Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series

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Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series Page 304

by Robert Browning


  And, leaving to her townsmen throngs a-spread

  With shields, and spear-thrusts of sea-armament,

  And bringing Ilion, in a dowry’s stead,

  Destruction — swiftly through the gates she went,

  Daring the undareable. But many a groan outbroke

  From prophets of the House as thus they spoke.

  “Woe, woe the House, the House and Rulers, — woe

  The marriage-bed and dints

  A husband’s love imprints!

  There she stands silent! meets no honour — no

  Shame — sweetest still to see of things gone long ago!

  And, through desire of one across the main,

  A ghost will seem within the house to reign.

  And hateful to the husband is the grace

  Of well-shaped statues: from — in place of eyes

  Those blanks — all Aphrodite dies.

  “But dream-appearing mournful fantasies —

  There they stand, bringing grace that’s vain.

  For vain ‘t is, when brave things one seems to view;

  The fantasy has floated off, hands through;

  Gone, that appearance, — nowise left to creep, —

  On wings, the servants in the paths of sleep!”

  Woes, then, in household and on hearth, are such

  As these — and woes surpassing these by much.

  But not these only: everywhere —

  For those who from the land

  Of Hellas issued in a band,

  Sorrow, the heart must bear,

  Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there.

  Many a circumstance, at least,

  Touches the very breast.

  For those

  Whom any sent away, — he knows:

  And in the live man’s stead,

  Armour and ashes reach

  The house of each.

  For Ares, gold-exchanger for the dead,

  And balance-holder in the fight o’ the spear,

  Due-weight from Ilion sends —

  What moves the tear on tear —

  A charred scrap to the friends:

  Filling with well-packed ashes every urn,

  For man — that was — the sole return.

  And they groan — praising much, the while,

  Now this man as experienced in the strife,

  Now that, fallen nobly on a slaughtered pile,

  Because of — not his own — another’s wife.

  But things there be, one barks,

  When no man harks:

  A surreptitious grief that’s grudge

  Against the Atreidai who first sought the judge.

  But some there, round the rampart, have

  In Ilian earth, each one his grave:

  All fair-formed as at birth,

  It hid them — what they have and hold — the hostile earth.

  And big with anger goes the city’s word,

  And pays a debt by public curse incurred.

  And ever with me — as about to hear

  A something night-involved — remains my fear:

  Since of the many-slayers — not

  Unwatching are the gods.

  The black Erinues, at due periods —

  Whoever gains the lot

  Of fortune with no right —

  Him, by life’s strain and stress

  Back-again-beaten from success,

  They strike blind: and among the out-of-sight

  For who has got to be, avails no might.

  The being praised outrageously

  Is grave, for at the eyes of such an one

  Is launched, from Zeus, the thunder-stone.

  Therefore do I decide

  For so much and no more prosperity

  Than of his envy passes unespied.

  Neither a city-sacker would I be,

  Nor life, myself by others captive, see.

  A swift report has gone our city through,

  From fire, the good-news messenger: if true,

  Who knows? Or is it not a god-sent lie?

  Who is so childish and deprived of sense

  That, having, at announcements of the flame

  Thus novel, felt his own heart fired thereby,

  He then shall at a change of evidence,

  Be worsted just the same?

  It is conspicuous in a woman’s nature,

  Before its view to take a grace for granted:

  Too trustful, — on her boundary, usurpature

  Is swiftly made;

  But swiftly, too, decayed,

  The glory perishes by woman vaunted.

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  Soon shall we know — of these light-bearing torches,

  And beacons and exchanges, fire with fire —

  If they are true, indeed, or if, dream-fashion,

  This gladsome light came and deceived our judgment.

  Yon herald from the shore I see, o’ershadowed

  With boughs of olive: dust, mud’s thirsty brother,

  Close neighbours on his garb, thus testify me

  That neither voiceless, nor yet kindling for thee

  Mountain-wood-flame, shall he explain by fire-smoke:

  But either tell out more the joyance, speaking . . . .

  Word contrary to which, I aught but love it!

  For may good be — to good that’s known — appendage!

  CHOROS.

  Whoever prays for aught else to this city

  — May he himself reap fruit of his mind’s error!

  HERALD.

  Ha, my forefathers’ soil of earth Argeian!

  Thee, in this year’s tenth light, am I returned to —

  Of many broken hopes, on one hope chancing;

  For never prayed I, in this earth Argeian

  Dying, to share my part in tomb the dearest.

  Now, hail thou earth, and hail thou also, sunlight,

  And Zeus, the country’s lord, and king the Puthian

  From bow no longer urging at us arrows!

  Enough, beside Skamandros, cam’st thou adverse:

  Now, contrary, be saviour thou and healer,

  O king Apollon! And gods conquest-granting,

  All — I invoke too, and my tutelary

  Hermes, dear herald, heralds’ veneration, —

  And Heroes our forthsenders, — friendly, once more

  The army to receive, the war-spear’s leavings!

  Ha, mansions of my monarchs, roofs beloved,

  And awful seats, and deities sun-fronting —

  Receive with pomp your monarch, long time absent!

  For he comes bringing light in night-time to you,

  In common with all these — king Agamemnon.

  But kindly greet him — for clear shows your duty —

  Who has dug under Troia with the mattock

  Of Zeus the Avenger, whereby plains are out-ploughed,

  Altars unrecognizable, and gods’ shrines,

  And the whole land’s seed thoroughly has perished.

  And such a yoke-strap having cast round Troia,

  The elder king Atreides, happy man — he

  Comes to be honoured, worthiest of what mortals

  Now are. Nor Paris nor the accomplice-city

  Outvaunts their deed as more than they are done-by:

  For, in a suit for rape and theft found guilty,

  He missed of plunder and, in one destruction,

  Fatherland, house and home has mowed to atoms:

  Debts the Priamidai have paid twice over.

  CHOROS.

  Hail, herald from the army of Achaians!

  HERALD.

  I hail: — to die, will gainsay gods no longer!

  CHOROS.

  Love of this fatherland did exercise thee?

  HERALD.

  So that I weep, at least, with joy, my eyes full.

  CHOROS.

  What, of this gracious sickness were ye gainers?

  HERALD.
r />   How now? instructed, I this speech shall master.

  CHOROS.

  For those who loved you back, with longing stricken.

  HERALD.

  This land yearned for the yearning army, say’st thou?

  CHOROS.

  So as to set me oft, from dark mind, groaning.

  HERALD.

  Whence came this ill mind — hatred to the army?

  CHOROS.

  Of old, I use, for mischief’s physic, silence.

  HERALD.

  And how, the chiefs away, did you fear any?

  CHOROS.

  So that now, — late thy word, — much joy were — dying!

  HERALD.

  For well have things been worked out: these, — in much time,

  Some of them, one might say, had luck in falling,

  While some were faulty: since who, gods excepted,

  Goes, through the whole time of his life, ungrieving?

  For labours should I tell of, and bad lodgments,

  Narrow deckways ill-strewn, too, — what the day’s woe

  We did not groan at getting for our portion?

  As for land-things, again, on went more hatred!

  Since beds were ours hard by the foemen’s ramparts,

  And, out of heaven and from the earth, the meadow

  Dews kept a-sprinkle, an abiding damage

  Of vestures, making hair a wild-beast matting.

  Winter, too, if one told of it — bird-slaying —

  Such as, unbearable, Idaian snow brought —

  Or heat, when waveless, on its noontide couches

  Without a wind, the sea would slumber falling

  — Why must one mourn these? O’er and gone is labour:

  O’er and gone is it, even to those dead ones,

  So that no more again they mind uprising.

  Why must we tell in numbers those deprived ones,

  And the live man be vexed with fate’s fresh outbreak?

  Rather, I bid full farewell to misfortunes!

  For us, the left from out the Argeian army,

  The gain beats, nor does sorrow counterbalance.

  So that ‘t is fitly boasted of, this sunlight,

  By us, o’er sea and land the aery flyers,

  “Troia at last taking, the band of Argives

  Hang up such trophies to the gods of Hellas

  Within their domes — new glory to grow ancient!”

  Such things men having heard must praise the city

  And army-leaders: and the grace which wrought them —

  Of Zeus, shall honoured be. Thou hast my whole word.

  CHOROS.

  O’ercome by words, their sense I do not gainsay.

  For, aye this breeds youth in the old — ”to learn well.”

  But these things most the house and Klutaimnestra

  Concern, ‘t is likely: while they make me rich, too.

  KLUTAIMNESTRA.

  I shouted long ago, indeed, for joyance,

  When came that first night-messenger of fire

  Proclaiming Ilion’s capture and dispersion.

  And someone, girding me, said, “Through fire-bearers

  Persuaded — Troia to be sacked now, thinkest?

  Truly, the woman’s way, — high to lift heart up!”

  By such words I was made seem wit-bewildered:

  Yet still I sacrificed; and, — female-song with, —

  A shout one man and other, through the city,

  Set up, congratulating in the gods’ seats,

  Soothing the incense-eating flame right fragrant.

  And now, what’s more, indeed, why need’st thou tell me?

  I of the king himself shall learn the whole word:

  And, — as may best be, — I my revered husband

  Shall hasten, as he comes back, to receive: for —

  What’s to a wife sweeter to see than this light

  (Her husband, by the god saved, back from warfare)

  So as to open gates? This tell my husband —

  To come at soonest to his loving city.

  A faithful wife at home may he find, coming!

  Such an one as he left — the dog o’ the household —

  Trusty to him, adverse to the ill-minded,

  And, in all else, the same: no signet-impress

  Having done harm to, in that time’s duration.

  I know nor pleasure, nor blameworthy converse

  With any other man more than — bronze-dippings!

  HERALD.

  Such boast as this — brimful of the veracious —

  Is, for a high-born dame, not bad to send forth!

  CHOROS.

  Ay, she spoke thus to thee — that hast a knowledge

  From clear interpreters — a speech most seemly.

  But speak thou, herald! Meneleos I ask of:

  If he, returning, back in safety also

  Will come with you — this land’s beloved chieftain?

  HERALD.

  There’s no way I might say things false and pleasant

  For friends to reap the fruits of through a long time.

  CHOROS.

  How then if, speaking good, things true thou chance on?

  HERALD.

  For not well-hidden things become they, sundered.

  The man has vanished from the Achaic army,

  He and his ship too. I announce no falsehood.

  CHOROS.

  Whether forth-putting openly from Ilion,

  Or did storm — wide woe — snatch him from the army?

  HERALD.

  Like topping bowman, thou hast touched the target,

  And a long sorrow hast succinctly spoken.

  CHOROS.

  Whether, then, of him, as a live or dead man

  Was the report by other sailors bruited?

  HERALD.

  Nobody knows so as to tell out clearly

  Excepting Helios who sustains earth’s nature.

  CHOROS.

  How say’st thou then, did storm the naval army

  Attack and end, by the celestials’ anger?

  HERALD.

  It suits not to defile a day auspicious

  With ill-announcing speech: distinct each god’s due:

  And when a messenger with gloomy visage

  To a city bears a fall’n host’s woes — God ward off! —

  One popular would that happens to the city,

  And many sacrificed from many households —

  Men, scourged by that two-thonged whip Ares loves so,

  Double spear-headed curse, bloody yoke-couple, —

  Of woes like these, doubtless, whoe’er comes weighted,

  Him does it suit to sing the Erinues’ paian.

  But who, of matters saved a glad-news-bringer,

  Comes to a city in good estate rejoicing. . . .

  How shall I mix good things with evil, telling

  Of storm against the Achaioi, urged by gods’ wrath?

  For they swore league, being arch-foes before that,

  Fire and the sea: and plighted troth approved they,

  Destroying the unhappy Argeian army.

  At night began the bad-wave-outbreak evils;

  For, ships against each other Threkian breezes

  Shattered: and these, butted at in a fury

  By storm and typhoon, with surge rain-resounding, —

  Off they went, vanished, thro’ a bad herd’s whirling.

  And, when returned the brilliant light of Helios,

  We view the Aigaian sea on flower with corpses

  Of men Achaian and with naval ravage.

  But us indeed, and ship, unhurt i’ the hull too,

  Either someone outstole us or outprayed us —

  Some god — no man it was the tiller touching.

  And Fortune, saviour, willing on our ship sat.

  So as it neither had in harbour wave-surge

  Nor ran aground against a shore all rocky.

>   And then, the water-Haides having fled from

  In the white day, not trusting to our fortune,

  We chewed the cud in thoughts — this novel sorrow

  O’ the army labouring and badly pounded.

  And now — if anyone of them is breathing —

  They talk of us as having perished: why not?

  And we — that they the same fate have, imagine.

  May it be for the best! Meneleos, then,

  Foremost and specially to come, expect thou!

  If (that is) any ray o’ the sun reports him

  Living and seeing too — by Zeus’ contrivings,

  Not yet disposed to quite destroy the lineage —

  Some hope is he shall come again to household.

  Having heard such things, know, thou truth art hearing!

  CHOROS.

  Who may he have been that named thus wholly with exactitude —

  (Was he someone whom we see not, by forecastings of the future

  Guiding tongue in happy mood?)

  — Her with battle for a bridegroom, on all sides contention-wooed,

  Helena? Since — mark the suture! —

  Ship’s-Hell, Man’s-Hell, City’s-Hell,

  From the delicately-pompous curtains that pavilion well,

  Forth, by favour of the gale

  Of earth-born Zephuros did she sail.

  Many shield-bearers, leaders of the pack,

  Sailed too upon their track,

  Theirs who had directed oar,

  Then visible no more,

  To Simois’ leaf-luxuriant shore —

  For sake of strife all gore!

  To Ilion Wrath, fulfilling her intent,

  This marriage-care — the rightly named so — sent:

  In after-time, for the tables’ abuse

  And that of the hearth-partaker Zeus,

  Bringing to punishment

  Those who honoured with noisy throat

  The honour of the bride, the hymenæal note

  Which did the kinsfolk then to singing urge.

  But, learning a new hymn for that which was,

  The ancient city of Priamos

  Groans probably a great and general dirge,

  Denominating Paris

  “The man that miserably marries:” —

  She who, all the while before,

  A life, that was a general dirge

  For citizens’ unhappy slaughter, bore.

  And thus a man, by no milk’s help,

  Within his household reared a lion’s whelp

  That loved the teat

  In life’s first festal stage:

  Gentle as yet,

  A true child-lover, and, to men of age,

  A thing whereat pride warms;

  And oft he had it in his arms

  Like any new-born babe, bright-faced, to hand

  Wagging its tail, at belly’s strict command.

  But in due time upgrown,

  The custom of progenitors was shown:

 

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