POEMS OF GREECE
KLYTAIMNESTRA.
Ye try me as a woman loose of soul;
But I with dauntless heart avow to you
Well knowing—and whether ye choose to praise or blame
I care not—this is Agamemnon; yea,
My husband; yea, a corpse, of this right hand,
This craftsman sure, the handiwork! Thus stands it.
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[Agamemnon, 1466–1507.]
Chorus—Semi-chorus—Klytaimnestra
CHORUS.
Woe! Woe!
King! O how shall I weep for thy dying?
What shall my fond heart say anew?
Thou in the web of the spider art lying,
Breathing out life by a death she shall rue.
SEMI-CHORUS.
Alas! alas for this slavish couch! By a sword
Two-edged, by a hand untrue,
Thou art smitten, even to death, my lord!
KLYTAIMNESTRA.
Thou sayest this deed was mine alone;
But I bid thee call me not
The wife of Agamemnon's bed;
'Twas the ancient fell Alastor[1] of Atreus' throne,
The lord of a horrid feast, this crime begot,
Taking the shape that seemed the wife of the dead,—
His sure revenge, I wot,
A victim ripe hath claimed for the young that bled.
- ↑ The Evil Genius, the Avenger.
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