Lusting for war, the bloody arbiters Closed heart and ears, and would nor hear nor heed The girl-voice plead, _Pity me, Father!_ nor her prayers, Nor tender, virgin years. So, when the chant of sacrifice was done, Her father bade the youthful priestly train Raise her, like some poor kid, above the altar-stone, From where amid her robes she lay Sunk all in swoon away— Bade them, as with the bit that mutely tames the steed, Her fair lips’ speech refrain, Lest she should speak a curse on Atreus’ home and seed, So, trailing on the earth her robe of saffron dye, With one last piteous dart from her beseeching eye Those that should smite she smote— Fair, silent, as a pictur’d form, but fain To plead, _Is all forgot? How oft those halls of old, Wherein my sire high feast did hold,_ _Rang to the virginal soft strain, When I, a stainless child, Sang from pure lips and undefiled, Sang of my sire, and all His honoured life, and how on him should fall Heaven’s highest gift and gain!_ And then—but I beheld not, nor can tell, What further fate befel: But this is sure, that Calchas’ boding strain Can ne’er be void or vain. This wage from Justice’ hand do sufferers earn, The future to discern: And yet—farewell, O secret of To-morrow! Fore-knowledge is fore-sorrow. Clear with the clear beams of the morrow’s sun, The future presseth on. Now, let the house’s tale, how dark soe’er, Find yet an issue fair!— So prays the loyal, solitary band That guards the Apian land. [_They turn to Clytemnestra, who leaves the altars and comes forward._ O queen, I come in reverence of thy sway— For, while the ruler’s kingly seat is void, The loyal heart before his consort bends. Now—be it sure and certain news of good, Or the fair tidings of a flatt’ring hope, That bids thee spread the light from shrine to shrine, I, fain to hear, yet grudge not if thou hide. CLYTEMNESTRA As saith the adage, _From the womb of Night Spring forth, with promise fair, the young child Light._ Ay—fairer even than all hope my news— By Grecian hands is Priam’s city ta’en! CHORUS What say’st thou? doubtful heart makes treach’rous ear. CLYTEMNESTRA Hear then again, and plainly—Troy is ours! CHORUS Thrills thro’ my heart such joy as wakens tears. CLYTEMNESTRA Ay, thro’ those tears thine eye looks loyalty. CHORUS But hast thou proof, to make assurance sure? CLYTEMNESTRA Go to; I have—unless the god has lied. CHORUS Hath some night-vision won thee to belief? CLYTEMNESTRA Out on all presage of a slumb’rous soul! CHORUS But wert thou cheered by Rumour’s wingless word? CLYTEMNESTRA Peace—thou dost chide me as a credulous girl. CHORUS Say then, how long ago the city fell? CLYTEMNESTRA Even in this night that now brings forth the dawn. CHORUS Yet who so swift could speed the message here?