lavement of the land.

ELDER F.

Yes, while we linger here! They take no thought
Of lingering, and their sword-arm sleepeth not!

ELDER G.

I have no counsel. I can speak not. Oh,
Let him give counsel who can strike a blow!

ELDER H.

I say as this man says. I have no trust
In words to raise a dead man from the dust.

ELDER I.

How mean you? Drag out our poor lives, and stand
Cowering to these defilers of the land?

ELDER J.

Nay, 'tis too much! Better to strive and die!
Death is an easier doom than slavery.

ELDER K.

We heard a sound of groaning, nothing plain,
How know we--are we seers?--that one is slain?

ELDER L.

Oh, let us find the truth out, ere we grow
Thus passionate! To surmise is not to know.

LEADER.

Break in, then! 'Tis the counsel ye all bring,
And learn for sure, how is it with the King.

[_They cluster up towards the Palace Door, as though to force an
entrance, when the great Door swings open, revealing_ CLYTEMNESTRA, _who
stands, axe in hand, over the dead bodies of_ AGAMEMNON _and_ CASSANDRA.
_The body of_ AGAMEMNON _is wrapped in a rich crimson web. There is blood
on_ CLYTEMNESTRA'S_ brow, and she speaks in wild triumph._

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Oh, lies enough and more have I this day
Spoken, which now I shame not to unsay.
How should a woman work, to the utter end,
Hate on a damned hater, feigned a friend;
How pile perdition round him, hunter-wise,
Too high for overleaping, save by lies?
To me this hour was dreamed of long ago;
A thing of ancient hate. 'Twas very slow
In coming, but it came. And here I stand
Even where I struck, with all the deed I planned
Done! 'Twas so wrought--what boots it to deny?--
The man could neither guard himself nor fly.
An endless web, as by some fisher strung,
A deadly plenteousness of robe, I flung
All round him, and struck twice; and with two cries
His limbs turned water and broke; and as he lies
I cast my third stroke in, a prayer well-sped
To Zeus of Hell, who guardeth safe his dead!
So there he gasped his life out as he lay;
And, gasping, the blood spouted ... Like dark spray
That splashed, it came, a salt and deathly dew;
Sweet, sweet as God's dear rain-drops ever blew
O'er a parched field, the day the buds are born! ...
Which things being so, ye Councillors high-born,
Depart in joy, if joy ye will. For me,
I glory. Oh, if such a thing might be
As o'er the dead thank-offering to outpour,
On this dead it were just, aye, just