’Tis past!  Like thee now, I could gladly die.

HERALD.

Even so!  ’Tis past, and all is victory. 
And, for our life in those long years, there were
Doubtless some grievous days, and some were fair. 
Who but a god goes woundless all his way?.... 
  Oh, could I tell the sick toil of the day,
The evil nights, scant decks ill-blanketed;
The rage and cursing when our daily bread
Came not!  And then on land ’twas worse than all. 
Our quarters close beneath the enemy’s wall;
And rain—­and from the ground the river dew—­Wet,
always wet!  Into our clothes it grew,
Plague-like, and bred foul beasts in every hair. 
  Would I could tell how ghastly midwinter
Stole down from Ida till the birds dropped dead! 
Or the still heat, when on his noonday bed
The breathless blue sea sank without a wave!.... 
  Why think of it?  They are past and in the grave,
All those long troubles.  For I think the slain
Care little if they sleep or rise again;
And we, the living, wherefore should we ache
With counting all our lost ones, till we wake
The old malignant fortunes?  If Good-bye
Comes from their side, Why, let them go, say I.
Surely for us, who live, good doth prevail
Unchallenged, with no wavering of the scale;
Wherefore we vaunt unto these shining skies,
As wide o’er sea and land our glory flies: 
“By men of Argolis who conquered Troy,
These spoils, a memory and an ancient joy,
Are nailed in the gods’ houses throughout Greece.” 
Which whoso readeth shall with praise increase
Our land, our kings, and God’s grace manifold
Which made these marvels be.—­My tale is told.

LEADER.

Indeed thou conquerest me.  Men say, the light
In old men’s eyes yet serves to learn aright. 
But Clytemnestra and the House should hear
These tidings first, though I their health may share.

  [During the last words CLYTEMNESTRA has entered from the Palace.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Long since I lifted up my voice in joy,
When the first messenger from flaming Troy
Spake through the dark of sack and overthrow. 
And mockers chid me:  “Because beacons show
On the hills, must Troy be fallen?  Quickly born
Are women’s hopes!” Aye, many did me scorn;
Yet gave I sacrifice; and by my word
Through all the city our woman’s cry was heard,
Lifted in blessing round the seats of God,
And slumbrous incense o’er the altars glowed
In fragrance. 
              And for thee, what need to tell
Thy further tale?  My lord himself shall well
Instruct me.  Yet, to give my lord and king
All reverent greeting at his homecoming—­
What dearer dawn on woman’s eyes can flame
Than this, which casteth wide her gate to acclaim
The husband whom God leadeth safe from war?—­
Go, bear my lord this prayer:  That fast and far
He haste him to this town which loves his name;