Classic Poem

Cassandra . And look! in the chamber below
The Terrible Woman, listening, watching,
Under a mask — preparing the blow
In the fold of her robe —
Chorus . Nay, but again at fault:
For in the tragic story of this House —
Unless indeed the fatal Helen —
No woman —
Cassandra . No woman — Tesiphone! Daughter
Of Tartarus — love-grinning woman above,
Dragon-tailed under — honey-tongued, Harpy-clawed,
Into the glittering meshes of slaughter
She wheedles, entices him into the poisonous
Fold of the serpent —
Chorus . Peace, mad woman, peace!
Whose stony lips once open vomit out
Such uncouth horrors.
Cassandra . I tell you the lioness
Slaughters the Lion asleep; and lifting
Her blood-dripping fangs buried deep in his mane,
Glaring about her insatiable, bellowing,
Bounds hither — Phaebus, Apollo, Apollo, Apollo!
Whither have you led me, under night alive with fire,
Thro the trampled ashes of the city of my sire,
From my slaughtered kinsmen, fallen throne, insulted shrine,
Slavelike to be butchered, the daughter of a Royal line? —
Chorus . Spite of Reason, spite of Will,
What unwelcome, what unholy,
Vapour of Foreboding, slowly
Rising from the central soul's
Recesses, all in darkness rolls?
What! shall Age's torpid ashes
Kindle at the random spark
Of a raving maiden? — Hark!
What was that behind the wall?
A heavy blow — a groan — a fall —
Some one crying — listen further —
Hark again then, crying " Murther! "
Some one — who then? Agamemnon?
Agamemnon? — Hark again!
Murther! murther! murther! murther!
Help within there! Help without there!
Break the doors in! —
Clytemnestra . Spare your pains!
Look! I who but just now before you all
Boasted of loyal wedlock unashamed,
Now unashamed dare boast the contrary.
Why, how else should one compass the defeat
Of him who underhand contrives one's own,
Unless by such a snare of circumstance
As, once enmesht, he never should break through?
The blow now struck was not the random blow
Of sudden passion, but with slow device
Prepared and levelled with the hand of time.
I say it who devised it, I who did;
And now stand here to face the consequence.
Ay, in a deadlier web than of that loom
In whose blood-purple he divined a doom,
And feared to walk upon, but walkt at last,
Entangling him inextricably fast,
I smote him, and he bellowed; and again
I smote, and with a groan his knees gave way;
And as he fell before me, with a third
And last libation from the deadly mace
I pledged the crowning draught to Hades due,
The subterranean Saviour — of the Dead!
At which he spouted up the Ghost in such
A burst of purple as, bespattered with,
No less did I rejoice than the green ear
Rejoices in the largess of the skies
That fleeting Iris follows as it flies.
Chorus . Oh, woman, woman, woman!
By what accursed root or weed
Of Earth or Sea or Hell inflamed
Darest stand before us unashamed
And daring do, dare glory in the deed!
Clytemnestra . Oh, that I dreamed the fall of Troy, as you
Belike of Troy's destroyer. Dream or not,
Here lies your King — my Husband — Agamemnon,
Slain by this right hand's righteous handicraft.
Like you or like it not, alike to me,
To me alike whether or not you share
In making due libation over this
Great sacrifice — if ever due, from him
Who, having charged so deep a bowl of blood,
Himself is forced to drink it to the dregs.
Chorus . Woman, what blood but that of Troy, which Zeus
Foredoomed for expiation by his hand
For whom the penalty was pledged? And now,
Over his murdered body, Thou
Talk of libation! — Thou! Thou! Thou!
But mark! Not thine of sacred wine
Over his head, but ours on thine
Of curse and groan and torn-up stone,
To slay or storm thee from the gate,
The City's curse, the People's hate,
Execrate, exterminate —
Clytemnestra . Ay, ay, to me how lightly you adjudge
Exile or death, and never had a word
Of counter condemnation for Him there;
Who, when the field throve with the proper flock
For Sacrifice, forsooth let be the beast,
And with his own hand his own innocent
Blood and the darling passion of my womb —
Her slew — to lull a peevish wind of Thrace.
And him who curst the city with that crime
You hail with acclamation; but on me,
Who only do the work you should have done,
You turn the axe of condemnation. Well;
Threaten you me, I take the challenge up;
Here stand we face to face; win Thou the game,
And take the stake you aim at; but if I —
Then by the Godhead that for me decides,
Another lesson you shall learn, tho late.
Chorus . Man-mettled evermore, and now
Man-slaughter-maddened! Shameless brow!
But do you think us deaf and blind
Not to know, and long ago,
What Passion under all the prate
Of holy justice made thee hate
Where Love was due, and love where —
Clytemnestra . Nay, then, hear!
By this dead Husband, and the reconciled
Avenging Fury of my slaughtered child,
I swear I will not reign the slave of fear
While he that holds me, as I hold him, dear,
Kindles his fire upon this hearth: my fast
Shield for the time to come, as of the past.
Yonder lies he that in the honeyed arms
Of his Chryseides under Troy walls
Dishonoured mine: and this last laurelled wench,
Prophetic messmate of his rowers' bench,
Thus far in triumph his, with him along
Shall go, together chanting one death song
To Hades — fitting garnish for the feast
Which Fate's avenging hand thro mine hath drest.