to fill the western sky, And dim the luster of the sinking sun-- The grim prognostic of a rising gale. Young night had spangled all the sky with stars, 465 And empty sails hung languid on the masts; When low, foreboding sighings of the wind Spring from our landward side; the hidden shore Resounds afar with warning mutterings; The rising waves anticipate the storm; 470 The moon is blotted out, the stars are hid, The sea leaps skyward, and the sky is gone. Gloom broods o'er all, but not of night alone; For blinding mists add blackness to the night, And murky waves with murky sky contend. Then in concerted rush from every hand The winds fall roughly on the ravished sea, And heave its boiling billows from the depths; 475 While east with west wind struggles, south with north. Each wields his wonted arms to lash the sea: The fierce Strymonian blast with rattling hail Roars on, and Libyan Auster heaps the waves Upon the seething sands. Nor those alone 480 Provoke the strife: for raving Notus first Grows big with bursting clouds and swells the waves; And boisterous Eurus shakes the Orient, The far Arabian realms and morning seas. What dire disaster did fierce Corus work, His dark face gleaming forth upon the deep? We thought the very heavens would be rent, 485 The gods fall down from out the riven sky, And all revert to chaos as of old. The waves opposed the winds, the winds in turn Hurled back the warring waves. Nor was the sea Within itself contained; but, lifted high, It mingled with the streaming floods of heaven. 490 Nor were we solaced in our dreadful plight By open view and knowledge of our ills; For darkness like the murky night of Styx Hedged in our view. Yet was this darkness rent, When flashing lightnings cleft the inky clouds 495 With crashing bolts. Yet e'en this fearful gleam Was welcome to our eyes: so sweet it is To those in evil plight to see their ills. The fleet assists its own destruction, too, Prow dashing hard on prow, and side on side; Now sinks it headlong in the yawning flood, And now, belched forth, it sees the air again. 500 One plunges down, of its own weight compelled; Another, through its gaping side, invites Destruction from the raging floods; a third Is smothered by the tenth and mightiest wave. Here idly floats a mangled, shattered thing, Of all its boastful decoration shorn; And there a ship sans sails and oars and all. No lofty mast with hanging spars remains, 505 But, helpless hulks, the shattered vessels drift Upon the boundless sea. Amid such ills, Of what avail the hardy sailor's art? Cold horror holds our limbs. The sailors stand In dumb amaze, and all their tasks forget; While all, in abject terror, drop their oars, And turn their wretched souls to heaven for aid. 510 Now (marvel of the fates!) with common vows The Greeks and Trojans supplicate the skies. Now Pyrrhus envies great Achilles' fate; Ulysses, Ajax'; Menelaüs, Hector's; And Priam seems to Agamemnon blest: Yea all who perished on the plains of Troy, Whose lot it was to die by human hand, Are counted blest of heaven, secure in fame, 515 For they rest safely in the land they won. "Shall winds and waves engulf in common fate The faint of heart who nothing noble dare, And those brave souls who quit themselves like men? Must we for naught resign ourselves to death? O thou of gods who art not even yet With these our evil fortunes satisfied, 520 At last have pity on our woeful plight, Which Ilium itself would weep to see. If still thine anger holds, and 'tis decreed That we of Greece must perish utterly, Why doom these Trojans, for whose sake we die, To share our fate? Allay the raging sea: 525 For this our fleet bears Greeks and Trojans too." So prayed we, but in vain; our suppliant words Were swallowed by the raging storm. And lo, Another shape of death! For Pallas, armed With those swift bolts her angry father wields, Essays what ruin dire her threatening spear, Her aegis set with stony Gorgon's head, 530 And these her father's thunderbolts, can work. Unconquered by his ills, with daring soul, Bold Ajax struggles on. Him, shortening sail With halyards strained, a falling thunderbolt Smote full; again the goddess poised her bolt 535 With hand far backward drawn, like Jove himself, And hurled it true with shock impetuous. Straight fell the bolt, and, piercing man and ship, It strewed them both in ruin on the sea. Still undismayed, he overtops the waves, All charred and blasted like some rugged cliff, 540 And bravely breasts the wildly raging sea. Still gleaming with the lightning's lurid glare, He shines amid the blackness like a torch Which sheds its beams afar upon the deep. At length a jutting rock he gains, and shouts In madness: "Now have I o'ercome the sea, 545 The flames; 'tis sweet to conquer sky, and waves, The thunderbolts, and her who brandished them. I've braved the terrors of the god of war; With my sole arm I fronted Hector, huge, Nor did the darts of Phoebus frighten me. Those gods, together with their Phrygians, 550 I set at naught; and shall I quake at thee? Thou hurl'st with weakling's hand another's bolts: But what if Jove himself--" When madly thus he dared blaspheme the gods, Great Neptune with his trident smote the rock, And whelmed its tottering bulk beneath the sea. 555 So, falling with its fall, the madman lies By earth and fire and billows overcome. But us, poor shipwrecked, hopeless mariners, A worse destruction waits. There is a reef, Low lying, treacherous with ragged shoals, Where false Caphereus hides his rocky foot Beneath the whirling waters of the sea. 560 Above this reef the billows heave and dash, And madly seethe with each recurring wave. High o'er this spot a frowning crag projects, Which views on either side the spreading sea. There distant lie thine own Pelopian shores, And there the curving Isthmus, deep withdrawn, Shielding the broad Aegean from the west. 565 There blood-stained Lemnos looms; here Chalcis[52] lies; And yonder wind-locked Aulis' peaceful port. This lofty cliff old Nauplius occupied, With hate inspired for Palamedes' sake. There his accurséd hand a beacon raised And lured us onward to the fatal spot. 570 Now hang our barks by jagged rocks transfixed, Or founder, wrecked and wrecking in the shoals; And where but now our vessels sought to land, They flee the land and choose the angry waves. 575 With dawn the sea's destructive rage was spent, And full atonement had been made to Troy. Then came the sun again; and brightening day Revealed the awful havoc of the night.

_Clytemnestra:_ I know not which were better, grief or joy. I do rejoice to see my lord again, 580 And yet my kingdom's losses counsel tears. O father Jove, at whose august command The sounding heavens quake, regard our race, And bid the angry gods be merciful. Let every head be decked with festal wreath, The flute resound, and at the stately shrine Let snowy victims fall in sacrifice. 585 But lo, a grieving throng, with locks unkempt, The Trojan women come; and at their head, With step majestic, queenly, heaven inspired, Apollo's bride, with his own laurel tired.

[_Enter band of_ Trojan women, _led by_ Cassandra.]

_Band of Trojan women:_ Alas, how bitter, yet how sweet a thing, This love of life we mortals cherish so! What madness, when the door stands open wide 590 That frees us from our ills, and death calls loud And welcomes us to everlasting rest! Who finds that refuge, fears no more These nameless terrors, these assaults, These insolent assaults of fate, And sidelong-glancing bolts of Jove. 595 Deep peace of death! No frenzied burgher-throng to fear, No victor's threatening madness here; No wild seas ruffled by the blast; No hosts in serried battle massed, Where whirling clouds of dust disclose 600 The savage riders to their foes; No nation falling with its city's fall, 'Mid smouldering battlement and crumbling wall; No wasting fires, No burning pyres, And all the horrors impious war inspires. They from the servile bonds of fate 605 This human life emancipate, Who fickle fortune dare to brave, And face the terrors of the grave; Who joyful view the joyless Styx, And dare their mortal span to fix. How like a king, how like a god on high Is he who faces death nor fears to die! 610 In one dark night we saw our city doomed, When Doric fires the Dardan homes consumed; But not in battle, not by warlike arts, As once it fell beneath Alcides' darts. No son of Thetis dealt the blow 615 Which wrought our final overthrow, Nor his loved friend, Patroclus hight, When once, in borrowed armor dight, He put our Trojan chiefs to flight; Nor when Pelides' self gave o'er 620 The fierce resentment that he bore, And sped him forth on vengeance bent-- Not even in such evils pent, Did Troy to cruel fortune bend, But struggled bravely to the end. Her bitter fate--for ten long years to stand, And fall at last by one vile trickster's hand. 625 In memory still we see the monstrous bulk Of that pretended and most fatal gift, The Grecian horse, which we, too credulous, With our own hands into our city led. The noisy-footed monster stumbled oft 630 Upon the threshold of the city gate, While in its roomy hold crouched kings and war. And we might well have turned their crafty arts To work their own destruction. But alas, We neither saw nor heeded. Oftentimes The sound of clashing shields smote on our ears, And low and angry mutterings within 635 Where Pyrrhus 'gainst the shrewd Ulysses strove. Now free from fear our Trojan youth Crowd round to touch the sacred cords With joyous hands. Astyanax Here leads his youthful playmates on, While 'midst the maidens gaily comes The maid Polyxena, foredoomed To bleed upon Achilles' tomb. 640 Mothers in festal garments bring Their votive offerings to the gods, And sires press gaily round the shrines. 645 Throughout the town all faces tell One tale of joy; e'en Hecuba, Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre, Had never ceased her tears, was glad. But now, unhappy grief, what first, What last, dost thou prepare to weep? 650 Our city walls in ruin laid, Though built by heavenly hands? our shrines Upon their very gods consumed? Nay, nay; long since our weary eyes Have dried their tears for these. But now We weep, O father, king, for thee. 655 We saw, with our own eyes we saw, The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand, Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand.

_Cassandra:_ Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits, Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine. 660 Let each bewail her several woes; but I For my own heavy grief have tears enough.

_Band:_ Yet 'tis a balm of grief to know That our own tears with others' flow; More sharply gnaws the hidden care 665 Which we with others may not share: And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief, Canst not in thine own weeping find relief. Though Philomel for Itys sing 670 Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring; Though Procne, with insistent din, Bewail her husband's hidden sin; 675 Not these, with all their passionate lament, Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent. Let Cycnus raise his dying song, And its soft, plaintive strains prolong; Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave, 680 A-flutter o'er the tossing wave; Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele 685 Their tears for Attis share with thee: Still would our tears in no such measure flow, 690 For sufferings like these no limits know.

[Cassandra _lays aside her fillets_.]

But why dost lay aside the sacred wool? Most by the wretched should the gods be feared.

_Cassandra:_ But ills like mine o'erleap the bounds of fear. 695 I'll supplicate the heavenly gods no more, For now am I beyond their power to harm, And I have drained to dregs the cup of fate. No country have I left, no sister, sire; For tombs and altars have my blood consumed. 700 Where is that happy throng of brothers now? Departed all! And only weak old men Remain within the lonely palace walls To serve the wretched king; and these, alas, Throughout those stately chambered halls behold, Save Spartan Helen, none but widowed wives. And Hecuba, proud mother of a race 705 Of kings, herself the queen of Phrygia, Fecund for funeral pyres, became the mock Of fickle fate; and now in bestial form, Barks madly round the ruins of her home, Surviving Troy, son, husband, and herself.

_Band:_ Why falls this sudden silence on her? See 710 Her cheeks are pale, and fits of trembling fear Possess her frame; her locks in horror rise, And we can hear, though pent within her breast, The loud pulsations of her fluttering heart. Her glance uncertain wanders; and anon Her eyes seem backward turned into herself, 715 Then fix again and harshly stare abroad. Now higher than her wont she lifts her head And walks with stately step; and now she strives To open her reluctant lips. At last, Though struggling still against th' inspiring god, The maddened priestess speaks with muttered words.

_Cassandra:_ Why prick me on with fury's goads anew, 720 Ye sacred slopes of high Parnassus? Why Must I, insensate, prophesy afresh? Away, thou prophet god! I am not thine. Subdue the fires that smoulder in my breast. Whose doom yet waits my frenzied prophecy? Now Troy is fallen--must I still rave on, 725 And speak unheeded words? Oh, where am I? The kindly light has fled, and deepest night Enshrouds my face, and all the heavens lie wrapped In deepest gloom. But see, with double sun, The day shines forth again; and doubled homes In doubled Argos seem to stand. Again I see Mount Ida's groves. The shepherd sits 730 Amid those awful goddesses to judge (Oh, fatal judgment!) twixt their rival charms. Ye mighty kings, I warn ye, fear the fruit Of stolen love; that rustic foundling soon Shall overthrow your house. Beware the queen! Why does she madly in her woman's hand Those naked weapons bear? Whom does she seek 735 With brandished battle-ax, though Spartan bred, Like some fierce warrior of the Amazons? What horrid vision next affronts mine eyes? A mighty Afric lion, king of beasts, Lies low, death-smitten by his cruel mate; While at his mangled[53] neck a low-born beast 740 Gnaws greedily. Why do ye summon me, Saved only of my house, ye kindred shades? I'll follow thee, my father, buried[54] deep Beneath the stones of Troy; and thee, O prop Of Phrygia, the terror of the Greeks, I see, though not in brave and fair array, As once thou cam'st, still flushing with the glow 745 Of burning ships; but with thy members torn And foully mangled by the dragging thongs. And thee, O Troïlus, I follow too, Alas, too quickly met with Peleus' son! I see thy face, my poor Deïphobus, Past recognition scarred. Is this the gift Of thy new wife? 750 Ah me, 'tis sweet to go Along the borders of the Stygian pool; To see the savage hound of Tartarus, The realms of greedy Dis, and Charon old, Whose dusky skiff shall bear two royal souls Across the murky Phlegethon today, The vanquished and the vanquisher. Ye shades, And thee, dread stream, by which the gods of heaven 755 Do swear their straightest oaths, I pray ye both: Withdraw the curtain of your hidden realm, That so yon shadowy throng of Phrygians May look upon Mycenae's woes. Behold, Poor souls; the wheel of fortune backward turns. See, see! the squalid sisters come, 760 Their bloody lashes brandishing, And smoking torches half consumed. A sickly pallor overspreads Their bloated cheeks; and dusky robes Of death begird their hollow loins. The gloomy night with fearsome cries 765 Resounds, and to my startled eyes Dread sights appear: there lie the bones Of that huge giant, far outstretched, Upon a slimy marsh's brink All white and rotting. Now I see That old man, wan with suffering, Forget awhile the mocking waves, 770 Forget his burning thirst, to grieve For this disaster hovering About his house; But Dardanus exults to see His foeman's baleful destiny.

_Band:_ Now has her rage prophetic spent itself, 775 And fall'n away; like some devoted bull, Which sinks with tottering knees before the shrine Beneath the sacrificial axe's stroke. Let us support her ere she faint and fall. But see, our Agamemnon comes at last To greet his gods, with bay of victory crowned; And, all in festal garb, with glad accord, 780 His consort welcomes her returning lord.

FOOTNOTES:

[52] Reading, _hinc et Chalcida_.

[53] Reading, _vexatus_.

[54] Reading, _totâ Troiâ sepulte_.