Classic Poem

Clytemnestra . Down from the chariot thou standest in,
Crowned with the flaming towers of Troy, descend,
And to this palace, rich indeed with thee,
But beggar-poor without, return! And ye,
My women, carpet all the way before,
From the triumphal carriage to the door,
With all the gold and purple in the chest
Stored these ten years; and to what purpose stored,
Unless to strew the footsteps of their Lord
Returning to his unexpected rest!
Agamemnon . Daughter of Leda, Mistress of my house,
Beware lest loving Welcome of your Lord,
Measuring itself by its protracted absence,
Exceed the bound of rightful compliment,
And better left to other lips than yours.
Address me not, address me not, I say,
With dust-adoring adulation, meeter
For some barbarian Despot from his slave;
Nor with invidious Purple strew my way,
Fit only for the footstep of a God
Lighting from Heaven to earth. Let whoso will
Trample their glories underfoot, not I.
Woman, I charge you, honour me no more
Than as the man I am; if honour-worth,
Needing no other trapping but the fame
Of the good deed I clothe myself withal;
And knowing that of all their gifts to man,
No greater gift than Self-sobriety
The Gods vouchsafe him in the race of life:
Which, after thus far running, if I reach
The goal in peace, it shall be well for me.
Clytemnestra . Why, how think you old Priam would have walkt
Had he returned to Troy your conqueror,
As you to Hellas his?
Agamemnon . What then? Perhaps
Voluptuary, Asiatic-like,
On gold and purple.
Clytemnestra . Well and grudging this,
When all that out before your footsteps flows
Ebbs back into the treasury again;
Think how much more, had Fate the tables turned,
Irrevocably from those coffers gone,
For those barbarian feet to walk upon,
To buy your ransom back!
Agamemnon . Enough! enough!
I know my reason.
Clytemnestra . What! the jealous God?
Or, peradventure, yet more envious man?
Agamemnon . And that of no small moment.
Clytemnestra . No; the one
Sure proof of having won what others would.
Agamemnon . No matter — Strife but ill becomes a woman.
Clytemnestra . And frank submission to her simple wish
How well becomes the Soldier in his strength!
Agamemnon . And I must then submit?
Clytemnestra . Ay, Agamemnon,
Deny me not this first Desire on this
First Morning of your long-desired Return.
Agamemnon . But not till I have put these sandals off
That, slavelike, too officiously would pander
Between the Purple and my dainty feet.
For fear, for fear indeed, some jealous Eye
From Heaven above, or earth below, should strike
The Man who walks the earth Immortal-like,
So much for that! For this same royal maid,
Cassandra, daughter of King Priamos,
Whom, as the flower of all the spoil of Troy,
The host of Hellas dedicates to me;
Entreat her gently; knowing well that none
But submit hardly to a foreign yoke;
And those of Royal blood most hardly brook.
That if I sin thus trampling underfoot
A woof in which the Heavens themselves are dyed,
The jealous God may less resent his crime,
Who mingles human mercy with his pride.
Clytemnestra . The Sea there is, and shall the Sea be dried?
Fount inexhaustibler of purple grain
Than all the wardrobes of the world could drain;
And Earth there is, whose dusky closets hide
The precious metal wherewith not in vain
The Gods themselves this royal house provide;
For what occasion worthier or more meet
Than now to carpet the victorious feet
Of Him who, thus far having done their will
Shall now their last About-to-be fulfil?
Chorus . About the nations runs a saw
That Over-good ill fortune breeds;
And true that, by the mortal law,
Fortune her spoilt children feeds
To surfeit, such as sows the seeds
Of Insolence that, as it grows,
The flower of Self-repentance blows.
And true that Virtue often leaves
The marble walls and roofs of Kings,
And underneath the poor man's eaves
On smoky rafter folds her wings.

Thus the famous city, flown
With insolence, and overgrown,
Is humbled: all her splendour blown
To smoke: her glory laid in dust;
Who shall say by doom unjust?
But should He to whom the wrong
Was done, and Zeus himself made strong
To do the vengeance He decreed —
At last returning with the meed
He wrought for — should the jealous Eye
That blights full-blown prosperity
Pursue him — then indeed, indeed,
Man should hoot and scare aloof
Good fortune lighting on the roof;
Yea, even Virtue's self forsake
If Glory followed in the wake;
Seeing bravest, best and wisest
But the plaything of a day,
Which a shadow can trip over
And a breath can puff away!