In flaming splendor, as the setting sun Lights up the sky with beams more beautiful, 1140 When day hangs doubtful on the edge of night.
All gazed in wonder. Some her beauty moved, And some her tender age and hapless fate; But all, her dauntless courage in the face 1145 Of death. Behind the maid grim Pyrrhus came; And as they looked, the souls of all were filled With quaking terror, pity, and amaze.
But when she reached the summit of the mound And stood upon the lofty sepulcher, 1150 Still with unfaltering step the maid advanced.
And now she turned her to the stroke of death With eyes so fierce and fearless that she smote The hearts of all, and, wondrous prodigy, E'en Pyrrhus' bloody hand was slow to strike.
But soon, his right hand lifted to the stroke, 1155 He drove the weapon deep within her breast; And straight from that deep wound the blood burst forth In sudden streams. But still the noble maid Did not give o'er her bold and haughty mien, Though in the act of death. For in her fall She smote the earth with angry violence, As if to make it heavy for the dead.
Then flowed the tears of all. The Trojans groaned 1160 With secret woe, since fear restrained their tongues; But openly the victors voiced their grief.
And now the savage rite was done. The blood Stood not upon the ground, nor flowed away; But downward all its ruddy stream was sucked, As if the tomb were thirsty for the draught.
_Hecuba:_ Now go, ye Greeks, and seek your homes in peace. 1165 With spreading sails your fleet in safety now May cleave the welcome sea; the maid and boy Are slain, the war is done. Oh, whither now Shall I betake me in my wretchedness?
Where spend this hateful remnant of my life?
My daughter or my grandson shall I mourn, 1170 My husband, country--or myself alone?
O death, my sole desire, for boys and maids Thou com'st with hurried step and savage mien; But me alone of mortals dost thou fear And shun; through all that dreadful night of Troy, I sought thee 'midst the swords and blazing brands, 1175 But all in vain my search. No cruel foe, Nor crumbling wall, nor blazing fire, could give The death I sought. And yet how near I stood To agéd Priam's side when he was slain!
_Messenger:_ Ye captives, haste you to the winding shore; The sails are spread, our long delay is o'er.
AGAMEMNON AGAMEMNON DRAMATIS PERSONAE _Agamemnon_ King of Argos, and leader of all the Greeks in their war against Troy.
_Ghost of Thyestes_ Returned to earth to urge on his son to the vengeance which he was born to accomplish.
_Aegisthus_ Son of Thyestes by an incestuous union with his daughter; paramour of Clytemnestra.
_Clytemnestra_ Wife of Agamemnon, who has been plotting with Aegisthus against her husband, in his absence at Troy.
_Chorus_ Of Argive women.
_Eurybates_ Messenger of Agamemnon.
_Cassandra_ Daughter of Priam, captive of Agamemnon.
_Electra_ Daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra.
_Strophius_ King of Phocis.
_Orestes_ Son of Agamemnon (_persona muta_).
_Pylades_ Son of Strophius (_persona muta_).
_Band_ Of captive Trojan women.
THE SCENE is laid partly within and partly without the palace of Agamemnon at Argos or Mycenae, on the day of the return of the king from his long absence at Troy, beginning in the period of darkness just preceding the dawn.
_The blood-feud between Atreus and Thyestes was not ended with the terrible vengeance which Atreus wreaked upon his brother. It was yet in fate that Thyestes should live to beget upon his own daughter a son, Aegisthus, who should slay Atreus and bring ruin and death upon the great Atrides, Agamemnon._ _The Trojan war is done. And now the near approach of the victorious king, bringing his captives and treasure home to Argos, has been announced. But little does he dream to what a home he is returning.
For Clytemnestra, enraged at Agamemnon because he had sacrificed her daughter Iphigenia at Aulis to appease the winds, and full of jealousy because he brings Cassandra as her rival home, estranged also by the long-continued absence of her lord, but most estranged by her own guilty union with Aegisthus, is now plotting to slay Agamemnon on his return, gaining thus at once revenge and safety from his wrath._ ACT I _Ghost of Thyestes:_ Escaped from gloomy Pluto's murky realm And leaving Tartara's deep pit I come, All doubting which abode I hate the more; That world I flee, but this I put to flight.
My soul shrinks back, my limbs do quake with fear. 5 Here is the ancient seat of Pelop's race; In this proud hall it is Pelasgians' wont To crown their kings; here sit those overlords Whose hands the kingdom's haughty scepter wield; 10 Here is their council chamber--here they feast!
Let me go hence. Were it not better far To sit beside the dark, sad pools of Styx, And see the hell-hound's black and tossing mane?
Where one, bound fast upon a whirling wheel, 15 Back to himself is borne; where fruitless toil Is mocked forever by the rolling stone; Where living vitals glut the vulture's greed, Consumed but e'er renewed; and one old man, By mocking waves surrounded, seeks in vain 20 To sate his burning thirst, dire punishment For that he strove to trick th' immortal gods.
But, ranked with mine, how slight that old man's sin!
Take count of all whose impious deeds on earth Make them to tremble at the bar of hell: By my dread crimes will I outdo them all;-- 25 But not my brother's crimes. Three sons of mine Lie buried in me, yea, mine own dear flesh Have I consumed. Nor this the only blot With which dire fortune's hand hath stained my soul; But, daring greater sin, she bade me seek (Oh, foul impiety!) my daughter's arms. 30 Bold for revenge, I dared and did the deed, And so fearful cycle was complete: As sons the sire, so sire the daughter filled.
Then were the laws of nature backward turned: I mingled sire with grandsire, sons with grandsons; Yea, monstrous! husband and father did I join, 35 And drove the day back to the shades of night.
But fate at last, though doubtful, long deferred, Hath had regard unto my evil plight, And brought the day of vengeance near; for lo, This king of kings, this leader of the Greeks, This Agamemnon comes, whose royal flag 40 A thousand Grecian vessels following Once filled the Trojan waters with their sails.
Now ten bright suns have run their course, and Troy Has been o'erthrown, and he is close at hand-- To place his neck in Clytemnestra's power.
Now, now, this house shall flow again with blood, But this of Atreus' stock! Swords, axes, darts 45 I see, and that proud head with murderous stroke Asunder cleft; now impious crimes are near, Now treachery, slaughter, blood; the feast is spread.
The cause, Aegisthus, of thy shameful birth, Is come at last. But why hangs down thy head In shame? Why hesitates thy faltering hand 50 And sinks inactive? Why dost counsel take Within thy heart, and turn away, and ask Whether this deed become thee? Do but think Upon thy mother; then wilt thou confess It doth become thee well. But what drags out In long delay this summer night's brief span To winter's hours of darkness? And what cause Prevents the stars from sinking in the sky? 55 The sun shrinks from my face. I must away, That so he may bring back the light of day.
[_Exit._] * * * * * _Chorus of Argive women:_ On fortune's headlong brink they stand Who hold the scepter in their hand; No safe assurance can they know 60 Who on too lofty pathways go: But care on care pursues them to the last, Their souls assailed and vexed by every blast.
As seas on Libya's sandy shore Their waves in ceaseless billows pour; 65 As Euxine's swelling waters rise Beneath the lowering northern skies, Where bright Boötes wheels his team High o'er the ocean's darksome stream: 70 With such assaults, by such wild tempests blown, Does fortune batter at a kingly throne!
Who would be feared, in fear must live.
No kindly night can refuge give; Nor sleep, that comforts all the rest, 75 Can bring care-freedom to his breast.
What throne so safe, on such foundation stands, That may not be destroyed by impious hands?
For justice, shame, the virtues all, E'en wifely faith, soon flee the hall 80 Where courtiers dwell. Within, there stands Bellona dire with bloody hands; Erinys too, the dogging fate, Of them who hold too high estate, Which any hour from high to low may bring. 85 Though arms be lacking, wiles be none, Still is the will of fortune done: By force of his own greatness falls the king.
'Tis ever thus: the bellying sail 90 Fears the o'erstrong though favoring gale; The tower feels rainy Auster's dread If to the clouds it rear its head; Huge oaks most feel the whirlwind's lash; 95 High mountains most with thunder crash; And while the common herd in safety feeds, Their mighty leader, marked for slaughter, bleeds. 100 Fate places us on high, that so To surer ruin we may go.
The meanest things in longest fortune live.
Then happy he whose modest soul In safety seeks a nearer goal; 105 Fearing to leave the friendly shore, He rows with unambitious oar, Content in low security to thrive.
ACT II _Clytemnestra:_ Why, sluggish soul, dost thou safe counsel seek?
Why hesitate? Closed is the better way.
Once thou couldst chastely guard thy widowed couch, 110 And keep thy husband's realm with wifely faith; But now, long since has faith thy palace fled, The homely virtues, honor, piety, And chastity, which goes, but ne'er returns.
Loose be thy reins, swift speed thy wanton course; The safest way through crime is by the path 115 Of greater crime. Consider in thy heart All woman's wiles, what faithless wives have done, Bereft of reason, blind and passion-driven; What bloody deeds stepmother's hands have dared; Or what she dared, ablaze with impious love, Who left her father's realm for Thessaly: 120 Dare sword, dare poison; else in stealthy flight Must thou go hence with him who shares thy guilt.
But who would talk of stealth, of exile, flight?
Such were thy sister's deeds: some greater crime, Some mightier deed of evil suits thy hand.
_Nurse:_ O Grecian queen, illustrious Leda's child, 125 What say'st thou there in whispered mutterings?
Or what unbridled deeds within thy breast, By reckless passion tossed, dost meditate?
Though thou be silent, yet thy face declares Thy hidden pain in speech more eloquent.
Whate'er thy grief, take time and room for thought.
Time often cures what reason cannot heal. 130 _Clytemnestra:_ Too dire my grief to wait time's healing hand.
My very soul is scorched with flaming pains: I feel the goads of fear and jealous rage, The throbbing pulse of hate, the pangs of love, Base love that presses hard his heavy yoke 135 Upon my heart, and holds me vanquished quite.
And always, 'mid those flames that vex my soul, Though faint indeed, and downcast, all undone, Shame struggles on. By shifting seas I'm tossed: As when here wind, there tide impels the deep, The waves stand halting 'twixt the warring powers. 140 And so I'll strive no more to guide my bark.
Where wrath, where grief, where hope shall bear me on, There will I speed my course; my helmless ship I've giv'n to be the sport of winds and floods.
Where reason fails 'tis best to follow chance.
_Nurse:_ Oh, rash and blind, who follows doubtful chance. 145 _Clytemnestra:_ Who fears a doubtful chance, if 'tis his last?
_Nurse:_ Thy fault may find safe hiding if thou wilt.
_Clytemnestra:_ Nay, faults of royal homes proclaim themselves.
_Nurse:_ Dost thou repent the old, yet plan the new?
_Clytemnestra:_ To stop midway in sin is foolishness. 150 _Nurse:_ His fears increase, who covers crime with crime.
_Clytemnestra:_ But iron and fire oft aid the healer's art.
_Nurse:_ Yet desperate measures no one first attempts.
_Clytemnestra:_ The path of sin is headlong from the first.
_Nurse:_ Still let thy wifely duty hold thee back. 155 _Clytemnestra:_ What long-deserted wife regards her lord?
_Nurse:_ Your common children--hast no thought of them?
_Clytemnestra:_ I do think on my daughter's wedding rites, High-born Achilles, and my husband's lies.
_Nurse:_ She freed our Grecian fleet from long delay, 160 And waked from their dull calm the sluggish seas.
_Clytemnestra:_ Oh, shameful thought! that I, the heaven-born child Of Tyndarus, should give my daughter up To save the Grecian fleet! I see once more In memory my daughter's wedding day, Which _he_ made worthy of base Pelops' house, 165 When, with his pious face, this father stood Before the altar fires--Oh, monstrous rites!
E'en Calchas shuddered at his own dread words And backward-shrinking fires. O bloody house, That ever wades through crime to other crime!
With blood we soothe the winds, with blood we war. 170 _Nurse:_ Yet by that blood a thousand vessels sailed.
_Clytemnestra:_ But not with favoring omens did they sail; The port of Aulis fairly drave them forth.
So launched in war, he still no better fared.
Smit with a captive's love, unmoved by prayer, 175 He held as spoil the child of Phoebus' priest, E'en then, as now, a sacred maiden's thrall.
Nor could the stern Achilles bend his will, Nor he whose eye alone can read the fates (A faithful seer to us, to captives mild), 180 Nor his pest-smitten camp and gleaming pyres.
When baffled Greece stood tottering to her fall, This man with passion pined, had time for love, Thought ever on amours; and, lest his couch Should be of any Phrygian maid bereft, 185 He lusted for Achilles' beauteous bride, Nor blushed to tear her from her lover's arms.
Fit foe for Paris! Now new wounds he feels, And burns, inflamed by mad Cassandra's love.
And, now that Troy is conquered, home he comes, 190 Arise, my soul; no easy task essay; Be swift to act. What dost thou, sluggish, wait Till Phrygian rivals wrest thy power away?
Or do thy virgin daughters stay thy hand, 195 Or yet Orestes, image of his sire?
Nay, 'tis for these thy children thou must act, Lest greater ills befall them; for, behold, A mad stepmother soon shall call them hers.
Through thine own heart, if so thou must, prepare To drive the sword, and so slay two in one. 200 Let thy blood flow with his; in slaying, die.
For death is sweet if with a foeman shared.
_Nurse:_ My queen, restrain thyself, check thy wild wrath, And think how great thy task. Atrides comes Wild Asia's conqueror and Europe's lord; 205 He leads Troy captive, Phrygia subdued.
'Gainst him wouldst thou with sly assault prevail, Whom great Achilles slew not with his sword, Though he with angry hand the weapon drew; Nor Telamonian Ajax, crazed with rage; 210 Nor Hector, Troy's sole prop and war's delay; Nor Paris' deadly darts; nor Memnon black; Nor Xanthus, choked with corpses and with arms; Nor Simois' waves, empurpled with the slain; Nor Cycnus, snowy offspring of the sea; 215 Nor warlike Rhesus with his Thracian band; Nor that fierce maid who led the Amazons, Armed with the deadly battle-axe and shield?
This hero, home returned, dost thou prepare To slay, and stain thy hearth with impious blood?
Would Greece, all hot from conquest, suffer this? 220 Bethink thee of the countless steeds and arms, The sea a-bristle with a thousand ships, The plains of Ilium soaked with streams of blood, Troy taken and in utter ruin laid: Remember this, I say, and check thy wrath, And bid thy thoughts in safer channels run. 225 [_Exit._] [_Enter_ Aegisthus.]
_Aegisthus:_ The fatal day which I was born to see, Toward which I've ever looked with dread, is here.
Why dost thou fear, my soul, to face thy fate, And turn away from action scarce begun?
Be sure that not thy hand is ordering These dire events, but the relentless gods. 230 Then put thy shame-bought life in pawn to fate And let thy heart drain suffering to the dregs.
To one of shameful birth death is a boon.
[_Enter_ Clytemnestra.]
Thou comrade of my perils, Leda's child, Be with me still in this; and thy false lord, 235 This valiant sire, shall pay thee blood for blood.
But why does pallor blanch thy trembling cheeks?
What bodes this softened face, this listless gaze?
_Clytemnestra:_ My husband's love has met and conquered me.
Let us retrace our steps, while still there's room, 240 To that estate whence we should ne'er have come; Let even now fair fame be sought again; For never is it over late to mend.
Who grieves for sin is counted innocent.
_Aegisthus:_ What madness this? Dost thou believe or hope That Agamemnon will be true to thee? 245 Though no grave fears, of conscious guilt begot, Annoyed thy soul with thoughts of punishment; Still would his swelling, o'er-inflated pride, Create in him a dour and headstrong mood.
Harsh was he to his friends while Troy still stood; How, think'st thou, has the fall of Troy pricked on 250 His soul, by nature harsh, to greater harshness?
Mycenae's king he went; he will return Her tyrant. So doth fortune foster pride.
With how great pomp this throng of rivals comes!
But one of these, surpassing all the rest, Apollo's priestess, holds the king in thrall. 255 And wilt thou meekly share thy lord with her?
But she will not. A wife's last infamy-- To see her rival ruling in her stead.
No throne nor bed can brook a rival mate.
_Clytemnestra:_ Aegisthus, why dost drive me headlong on, 260 And fan to flames again my dying wrath?
For if the victor has his right employed, To work his will upon a captive maid, His wife should not complain or reck of this.
The law that binds the man fits not the king.
And why should I, myself in conscious guilt, 265 Make bold to sit in judgment on my lord?
Let her forgive who most forgiveness needs.
_Aegisthus:_ In very truth there's room for mutual grace.
But thou know'st naught of royal privilege.
Thee will the king judge harshly, to himself 270 A milder law in gentler mood apply.
And this they deem the highest pledge of power, If, what to common mortals is denied, Is given by general will to them alone.
_Clytemnestra:_ He pardoned Helen; home is she returned, To Menelaüs joined, though East and West Have been engulfed for her in common woe.
_Aegisthus:_ But Menelaüs nursed no secret love, 275 Which closed his heart unto his lawful wife.
Thy lord seeks charge against thee, cause of strife.
Suppose thy heart and life were free from guilt: What boots an honest life, a stainless heart, When hate condemns the suppliant unheard? 280 Wilt thou seek Sparta's shelter, and return Unto thy father's house? No shelter waits The scorned of kings; that hope were false indeed.
_Clytemnestra:_ None knows my sin save one most faithful friend.
_Aegisthus:_ In vain: no faith is found in royal courts. 285 _Clytemnestra:_ But surely gifts will buy fidelity.
_Aegisthus:_ Faith bought by gifts is sold for other gifts.
_Clytemnestra:_ My strength and purity of soul revive.
Why wouldst thou thwart me? Why, with cozening words, Wouldst thou persuade me to thy evil course? 290 Dost think that I would leave a king of kings And stoop to wed an outcast wretch like thee?
_Aegisthus:_ What? seem I less than Atreus' son to thee, Who am Thyestes' son?
_Clytemnestra:_ Why, so thou art, And grandson too.
_Aegisthus:_ My getting shames me not; For Phoebus' self is voucher for my birth.
_Clytemnestra:_ Name Phoebus not with thine incestuous stock, 295 Who checked his flying steeds and fled the sky, Withdrawn in sudden night, lest he behold Thy father's feast. Wouldst thou besmirch the gods, Thou, trained to revel in unlawful love?
Then get thee gone in haste, and rid mine eyes 300 Of that which doth disgrace this noble house; This home is waiting for its king and lord.
_Aegisthus:_ Exile is naught to me, for I am used To woe. At thy command I'll farther flee Than from this house: I but await thy word To plunge my dagger in this woeful breast. 305 _Clytemnestra_ [_aside_]: Shall I in cruel scorn desert him now?
Who sin in company should suffer so.
[_To_ Aegisthus.]
Nay, come with me; we will together wait The issue of our dark and dangerous fate.
[_Exeunt into the palace._] _Chorus:_[51] Sing Phoebus' praise, O race renowned; 310 With festal laurel wreathe your heads; And let your virgin locks flow free, Ye Argive maids.
And ye who drink of the cold Erasinus, Who dwell by Eurotas, 315 Who know the green banks of the silent Ismenus Come join in our singing; And do ye swell our chorus, ye far Theban daughters, Whom the child of Tiresias, Manto the seer, Once taught to bow down to the Delian gods. 320 Now peace has come: Unbend thy victorious bow, O Apollo, Lay down from thy shoulder thy quiver of arrows, And let thy tuneful lyre resound To the touch of thy swift-flying fingers. 325 No lofty strain be thine today, But such as on thy milder lyre Thou art wont to sound when the learnéd muse Surveys thy sports.
And yet, an' thou wilt, strike a heavier strain, 330 As when thou didst sing of the Titans o'ercome By Jupiter's hurtling bolts; When mountain on lofty mountain piled, Pelion, Ossa, and pine-clad Olympus, Built high to the sky for the impious monsters 335 Their ladder's rocky rounds.
Thou too be with us, Juno, queen, Who sharest the throne of heaven's lord. 340 Mycenae's altars blaze for thee.
Thou alone dost protect us, Anxious and suppliant; Thou art the goddess of peace, And the issues of war are thine; 345 And thine are the laurels of victory twined On the brow of our king Agamemnon.
To thee the boxwood flute resounds In solemn festival; To thee the maidens strike the harp 350 In sweetest song; To thee the votive torch is tossed; The gleaming heifer, all unmarred By the plow's rough touch Falls at thy shrine. 355 And thou, child of the Thunderer, Pallas illustrious, hear; Before whose might the Dardanian walls Have trembled and fallen to dust.
Thee maidens and matrons in chorus united 360 Exalt and adore; at thy approach Thy temple doors swing open wide, While the welcoming throng, with garlands bedecked, Rejoice at thy coming; And feeble, tottering elders come To pay their vows of thanks and praise, 365 And pour their offerings of wine With trembling hands.
And to thee with mindful lips we pray, Bright Trivia, Lucina called.
Thy native Delos didst thou bid Stand fast upon the sea, and float 370 No more, the wandering mock of winds.
And now, with firmly fixéd root, It stands secure, defies the gale, And, wont of old to follow ships, Now gives them anchorage.
Proud Niobe thy vengeance felt 375 Who thy divinity defied.
Now, high on lonely Sipylus, She sits and weeps in stony grief; Though to insensate marble turned, Her tears flow fresh forevermore.
And now both men and women join 380 In praise to the twin divinities.
But thee, above all gods, we praise; Our father and our ruler thou, Lord of the hurtling thunderbolt, At whose dread nod the farthest poles Do quake and tremble.
O Jove, thou founder of our race, 385 Accept our gifts, and have regard Unto thy faithful progeny.
But lo, a warrior hither comes in haste, With wonted signs of victory displayed; For on his spear a laurel wreath he bears-- 390 Eurybates, our king's own messenger.
FOOTNOTES: [51] The line arrangement of Schroeder has been followed in this Chorus.
ACT III _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