ACT II
Scene I
Talthybius, Chorus of Trojan Women.
Talthybius. O long delay, that holds the Greeks in port,
Whether they seek for war or for their homes.
Chorus. Say what the reason of the long delay,
What god forbids the Greeks the homeward road? 150
Talthybius. I tremble, and my spirit shrinks with fear;
Such prodigies will hardly find belief.
I saw them, I myself; Titan had touched
The mountain summits, dayspring conquered night,
When, on a sudden, with a muttered groan, 155
Earth trembled, in the woods the tree-tops shook;
The lofty forests and the sacred grove
Thundered with mighty ruin; Ida's cliffs
Fell from her summit; nor did earth alone
Tremble, the ocean also recognized 160
Achilles' coming, and laid bare her depths;
In the torn earth a gloomy cavern yawned;
A way was opened up from Erebus
To upper day; the tomb gave up its dead;
The towering shade of the Thessalian chief 165
Leaped forth as when, preparing for thy fate,
O Troy, he put to flight the Thracian host,
And struck down Neptune's shining, fair-haired son;
Or as when, breathing battle from the field,
He filled the rivers with the fallen dead, 170
And Xanthus wandered over bloody shoals
Seeking slow channels; or as when he stood
In his proud car, a victor, while he dragged
Hector and Troy behind him in the dust.
His wrathful voice rang out along the shore: 175
'Go, go, ye slothful ones, pay honors due
My manes. Let the thankless ships be freed
To sail my seas. Not lightly Greece has felt
Achilles' wrath; that wrath shall heavier fall.
Polyxena, betrothed to me in death, 180
Must die a sacrifice at Pyrrhus' hand,
And make my tomb glow crimson.' Thus he spake,
Shadowed the day with night, and sought again
The realm of Dis. He took the riven path;
Earth closed above him, and the tranquil sea 185
Lay undisturbed, the raging wind was still,
Softly the ocean murmured, Tritons sang
From the blue deep their hymeneal chant.
Scene II
Agamemnon, Pyrrhus.
Pyrrhus. When, homeward turning, you would fain have spread
Your happy sails, Achilles was forgot. 190
By him alone struck down, Troy fell; her fall,
Ev'n at his death, was but so long delayed
As she stood doubtful whither she should fall;
Haste as you will to give him what he asks
You give too late. Already all the chiefs 195
Have carried off their prizes; what reward
Of lesser price have you to offer him
For so great valor? Does he merit less?
He, bidden shun the battle and enjoy
A long and happy age, outnumbering 200
The many years of Pylos' aged king,
Threw off his mother's mantle, stood confessed
A man of arms. When Telephus in vain
Refused Achilles entrance to the coast
Of rocky Mysia, with his royal blood 205
He stained Achilles' hand, but found that hand
Gentle as strong. When Thebes was overcome
Eëtion, its conquered ruler, saw
His realm made captive. With like slaughter fell
Little Lyrnessus, built at Ida's foot; 210
Briseia's land was captured; Chryse, too,
The cause of royal strife, is overthrown;
And well-known Tenedos, and Sciro's isle
That, rich with fertile pastures, nourishes
The Thracian herd, and Lesbos that divides 215
The Ægean straits, Cilla to Phœbus dear,
Yes, and whatever land Caïcus laves
With its green depths of waters. This had been
To any other, glory, honor, fame,—
Achilles is but on the march; so sped 220
My father, and so great the war he waged
While he made ready for his great campaign.
Though I were silent of his other deeds,
Would it not be enough that Hector died?
My father conquered Ilium; as for you, 225
You have but made it naught. It gives me joy
To speak the praises and illustrious deeds
Of my great sire: how Hector in the eyes
Of fatherland and father prostrate fell,
How Memnon, too, lies slain, whose mother shuns 230
The gloomy light of day, with pallid cheek
Mourning his fate; and at his own great deeds
Achilles trembles, and, a victor, learns
That death may touch the children of a god.
The Amazons' harsh queen, thy final fear, 235
Last yielded. Wouldst thou honor worthily
His mighty arms, then yield him what he will,
Though he should ask a virgin from the land
Of Argos or Mycene. Dost thou doubt;
Too soon content, art loth to offer up 240
A maiden, Priam's child, to Peleus' son?
Thy child was sacrificed to Helenus,
'Tis not an unaccustomed gift I ask.
Agamemnon. To have no power to check the passions' glow
Is ever found a fault of youthful hearts; 245
That which in others is the zeal of youth,
In Pyrrhus is his father's fiery heart.
Thus mildly once I stood the savage threats
Of Æacus' fierce son; most patiently
He bears, who is most strong. With slaughter harsh 250
Why sprinkle our illustrious leader's shade?
Learn first how much the conqueror may do,
The conquered suffer. 'Tis the mild endure,
But he who harshly rules, rules not for long.
The higher Fortune doth exalt a man, 255
Increasing human power, so much the more—
Fearing the gods who too much favor him,
And not unmindful of uncertain fate—
He should be meek. In conquering, I have learned
How in a moment greatness is o'erthrown. 260
Has Trojan triumph too soon made us proud?
We stand, we Greeks, in that place whence Troy fell.
Imperious I have been, and borne myself
At times too proudly; Fortune's gifts correct
In me the pride they oft in others rouse. 265
Priam, thou mak'st me proud, but mak'st me fear.
What can I deem my scepter, but a name
Made bright with idle glitter; or my crown,
But empty ornament? Fate overthrows
Swiftly, nor will it need a thousand ships, 270
Perchance, nor ten years' war. I own, indeed,
(This can I do, oh Argive land, nor wound
Thy honor) I have troubled Phrygia
And wished her conquered; but I would have stayed
The hand that crushed and laid her in the dust. 275
A foe enraged, who gains the victory
By night, checks not his raging at command;
Whatever cruel or unworthy deed
Appeared in any, anger was the cause—
Anger and darkness and the savage sword 280
Made glad with blood and seeking still for more.
All that yet stands of ruined Troy shall stand,
Enough of punishment—more than enough—
Has been exacted; that a royal maid
Should fall, and, offered as a sacrifice 285
Upon a tomb, should crimson with her blood
The ashes, and this hateful crime be called
A marriage—I will never suffer it.
Upon my head would rest the guilt of all;
He who forbids not crime when he has power, 290
Commands it.