LEADER.

Troy fallen?—­But how long?  When fell she, say?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

The very night that mothered this new day.

LEADER.

And who of heralds with such fury came?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

A Fire-god, from Mount Ida scattering flame. 
Whence starting, beacon after beacon burst
In flaming message hitherward.  Ida first
Told Hermes’ Lemnian Rock, whose answering sign
Was caught by towering Athos, the divine,
With pines immense—­yea, fishes of the night
Swam skyward, drunken with that leaping light,
Which swelled like some strange sun, till dim and far
Makistos’ watchmen marked a glimmering star;
They, nowise loath nor idly slumber-won,
Spring up to hurl the fiery message on,
And a far light beyond the Euripus tells
That word hath reached Messapion’s sentinels. 
They beaconed back, then onward with a high
Heap of dead heather flaming to the sky. 
And onward still, not failing nor aswoon,
Across the Asopus like a beaming moon
The great word leapt, and on Kithairon’s height
Uproused a new relay of racing light. 
His watchers knew the wandering flame, nor hid
Their welcome, burning higher than was bid. 
Out over Lake Gorgopis then it floats,
To Aigiplanctos, waking the wild goats,
Crying for “Fire, more Fire!” And fire was reared,
Stintless and high, a stormy streaming beard,
That waved in flame beyond the promontory
Rock-ridged, that watches the Saronian sea,
Kindling the night:  then one short swoop to catch
The Spider’s Crag, our city’s tower of watch;
Whence hither to the Atreidae’s roof it came,
A light true-fathered of Idaean flame. 
Torch-bearer after torch-bearer, behold
The tale thereof in stations manifold,
Each one by each made perfect ere it passed,
And Victory in the first as in the last. 
These be my proofs and tokens that my lord
From Troy hath spoke to me a burning word.

LEADER.

Woman, speak on.  Hereafter shall my prayer
Be raised to God; now let me only hear,
Again and full, the marvel and the joy.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Now, even now, the Achaian holdeth Troy! 
Methinks there is a crying in her streets
That makes no concord.  When sweet unguent meets
With vinegar in one phial, I warrant none
Shall lay those wranglers lovingly at one. 
So conquerors and conquered shalt thou hear,
Two sundered tones, two lives of joy or fear. 
  Here women in the dust about their slain,
Husbands or brethren, and by dead old men
Pale children who shall never more be free,
For all they loved on earth cry desolately. 
And hard beside them war-stained Greeks, whom stark
Battle and then long searching through the dark
Hath gathered, ravenous, in the dawn, to feast
At last on all the plenty Troy possessed,
No portion in that feast nor ordinance,