And in his castle may he find the same
Wife that he left, a watchdog of the hall,
True to one voice and fierce to others all;
A body and soul unchanged, no seal of his
Broke in the waiting years.—­No thought of ease
Nor joy from other men hath touched my soul,
Nor shall touch, until bronze be dyed like wool. 
  A boast so faithful and so plain, I wot,
Spoke by a royal Queen doth shame her not.

  [Exit CLYTEMNESTRA.

LEADER.

Let thine ear mark her message.  ’Tis of fair
Seeming, and craves a clear interpreter.... 
But, Herald, I would ask thee; tell me true
Of Menelaus.  Shall he come with you,
Our land’s beloved crown, untouched of ill?

HERALD.

I know not how to speak false words of weal
For friends to reap thereof a harvest true.

LEADER.

Canst speak of truth with comfort joined?  Those two
Once parted, ’tis a gulf not lightly crossed.

HERALD.

Your king is vanished from the Achaian host,
He and his ship!  Such comfort have I brought.

LEADER.

Sailed he alone from Troy?  Or was he caught
By storms in the midst of you, and swept away?

HERALD.

Thou hast hit the truth; good marksman, as men say! 
And long to suffer is but brief to tell.

LEADER.

How ran the sailors’ talk?  Did there prevail
One rumour, showing him alive or dead?

HERALD.

None knoweth, none hath tiding, save the head
Of Helios, ward and watcher of the world.

LEADER.

Then tell us of the storm.  How, when God hurled
His anger, did it rise?  How did it die?

HERALD.

It likes me not, a day of presage high
With dolorous tongue to stain.  Those twain, I vow,
Stand best apart.  When one with shuddering brow,
From armies lost, back beareth to his home
Word that the terror of her prayers is come;
One wound in her great heart, and many a fate
For many a home of men cast out to sate
The two-fold scourge that worketh Ares’ lust,
Spear crossed with spear, dust wed with bloody dust;
Who walketh laden with such weight of wrong,
Why, let him, if he will, uplift the song
That is Hell’s triumph.  But to come as I
Am now come, laden with deliverance high,
Home to a land of peace and laughing eyes,
And mar all with that fury of the skies
Which made our Greeks curse God—­how should this be? 
  Two enemies most ancient, Fire and Sea,
A sudden friendship swore, and proved their plight
By war on us poor sailors through that night
Of misery, when the horror of the wave
Towered over us, and winds from Strymon drave
Hull against hull, till good ships, by the horn
Of the mad whirlwind gored and overborne,
One here, one there, ’mid rain and blinding spray,
Like sheep by a devil herded, passed away.