The House of Atreus Part 25

He from the lake and ridge of Delos' isle Steered to the port of Pallas' Attic sh.o.r.es, The home of ships; and thence he pa.s.sed and came Unto this land and to Parna.s.sus' shrine.

And at his side, with awe revering him, There went the children of Hephaestus' seed, The hewers of the sacred way, who tame The stubborn tract that erst was wilderness.

And all this folk, and Delphos, chieftain-king Of this their land, with honour gave him home; And in his breast Zeus set a prophet's soul, And gave to him this throne, whereon he sits, Fourth prophet of the shrine, and, Loxias hight, Gives voice to that which Zeus his sire decrees.

Such G.o.ds I name in my preluding prayer, And after them, I call with honour due On Pallas, wardress of the fane, and Nymphs Who dwell around the rock Corycian, Where in the hollow cave, the wild birds' haunt, Wander the feet of lesser G.o.ds; and there, Right well I know it, Bromian Bacchus dwells, Since he in G.o.dship led his Maenad host, Devising death for Pentheus, whom they rent Piecemeal, as hare among the hounds. And last, I call on Pleistus' springs, Poseidon's might, And Zeus most high, the great Accomplisher.

Then as a seeress to the sacred chair I pa.s.s and sit; and may the powers divine Make this mine entrance fruitful in response Beyond each former advent, triply blest.

And if there stand without, from h.e.l.las bound, Men seeking oracles, let each pa.s.s in In order of the lot, as use allows; For the G.o.d guides whate'er my tongue proclaims.

[_She goes into the interior of the temple; after a short interval, she returns in great fear_.

Things fell to speak of, fell for eyes to see, Have sped me forth again from Loxias' shrine, With strength unstrung, moving erect no more, But aiding with my hands my failing feet, Unnerved by fear. A beldame's force is naught-- Is as a child's, when age and fear combine.

For as I pace towards the inmost fane Bay-filleted by many a suppliant's hand, Lo, at the central altar I descry One crouching as for refuge--yea, a man Abhorredd of heaven; and from his hands, wherein A sword new-drawn he holds, blood reeked and fell: A wand he bears, the olive's topmost bough, Twined as of purpose with a deep close tuft Of whitest wool. This, that I plainly saw, Plainly I tell. But lo, in front of him, Crouched on the altar-steps, a grisly band Of women slumbers--not like women they, But Gorgons rather; nay, that word is weak, Nor may I match the Gorgons' shape with theirs!

Such have I seen in painted semblance erst-- Winged Harpies, s.n.a.t.c.hing food from Phineus' board,-- But these are wingless, black, and all their shape The eye's abomination to behold.

Fell is the breath--let none draw nigh to it-- Wherewith they snort in slumber; from their eyes Exude the d.a.m.ned drops of poisonous ire: And such their garb as none should dare to bring To statues of the G.o.ds or homes of men.

I wot not of the tribe wherefrom can come So fell a legion, nor in what land Earth Could rear, unharmed, such creatures, nor avow That she had travailed and brought forth death.

But, for the rest, be all these things a care Unto the mighty Loxias, the lord Of this our shrine: healer and prophet he, Discerner he of portents, and the cleanser Of other homes--behold, his own to cleanse!

[_Exit_.

[_The scene opens, disclosing the interior of the temple: Orestes clings to the central altar; the Furies lie slumbering at a little distance; Apollo and Hermes appear from the innermost shrine_.

APOLLO

Lo, I desert thee never: to the end, Hard at thy side as now, or sundered far, I am thy guard, and to thine enemies Implacably oppose me: look on them, These greedy fiends, beneath my craft subdued!

See, they are fallen on sleep, these beldames oid, Unto whose grim and wizened maidenhood Nor G.o.d nor man nor beast can e'er draw near.

Yea, evil were they born, for evil's doom, Evil the dark abyss of Tartarus Wherein they dwell, and they themselves the hate Of men on earth, and of Olympian G.o.ds.

But thou, flee far and with unfaltering speed; For they shall hunt thee through the mainland wide Where'er throughout the tract of travelled earth Thy foot may roam, and o'er and o'er the seas And island homes of men. Faint not nor fail, Too soon and timidly within thy breast Shepherding thoughts forlorn of this thy toil; But unto Pallas' city go, and there Crouch at her shrine, and in thine arms enfold Her ancient image: there we well shall find Meet judges for this cause and suasive pleas, Skilled to contrive for thee deliverance From all this woe. Be such my pledge to thee, For by my hest thou didst thy mother slay.

ORESTES

O king Apollo, since right well thou know'st What justice bids, have heed, fulfil the same,-- Thy strength is all-sufficient to achieve.

APOLLO

Have thou too heed, nor let thy fear prevail Above thy will. And do thou guard him, Hermes, Whose blood is brother unto mine, whose sire The same high G.o.d. Men call thee guide and guard, Guide therefore thou and guard my suppliant; For Zeus himself reveres the outlaw's right, Boon of fair escort, upon man conferred.

[_Exeunt Apollo, Hermes, and Orestes The Ghost of Clytemnestra near_

GHOST OF CLYTEMNESTRA

Sleep on! awake! what skills your sleep to me-- Me, among all the dead by you dishonoured-- Me from whom never, in the world of death, Dieth this curse, _'Tis she who smote and slew_, And shamed and scorned I roam? Awake, and hear My plaint of dead men's hate intolerable.

Me, sternly slain by them that should have loved, Me doth no G.o.d arouse him to avenge, Hewn down in blood by matricidal hands.

Mark ye these wounds from which the heart's blood ran, And by whose hand, bethink ye! for the sense When shut in sleep hath then the spirit-sight, But in the day the inward eye is blind.

List, ye who drank so oft with lapping tongue The wineless draught by me outpoured to soothe Your vengeful ire! how oft on kindled shrine I laid the feast of darkness, at the hour Abhorred of every G.o.d but you alone!

Lo, all my service trampled down and scorned!

And he hath baulked your chase, as stag the hounds; Yea, lightly bounding from the circling toils, Hath wried his face in scorn, and flieth far.

Awake and hear--for mine own soul I cry-- Awake, ye powers of h.e.l.l! the wandering ghost That once was Clytemnestra calls--Arise!

[_The Furies mutter grimly, as in a dream_.

Mutter and murmur! He hath flown afar-- My kin have G.o.ds to guard them, I have none!

[_The Furies mutter as before_.

O drowsed in sleep too deep to heed my pain!

Orestes flies, who me, his mother, slew.

[_The Furies give a confused cry_.

Yelping, and drowsed again? Up and be doing That which alone is yours, the deed of h.e.l.l!

[_The Furies give another cry_.

Lo, sleep and toil, the sworn confederates, Have quelled your dragon-anger, once so fell!

THE FURIES (_muttering more fiercely and loudly_)

Seize, seize, seize, seize--mark, yonder!

GHOST

In dreams ye chase a prey, and like some hound, That even in sleep doth ply his woodland toil, Ye bell and bay. What do ye, sleeping here?

Be not o'ercome with toil, nor sleep-subdued, Be heedless of my wrong. Up! thrill your heart With the just chidings of my tongue,--such words Are as a spur to purpose firmly held.

Blow forth on him the breath of wrath and blood, Scorch him with reek of fire that burns in you, Waste him with new pursuit--swift, hound him down!

[_Ghost sinks._

FIRST FURY (_awaking_)

Up! rouse another as I rouse thee; up!

Sleep'st thou? Rise up, and spurning sleep away, See we if false to us this prelude rang.

CHORUS OF FURIES

Alack, alack, O sisters, we have toiled, O much and vainly have we toiled and borne!

Vainly! and all we wrought the G.o.ds have foiled, And turned us to scorn!

He hath slipped from the net, whom we chased: he hath 'scaped us who should be our prey-- O'ermastered by slumber we sank, and our quarry hath stolen away!

Thou, child of the high G.o.d Zeus, Apollo, hast robbed us and wronged; Thou, a youth, hast down-trodden the right that is G.o.dship more ancient belonged; Thou hast cherished thy suppliant man; the slayer the G.o.d-forsaken, The bane of a parent, by craft from out of our grasp thou hast taken: A G.o.d, thou hast stolen from us the avengers a matricide son-- And who shall consider thy deed and say, _It is rightfully_ done?

The sound of chiding scorn Came from the land of dream; Deep to mine inmost heart I felt it thrill and burn, Thrust as a strong-grasped goad, to urge Onward the chariot's team.

Thrilled, chilled with bitter inward pain I stand as one beneath the doomsman's scourge.

Shame on the younger G.o.ds who tread down right, Sitting on thrones of might!

Woe on the altar of earth's central fane!

Clotted on step and shrine, Behold, the guilt of blood, the ghastly stain!

Woe upon thee, Apollo! uncontrolled, Unbidden, hast thou, prophet-G.o.d, imbrued The pure prophetic shrine with wrongful blood!

For thou too heinous a respect didst hold Of man, too little heed of powers divine!

And us the Fates, the ancients of the earth, Didst deem as nothing worth.

Scornful to me thou art, yet shalt not fend My wrath from him; though unto h.e.l.l he flee, There too are we!

And he the blood defiled, should feel and rue, Though I were not, fiend-wrath that shall not end, Descending on his head who foully slew.

[_Re-enter Apollo from the inner shrine._

APOLLO

Out! I command you. Out from this my home-- Haste, tarry not! Out from the mystic shrine, Lest thy lot be to take into thy breast The winged bright dart that from my golden string Speeds hissing as a snake,--lest, pierced and thrilled With agony, thou shouldst spew forth again Black frothy heart's-blood, drawn from mortal men, Belching the gory clots sucked forth from wounds.