High, lady, is thy heart, And haughty is thy speech; Thy soul with murder is intoxicate; Upon thy brow is the red stain of blood Unexpiated. Yet Wilt thou, of aid bereft, As thou hast struck, feel the avenging blow. CLYTAEMNESTRA. Hear while once more my solemn oath I pledge. By the accomplished vengeance of my child, By those dread powers whose sacrifice lies there, I look not to see fear within my halls, While on the hearth Aegisthus lights the fire And to his mate is true as he is now. With him for shield I shall not be afraid. Low lies the man that did betray my love, That toy of each Chryseis in the camp; And with him lies this captive soothsayer, His faithful leman and his sea-mate too. For what they did the pair have dearly paid. One there ye see, the other like a swan, When she had sung her dying melody, Fell in her paramour's embrace and lent Fresh relish to my feast of happiness. CHORUS. Would that a death, painless, not lingering, Would on me bring the everlasting sleep, Since my kind guard, That for a woman's sake so much Braved, by a woman's hand has met his end. O Helen, thou for whom beneath Troy's wall Myriads were doomed to die, At last through thee the gout Of blood which in this house Was uneffaced, fresh murder has begot. CLYTAEMNESTRA. Pray not for death to come In ire at this my deed, With Helen be not wroth Because her murderous face Many a bold Danaan slew And woe unmeasured brought. CHORUS. Fiend, that dost haunt the hall Of the Tantalidae, And in a woman showed A man's strength to my bane, See how upon the dead, Perched like a raven dire, She chants her impious strain. CLYTAEMNESTRA. Now speakest thou aright, Calling upon the fiend That raveneth this race. From him proceeds that lust Congenital of blood That ever craves fresh gore. CHORUS. A demon dire and fell Thou to this house Would'st in dark strain assign. Ah, me! All comes from Zeus, Of all things source and cause, Without whom naught befalls Mankind. Of all this train Of woes, what was there not by heaven decreed? How shall I wail thee, king, How vent my loyal grief? In this fell spider's web thou liest low, Expiring by a stroke Accursed as no freeman ought to lie, By treachery struck down With its two-handed axe. CLYTAEMNESTRA. Charge not on me this deed. Imagine not that I Am Agamemnon's queen. Like to the dead man's wife The fiend that vengeance takes For Atreus' ghastly feast Here hath repaid the debt, A man for infants slain. CHORUS. Oh, whither can I turn, In vain my mind I task. The house thus wrecked, despair lies every way. I shudder at this pouring rain of blood, No more by drops it falls. Fate for some other murderous deed On a new whetstone sharpens her knife's edge. Would earth had swallowed me Ere in the silver vessel of the bath I saw my king laid low. Who will his funeral rites Perform? Wilt thou be able unabashed, Having thy husband slain, To wail for him, and to his injured shade Requital for such wrong By unloved service pay?