As to that deed of blood itself, and its special adaptation for dramatic purposes, there can be no doubt; as little that Æschylus has used his materials in the present play in a fashion that satisfies the highest demands both of lyric and dramatic poetry, as executed by the first masters of both. The calm majesty and modest dignity of the much-tried monarch; the cool self-possession, and the smooth front of specious politeness that mark the character of the royal murderess: the obstreperous bullying of the cowardly braggart, who does the deed with his heart, not with his hand; the half-wild, half-tender ravings of the horror-haunted Trojan prophetess; these together contain a combination of highly wrought dramatic elements, {41} such as is scarcely excelled even in the all-embracing pages of our own Shakespere. As far removed from common-place are the lyrical--in Æschylus never the secondary--elements of the piece. The sublime outbreak of Cassandra's prophetic horror is, as the case demanded, made to exhibit itself as much under the lyric as in the declamatory form; while the other choral parts, remarkable for length and variety, are marked not only by that mighty power of intense moral feeling which is so peculiarly Æschylean, but by the pictorial beauty and dramatic reality that distinguish the workmanship of a great lyric master from that of the vulgar dealer in inflated sentiment and sonorous sentences. AGAMEMNON {43} WATCHMAN. I pray the gods a respite from these toils, This long year's watch that, dog-like, I have kept, High on the Atridan's battlements,[n1] beholding The nightly council of the stars, the circling Of the celestial signs, and those bright regents, High-swung in ether, that bring mortal men Summer and winter. Here I watch the torch, The appointed flame that wings a voice from Troy, Telling of capture; thus I serve her hopes, The masculine-minded who is sovereign here.[n2] And when night-wandering shades encompass round My dew-sprent dreamless couch (for fear doth sit In slumber's chair, and holds my lids apart), I chaunt some dolorous ditty, making song, Sleep's substitute, surgeon my nightly care, And the misfortunes of this house I weep, Not now, as erst, by prudent counsels swayed. Oh! soon may the wished for sign relieve my toils, Thrice-welcome herald, gleaming through the night! (_The beacon is seen shining_.) All hail thou cresset of the dark! fair gleam Of day through midnight shed, all hail! bright father Of joy and dance, in Argos, hail! all hail! Hillo! hilloa! I will go tell the wife of Agamemnon To shake dull sleep away, and lift high-voiced[n3] The jubilant shout well-omened, to salute This welcome beacon, if, indeed, old Troy Hath fallen--as flames this courier torch to tell. Myself will dance the prelude to this joy. My master's house hath had a lucky throw, And thrice six falls to me,[n4] thanks to the flame! Soon may he see his home; and soon may I