POEMS OF GREECE
By his last beam, that my detested foes
May pay no less to them who shall avenge me,
Than I who die an unresisting slave!
CHORUS.
Of Fortune was never yet enow
To mortal man; and no one ever
Her presence from his house would sever
And point, and say, "Come no more nigh!"
Unto our King granted the Gods on high
That Priam's towers should bow,
And homeward, crowned of Heaven, hath he come;
But now if, for the ancestral blood that lay
At his doors, he falls,—and the dead, that cursed his home,
He, dying, must in full requite,—
What manner of man is one that would not pray
To be born with a good attendant Sprite?
AGAMEMNON.
Woe's me! I am stricken a deadly blow within!
CHORUS.
Hark! Who is 't cries "a blow"? Who meets his death?
AGAMEMNON.
Woe's me! again! a second time I am stricken!
CHORUS.
The deed, methinks, from the King's cry, is done.
Quick, let us see what help may be in counsel!
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