Agamemnon

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 1,735 sections

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The gods I ask deliverance from these labours,
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Watch of a year’s length whereby, slumbering through it
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On the Atreidai’s roofs on elbow, — dog-like —
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I know of nightly star-groups the assemblage,
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And those that bring to men winter and summer
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Bright dynasts, as they pride them in the aether
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— Stars, when they wither, and the uprisings of them.
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And now on ward I wait the torch’s token,
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The glow of fire, shall bring from Troia message
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And word of capture: so prevails audacious
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The man’s-way-planning hoping heart of woman.
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But when I, driven from night-rest, dew-drenched hold to
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This couch of mine — not looked upon by visions,
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Since fear instead of sleep still stands beside me,
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So as that fast I fix in sleep no eyelids —
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And when to sing or chirp a tune I fancy,
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For slumber such song-remedy infusing,
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I wail then, for this House’s fortune groaning,
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Not, as of old, after the best ways governed.
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Now, lucky be deliverance from these labours,
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At good news — the appearing dusky fire!
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O hail, thou lamp of night, a day-long lightness
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Revealing, and of dances the ordainment!
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Halloo, halloo!
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To Agamemnon’s wife I show, by shouting,
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That, from bed starting up at once, i’ the household
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Joyous acclaim, good-omened to this torch-blaze,
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She send aloft, if haply Ilion’s city
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Be taken, as the beacon boasts announcing.
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Ay, and, for me, myself will dance a prelude,
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For, that my masters’ dice drop right, I’ll reckon:
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Since thrice-six has it thrown to me, this signal.
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Well, may it hap that, as he comes, the loved hand
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O’ the household’s lord I may sustain with this hand!
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As for the rest, I’m mute: on tongue a big ox
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Has trodden. Yet this House, if voice it take should,
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Most plain would speak. So, willing I myself speak
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To those who know: to who know not — I’m blankness.
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The tenth year this, since Priamos’ great match,
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King Menelaos, Agamemnon King,
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— The strenuous yoke-pair of the Atreidai’s honour
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Two-throned, two-sceptred, whereof Zeus was donor —
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Did from this land the aid, the armament despatch,
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The thousand-sailored force of Argives clamouring
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Aresfrom out the indignant breast, as fling
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Passion forth vultures which, because of grief
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Away, — as are their young ones, — with the thief,
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Lofty above their brood-nests wheel in ring,
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Row round and round with oar of either wing,
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Lament the bedded chicks, lost labour that was love:
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Which hearing, one above
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— Whether Apollon, Pan or Zeus — that wail,
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Sharp-piercing bird-shriek of the guests who fare
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Housemates with gods in air —
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Suchanone sends, against who these assail,
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What, late-sent, shall not fail
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Of punishing — Erinus. Here as there,
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The Guardian of the Guest, Zeus, the excelling one,
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Sends against Alexandros either son
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Of Atreus: for that wife, the many-husbanded,
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Appointing many a tug that tries the limb,
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While the knee plays the prop in dust, while, shred
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To morsels, lies the spear-shaft; in those grim
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Marriage-prolusions when their Fury wed
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Danaoi and Troes, both alike. All’s said:
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Things are where things are, and, as fate has willed,
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So shall they be fulfilled.
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Not gently-grieving, not just doling out
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The drops of expiation — no, nor tears distilled —
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Shall he we know of bring the hard about
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To soft — that intense ire
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At those mock rites unsanctified by fire.
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But we pay nought here: through our flesh, age-weighed,
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Left out from who gave aid
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In that day, — we remain,
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Staying on staves a strength
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The equal of a child’s at length.
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For when young marrow in the breast doth reign,
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That’s the old man’s match, — Ares out of place
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In either: but in oldest age’s case,
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Foliage a-fading, why, he wends his way
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On three feet, and, no stronger than a child,
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Wanders about gone wild,
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A dream in day.
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But thou, Tundareus’ daughter, Klutaimnestra queen,
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What need? What new? What having heard or seen,
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By what announcement’s tidings, everywhere
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Settest thou, round about, the sacrifice a-flare?
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For, of all gods the city-swaying,
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Those supernal, those infernal,
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Those of the fields’, those of the mart’s obeying, —
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The altars blaze with gifts;
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And here and there, heaven-high the torch uplifts
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Flame-medicated with persuasions mild,
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With foul admixture unbeguiled —
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Of holy unguent, from the clotted chrism
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Brought from the palace, safe in its abysm.
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Of these things, speaking what may be indeed
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Both possible and lawful to concede,
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Healer do thou become! — of this solicitude

Perseus Greek. CTS URN tlg0085.tlg005.perseus-eng4. Via the Perseus Digital Library / Open Greek and Latin TEI corpora. Licence: CC BY-SA 4.0. Source.