Her “Father, Father,” her sad cry that lingered,
  Her virgin heart’s breath they held all as naught,
Those bronze-clad witnesses and battle-hungered;
  And there they prayed, and when the prayer was wrought
He charged the young men to uplift and bind her,
  As ye lift a wild kid, high above the altar,
    Fierce-huddling forward, fallen, clinging sore
To the robe that wrapt her; yea, he bids them hinder
  The sweet mouth’s utterance, the cries that falter,
    —­His curse for evermore!—­

With violence and a curb’s voiceless wrath. 
  Her stole of saffron then to the ground she threw,
And her eye with an arrow of pity found its path
    To each man’s heart that slew: 
A face in a picture, striving amazedly;
  The little maid who danced at her father’s board,
The innocent voice man’s love came never nigh,
Who joined to his her little paean-cry
    When the third cup was poured....

What came thereafter I saw not neither tell. 
  But the craft of Calchas failed not.—­’Tis written, He
Who Suffereth Shall Learn; the law holdeth well. 
    And that which is to be,
Ye will know at last; why weep before the hour? 
  For come it shall, as out of darkness dawn. 
Only may good from all this evil flower;
So prays this Heart of Argos, this frail tower
    Guarding the land alone.

[As they cease, CLYTEMNESTRA comes from the Palace with Attendants.  She has finished her prayer and sacrifice, and is now wrought up to face the meeting with her husband.  The Leader approaches her.

LEADER.

Before thy state, O Queen, I bow mine eyes. 
’Tis written, when the man’s throne empty lies,
The woman shall be honoured.—­Hast thou heard
Some tiding sure?  Or is it Hope, hath stirred
To fire these altars?  Dearly though we seek
To learn, ’tis thine to speak or not to speak.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Glad-voiced, the old saw telleth, comes this morn,
The Star-child of a dancing midnight born,
And beareth to thine ear a word of joy
Beyond all hope:  the Greek hath taken Troy.

LEADER.

How? 
Thy word flies past me, being incredible.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Ilion is ours.  No riddling tale I tell.

LEADER.

Such joy comes knocking at the gate of tears.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Aye, ’tis a faithful heart that eye declares.

LEADER.

What warrant hast thou?  Is there proof of this?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

There is; unless a God hath lied there is.

LEADER.

Some dream-shape came to thee in speaking guise?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Who deemeth me a dupe of drowsing eyes?

LEADER.

Some word within that hovereth without wings?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Am I a child to hearken to such things?