Chapter CII: Epilogue (2)

_Klu._ Men, citizens, Argeians here, my worships!
I shall not shame me, consort-loving manners
To tell before you: for in time there dies off
The diffidence from people. Not from others
Learning, I of myself will tell the hard life
I bore so long as this man was 'neath Ilion.
First: for a woman, from the male divided,
To sit at home alone, is monstrous evil--
Hearing the many rumors back-revenging:
And for now This to come, now That bring after
Woe, and still worse woe, bawling in the household!
And truly, if so many wounds had chanced on
My husband here, as homeward used to dribble
Report, he's pierced more than a net to speak of!
While, were he dying (as the words abounded)
A triple-bodied Geruon the Second,
Plenty above--for loads below I count not--
Of earth a three-share cloak he'd boast of taking,
Once only dying in each several figure!
Because of such-like rumors back-revenging,
Many the halters from my neck, above head,
Others than _I_ loosed--loosed from neck by main force!
From this cause, sure, the boy stands not beside me--
Possessor of our troth-plights, thine and mine too--
As ought Orestes: be not thou astonished!
For, him brings up our well-disposed guest-captive
Strophios the Phokian--ills that told on both sides
To me predicting--both of thee 'neath Ilion
The danger, and if anarchy's mob-uproar
Should overthrow thy council; since 'tis born with
Mortals,--whoe'er has fallen, the more to kick him.
Such an excuse, I think, no cunning carries!
As for myself--why, of my wails the rushing
Fountains are dried up: not in them a drop more!
And in my late-to-bed eyes I have damage
Bewailing what concerned thee, those torch-holdings
Forever unattended to. In dreams--why,
Beneath the light wing-beats o' the gnat, I woke up
As he went buzzing--sorrows that concerned thee
Seeing, that filled more than their fellow-sleep-time.
Now, all this having suffered, from soul grief-free
I would style this man here the dog o' the stables,
The savior forestay of the ship, the high roof's
Ground-prop, son sole-begotten to his father,
--Ay, land appearing to the sailors past hope,
Loveliest day to see after a tempest,
To the wayfaring-one athirst a well-spring,
--The joy, in short, of 'scaping all that's--fatal!
I judge him worth addresses such as these are
--Envy stand off!--for many those old evils
We underwent. And now, to me--dear headship!--
Dismount thou from this car, not earthward setting
The foot of thine, O king, that's Ilion's spoiler!
Slave-maids, why tarry?--whose the task allotted
To strew the soil o' the road with carpet-spreadings.
Immediately be purple-strewn the pathway,
So that to home unhoped may lead him--Justice!
As for the rest, care shall--by no sleep conquered--
Dispose things--justly (gods to aid!) appointed.

_Aga._ Offspring of Leda, of my household warder,
Suitably to my absence hast thou spoken,
For long the speech thou didst outstretch! But aptly
To praise--from others ought to go this favor.
And for the rest,--not me, in woman's fashion,
Mollify, nor--as mode of barbarous man is--
To me gape forth a groundward-failing clamor!
Nor, strewing it with garments, make my passage
Envied! Gods, sure, with these behooves we honor:
But, for a mortal on these varied beauties
To walk--to me, indeed, is nowise fear-free.
I say--as man, not god, to me do homage!
Apart from foot-mats both and varied vestures
Renown is loud, and--not to lose one's senses,
God's greatest gift. Behooves we him call happy
Who has brought life to end in loved wellbeing.
If all things I might manage thus--brave man, I!

_Klu._ Come now, this say, nor feign a feeling to me!

_Aga._ With feeling, know indeed, I do not tamper!

_Klu._ Vowed'st thou to the gods, in fear, to act thus?

_Aga._ If any, _I_ well knew resolve I outspoke.

_Klu._ What think'st thou Priamos had done, thus victor?

_Aga._ On varied vests--I do think--he had passaged.

_Klu._ Then, do not, struck with awe at human censure....

_Aga._ Well, popular mob-outcry much avails too!

_Klu._ Ay, but the unenvied is not the much valued.

_Aga._ Sure, 't is no woman's part to long for battle!

_Klu._ Why, to the prosperous, even suits a beating!

_Aga._ What? thou this beating us in war dost prize too?

_Klu._ Persuade thee! power, for once, grant _me_--and willing!

_Aga._ But if this seem so to thee--shoes, let some one
Loose under, quick--foot's serviceable carriage!
And me, on these sea-products walking, may no
Grudge from a distance, from the god's eye, strike at!
For great shame were my strewment-spoiling--riches!
Spoiling with feet, and silver-purchased textures!
Of these things, thus then. But this female-stranger
Tenderly take inside! Who conquers mildly
God, from afar, benignantly regardeth.
For, willing, no one wears a yoke that's servile:
And she, of many valuables, outpicked
The flower, the army's gift, myself has followed.
So--since to hear thee, I am brought about thus,--
I go into the palace--purples treading.

_Klu._ There is the sea--and what man shall exhaust it?--
Feeding much purple's worth-its-weight-in-silver
Dye, ever fresh and fresh, our garments' tincture;
At home, such wealth, king, we begin--by gods' help--
With having, and to lack, the household knows not.
Of many garments had I vowed a treading
(In oracles if fore-enjoined the household)
Of this dear soul the safe-return-price scheming!
For, root existing, foliage goes up houses,
O'erspreading shadow against Seirios dog-star;
And, thou returning to the hearth domestic,
Warmth, yea, in winter dost thou show returning.
And when, too, Zeus works, from the green-grape acrid,
Wine--then, already, cool in houses cometh--
The perfect man his home perambulating!
Zeus, Zeus Perfecter, these my prayers perfect thou!
--Thy care be--yea--of things thou mayst make perfect!

_Cho._ Wherefore to me, this fear--
Groundedly stationed here
Fronting my heart, the portent-watcher--flits she?
Wherefore should prophet-play
The uncalled and unpaid lay,
Nor--having spat forth fear, like bad dreams--sits she
On the mind's throne beloved--well-suasive Boldness?
For time, since, by a throw of all the hands,
The boat's stern-cables touched the sands,
Has passed from youth to oldness,--
When under Ilion rushed the ship-borne bands.

And from my eyes I learn--
Being myself my witness--their return.
Yet, all the same, without a lyre, my soul,
Itself its teacher too, chants from within
Erinus' dirge, not having now the whole
Of Hope's dear boldness: nor my inwards sin--
The heart that's rolled in whirls against the mind
Justly presageful of a fate behind.
But I pray--things false, from my hope, may fall
Into the fate that's not-fulfilled-at-all!

Especially at least, of health that's great
The term's insatiable: for, its weight
--A neighbor, with a common wall between--
Ever will sickness lean;
And destiny, her course pursuing straight,
Has struck man's ship against a reef unseen.
Now, when a portion, rather than the treasure,
Fear casts from sling, with peril in right measure,
It has not sunk--the universal freight,
(With misery freighted over-full,)
Nor has fear whelmed the hull.
Then too the gift of Zeus,
Two-handedly profuse,
Even from the furrows' yield for yearly use
Has done away with famine, the disease;
But blood of man to earth once falling,--deadly, black,--
In times ere these,--
Who may, by singing spells, call back?
Zeus had not else stopped one who rightly knew
The way to bring the dead again.
But, did not an appointed Fate constrain
The Fate from gods, to bear no more than due,
My heart, outstripping what tongue utters,
Would have all out: which now, in darkness, mutters
Moodily grieved, nor ever hopes to find
How she a word in season may unwind
From out the enkindling mind.

_Klu._ Take thyself in, thou too--I say, Kassandra!
Since Zeus--not angrily--in household placed thee
Partaker of hand-sprinklings, with the many
Slaves stationed, his the Owner's altar close to.
Descend from out this car, nor be high-minded!
And truly they do say Alkmene's child once
Bore being sold, slaves' barley-bread his living.
If, then, necessity of this lot o'erbalance,
Much is the favor of old-wealthy masters:
For those who, never hoping, made fine harvest
Are harsh to slaves in all things, beyond measure,
Thou hast--with us--such usage as law warrants.

_Cho._ To thee it was, she paused plain speech from speaking.
Being inside the fatal nets--obeying,
Thou mayst obey: but thou mayst disobey too!

_Klu._ Why, if she is not, in the swallow's fashion,
Possessed of voice that 's unknown and barbaric,
I, with speech--speaking in mind's scope--persuade her.

_Cho._ Follow! The best--as things now stand--she speaks of.
Obey thou, leaving this thy car-enthronement!

_Klu._ Well, with this thing at door, for me no leisure
To waste time: as concerns the hearth mid-navelled,
Already stand the sheep for fireside slaying
By those who never hoped to have such favor.
If thou, then, aught of this wilt do, delay not!
But if thou, being witless, tak'st no word in,
Speak thou, instead of voice, with hand as Kars do!

_Cho._ She seems a plain interpreter in need of,
The stranger! and her way--a beast's new-captured!

_Klu._ Why, she is mad, sure,--hears her own bad senses,--
Who, while she comes, leaving a town new-captured,
Yet knows not how to bear the bit o' the bridle
Before she has out-frothed her bloody fierceness.
Not I--throwing away more words--will shamed be!

_Cho._ But I,--for I compassionate,--will chafe not.
Come, O unhappy one, this car vacating,
Yielding to this necessity, prove yoke's use!

_Kassandra._ Otototoi, Gods, Earth--Apollon, Apollon!

_Cho._ Why didst thou "ototoi" concerning Loxias?
Since he is none such as to suit a mourner.

_Kas._ Otototoi, Gods, Earth,
--Apollon, Apollon!

_Cho._ Ill-boding here again the god invokes she
--Nowise empowered in woes to stand by helpful.

_Kas._ Apollon, Apollon,
Guard of the ways, my destroyer!
For thou hast quite, this second time, destroyed me.

_Cho._ To prophesy she seems of her own evils:
Remains the god-gift to the slave-soul present.

_Kas._ Apollon, Apollon,
Guard of the ways, my destroyer!
Ha, whither hast thou led me? to what roof now?

_Cho._ To the Atreidai's roof: if this thou know'st not,
I tell it thee, nor this wilt thou call falsehood.

_Kas._ How! how!
God-hated, then! Of many a crime it knew--
Self-slaying evils, halters too:
Man's-shambles, blood-besprinkler of the ground!

_Cho._ She seems to be good-nosed, the stranger: dog-like,
She snuffs indeed the victims she will find there.

_Kas._ How! how!
By the witnesses here I am certain now!
These children bewailing their slaughters--flesh dressed in the fire
And devoured by their sire!

_Cho._ Ay, we have heard of thy soothsaying glory,
Doubtless: but prophets none are we in scent of!

_Kas._ Ah, gods, what ever does she meditate?
What this new anguish great?
Great in the house here she meditates ill
Such as friends cannot bear, cannot cure it: and still
Off stands all Resistance
Afar in the distance!

_Cho._ Of these I witless am--these prophesyings.
But those I knew: for the whole city bruits them.

_Kas._ Ah, unhappy one, this thou consummatest?
Thy husband, thy bed's common guest,
In the bath having brightened.... How shall I declare
Consummation? It soon will be there:
For hand after hand she outstretches,
At life as she reaches!

_Cho._ Nor yet I 've gone with thee! for--after riddles--
Now, in blind oracles, I feel resourceless.

_Kas._ Eh, eh, papai, papai,
What this, I espy?
Some net of Haides undoubtedly!
Nay, rather, the snare
Is she who has share
In his bed, who takes part in the murder there!
But may a revolt--
Unceasing assault--
On the Race, raise a shout
Sacrificial, about
A victim--by stoning--
For murder atoning!

_Cho._ What this Erinus which i' the house thou callest
To raise her cry? Not me thy word enlightens!
To my heart has run
A drop of the crocus-dye:
Which makes for those
On earth by the spear that lie,
A common close
With life's descending sun.
Swift is the curse begun!

_Kas._ How! how!
See--see quick!
Keep the bull from the cow!
In the vesture she catching him, strikes him now
With the black-horned trick,
And he falls into the watery vase!
Of the craft-killing caldron I tell thee the case!

_Cho._ I would not boast to be a topping critic
Of oracles: but to some sort of evil
I liken these. From oracles, what good speech
To mortals, beside, is sent?
It comes of their evils: these arts word-abounding that sing the
event
Bring the fear 't is their office to teach.

_Kas._ Ah me, ah me--
Of me unhappy, evil-destined fortunes!
For I bewail my proper woe
As, mine with his, all into one I throw.
Why hast thou hither me unhappy brought?
--Unless that I should die with him--for naught!
What else was sought?

_Cho._ Thou art some mind-mazed creature, god-possessed:
And all about thyself dost wail
A lay--no lay!
Like some brown nightingale
Insatiable of noise, who--well away!--
From her unhappy breast
Keeps moaning Itus, Itus, and his life
With evils, flourishing on each side, rife.

_Kas._ Ah me, ah me,
The fate o' the nightingale, the clear resounder!
For a body wing-borne have the gods cast round her,
And sweet existence, from misfortunes free:
But for myself remains a sundering
With spear, the two-edged thing!

_Cho._ Whence hast thou this on-rushing god-involving pain
And spasms in vain?
For, things that terrify,
With changing unintelligible cry
Thou strikest up in tune, yet all the while
After that Orthian style!
Whence hast thou limits to the oracular road,
That evils bode?

_Kas._ Ah me, the nuptials, the nuptials of Paris, the deadly to
friends!
Ah me, of Skamandros the draught
Paternal! There once, to these ends,
On thy banks was I brought,
The unhappy! And now, by Kokutos and Acheron's shore
I shall soon be, it seems, these my oracles singing once more!

_Cho._ Why this word, plain too much,
Hast thou uttered? A babe might learn of such!
I am struck with a bloody bite--here under--
At the fate woe-wreaking
Of thee shrill-shrieking:
To me who hear--a wonder!

_Kas._ Ah me, the toils--the toils of the city
The wholly destroyed: ah, pity,
Of the sacrificings my father made
In the ramparts' aid--
Much slaughter of grass-fed flocks--that afforded no cure
That the city should not, as it does now, the burthen endure!
But I, with the soul on fire,
Soon to the earth shall cast me and expire!

_Cho._ To things, on the former consequent,
Again hast thou given vent:
And 't is some evil-meaning fiend doth move thee,
Heavily falling from above thee,
To melodize thy sorrows--else, in singing,
Calamitous, death-bringing!
And of all this the end
I am without resource to apprehend.

_Kas._ Well then, the oracle from veils no longer
Shall be outlooking, like a bride new-married:
But bright it seems, against the sun's uprisings
Breathing, to penetrate thee: so as, wave-like,
To wash against the rays a woe much greater
Than this. I will no longer teach by riddles.
And witness, running with me, that of evils
Done long ago, I nosing track the footstep!
For, this same roof here--never quits a Choros
One-voiced, not well-tuned since no "well" it utters:
And truly having drunk, to get more courage,
Man's blood--the Komos keeps within the household
--Hard to be sent outside--of sister Furies:
They hymn their hymn--within the house close sitting--
The first beginning curse: in turn spit forth at
The Brother's bed, to him who spurned it hostile.
Have I missed aught, or hit I like a bowman?
False prophet am I,--knock at doors, a babbler?
Henceforward witness, swearing now, I know not
By other's word the old sins of this household!

_Cho._ And how should oath, bond honorably binding,
Become thy cure? No less I wonder at thee
--That thou, beyond sea reared, a strange-tongued city
Shouldst hit in speaking, just as if thou stood'st by!

_Kas._ Prophet Apollon put me in this office.

_Cho._ What, even though a god, with longing smitten?

_Kas._ At first, indeed, shame was to me to say this.

_Cho._ For, more relaxed grows every one who fares well.

_Kas._ But he was athlete to me--huge grace breathing!

_Cho._ Well, to the work of children, went ya law's way?

_Kas._ Having consented, I played false to Loxias.

_Cho._ Already when the wits inspired possessed of?

_Kas._ Already townsmen all their woes I foretold.

_Cho._ How wast thou then unhurt by Loxias' anger?

_Kas._ I no one aught persuaded, when I sinned thus.

_Cho._ To us, at least, now sooth to say thou seemest.

_Kas._ Halloo, halloo, ah, evils!
Again, straightforward foresight's fearful labor
Whirls me, distracting with prelusive last-lays!
Behold ye those there, in the household seated,--
Young ones,--of dreams approaching to the figures?
Children, as if they died by their beloveds--
Hands they have rilled with flesh, the meal domestic--
Entrails and vitals both, most piteous burthen,
Plain they are holding!--which their father tasted!
For this, I say, plans punishment a certain
Lion ignoble, on the bed that wallows,
House-guard (ah, me!) to the returning master
--Mine, since to bear the slavish yoke behooves me!
The ships' commander, Ilion's desolator,
Knows not what things the tongue of the lewd she-dog
Speaking, outspreading, shiny-souled, in fashion
Of Até hid, will reach to, by ill fortune!
Such things she dares--the female, the male's slayer!
She is ... how calling her the hateful bite-beast
May I hit the mark? Some amphisbaina--Skulla
Housing in rocks, of mariners the mischief,
Revelling Haides' mother,--curse, no truce with,
Breathing at friends! How piously she shouted,
The all-courageous, as at turn of battle!
She seems to joy at the back-bringing safety!
Of this, too, if I naught persuade, all 's one! Why?
What is to be will come! And soon thou, present,
"True prophet all too much" wilt pitying style me!

_Cho._ Thuestes' feast, indeed, on flesh of children,
I went with, and I shuddered. Fear too holds me
Listing what 's true as life, nowise out-imaged!

_Kas._ I say, thou Agamemnon's fate shalt look on!

_Cho._ Speak good words, O unhappy! Set mouth sleeping!

_Kas._ But Paian stands in no stead to the speech here.

_Cho._ Nay, if the thing be near: but never be it!

_Kas._ Thou, indeed, prayest: they to kill are busy!

_Cho._ Of what man is it ministered, this sorrow?

_Kas._ There again, wide thou look'st of my foretellings.

_Cho._ For, the fulfiller's scheme I have not gone with.

_Kas._ And yet too well I know the speech Hellenic.

_Cho._ For Puthian oracles, thy speech, and hard too!

_Kas._ Papai: what fire this! and it comes upon me!
Ototoi, Lukeion Apollon, ah me--me!
She, the two-footed lioness that sleeps with
The wolf, in absence of the generous lion,
Kills me the unhappy one: and as a poison
Brewing, to put my price too in the anger,
She vows, against her mate this weapon whetting
To pay him back the bringing me, with slaughter.
Why keep I then these things to make me laughed at,
Both wands and, round my neck, oracular fillets?
Thee, at least, ere my own fate will I ruin:
Go, to perdition falling! Boons exchange we--
Some other Até in my stead make wealthy!
See there--himself, Apollon stripping from me
The oracular garment! having looked upon me
--Even in these adornments, laughed by friends at,
As good as foes, i' the balance weighed: and vainly--
For, called crazed stroller,--as I had been gypsy,
Beggar, unhappy, starved to death,--I bore it.
And now the Prophet--prophet me undoing,
Has led away to these so deadly fortunes!
Instead of my sire's altar, waits the hack-block
She struck with first warm bloody sacrificing!
Yet nowise unavenged of gods will death be:
For there shall come another, our avenger,
The mother-slaying scion, father's doomsman:
Fugitive, wanderer, from this land an exile,
Back shall he come,--for friends, copestone these curses!
For there is sworn a great oath from the gods that
Him shall bring hither his fallen sire's prostration.
Why make I then, like an indweller, moaning?
Since at the first I foresaw Ilion's city
Suffering as it has suffered: and who took it,
Thus by the judgment of the gods are faring.
I go, will suffer, will submit to dying!
But, Haides' gates--these same I call, I speak to,
And pray that on an opportune blow chancing,
Without a struggle,--blood the calm death bringing
In easy outflow,--I this eye may close up!

_Cho._ O much unhappy, but, again, much learned
Woman, long hast thou outstretched! But if truly
Thou knowest thine own fate, how comes that, like to
A god-led steer, to altar bold thou treadest?

_Kas._ There 's no avoidance,--strangers, no! Some time more!

_Cho._. He last is, anyhow, by time advantaged.

_Kas._ It comes, the day: I shall by flight gain little.

_Cho._ But know thou patient art from thy brave spirit!

_Kas._ Such things hears no one of the happy-fortuned.

_Cho._ But gloriously to die--for man is grace, sure!

_Kas._ Ah, sire, for thee and for thy noble children!

_Cho._ But what thing is it? What fear turns thee backwards?

_Kas._ Alas, alas!

_Cho._ Why this "alas"? if 't is no spirit's loathing ...

_Kas._ Slaughter blood-dripping does the household smell of!

_Cho._ How else? This scent is of hearth-sacrifices.

_Kas._ Such kind of steam as from a tomb is proper!

_Cho._ No Surian honor to the House thou speak'st of!

_Kas._ But I will go,--even in the household wailing
My fate and Agamemnon's. Life suffice me!
Ah, strangers!
I cry not "ah"--as bird at bush--through terror
Idly! to me, the dead thus much bear witness:
When, for me--woman, there shall die a woman,
And, for a man ill-wived, a man shall perish!
This hospitality I ask as dying.

_Cho._ O sufferer, thee--thy foretold fate I pity.

_Kas._ Yet once for all, to speak a speech, I fain am:
No dirge, mine for myself! The sun I pray to,
Fronting his last light!--to my own avengers--
That from my hateful slayers they exact too
Pay for the dead slave--easy-managed hand's work!

_Cho._ Alas for mortal matters! Happy-fortuned,--
Why, any shade would turn them: if unhappy,
By throws the wetting sponge has spoiled the picture!
And more by much in mortals this I pity.
The being well-to-do--
Insatiate a desire of this
Born with all mortals is,
Nor any is there who
Well-being forces off, aroints
From roofs whereat a finger points,
"No more come in!" exclaiming. This man, too,
To take the city of Priamos did the celestials give,
And, honored by the god, he homeward comes;
But now if, of the former, he shall pay
The blood back, and, for those who ceased to live,
Dying, for deaths in turn new punishment he dooms--
Who, being mortal, would not pray
With an unmischievous
Daimon to have been born---who would not, hearing thus?

_Aga._ Ah me! I am struck--a right-aimed stroke within me!

_Cho._ Silence! Who is it shouts "stroke"--"right-aimedly," a
wounded one?

_Aga._ Ah me! indeed again,--a second, struck by!

_Cho._ This work seems to me completed by this "Ah me" of the
king's;
But we somehow may together share in solid counsellings.

_Cho. 1._ I, in the first place, my opinion tell you:
--To cite the townsmen, by help-cry, to house here.

_Cho. 2._ To me, it seems we ought to fall upon them
At quickest--prove the fact by sword fresh-flowing!

_Cho. 3._ And I, of such opinion the partaker,
Vote--to do something: not to wait--the main point!

_Cho. 4._ 'T is plain to see: for they prelude as though of
A tyranny the signs they gave the city.

_Cho. 5._ For we waste time; while they,--this waiting's glory
Treading to ground,--allow the hand no slumber.

_Cho. 6._ I know not--chancing on some plan --to tell it:
'T is for the doer to plan of the deed also.

_Cho. 7._ And I am such another: since I 'm schemeless
How to raise up again by words--a dead man!

_Cho. 8._ What, and, protracting life, shall we give way thus
To the disgracers of our home, these rulers?

_Cho. 9._ Why, 't is unbearable: but to die is better:
For death than tyranny is the riper finish!

_Cho. 10._ What, by the testifying "Ah me" of him,
Shall we prognosticate the man as perished?

_Cho. 11._ We must quite know ere speak these things concerning:
For to conjecture and "quite know" are two things.

_Cho. 12._ This same to praise I from all sides abound in--
Clearly to know, Atreides, what he 's doing!

_Klu._ Much having been before to purpose spoken,
The opposite to say I shall not shamed be:
For how should one, to enemies,--in semblance,
Friends,--enmity proposing,--sorrow's net-frame
Enclose, a height superior to outleaping?
To me, indeed, this struggle of old--not mindless
Of an old victory--came: with time, I grant you!
I stand where I have struck, things once accomplished:
And so have done,--and this deny I shall not,--
As that his fate was nor to fly nor ward off.
A wrap-round with no outlet, as for fishes,
I fence about him--the rich woe of the garment:
I strike him twice, and in a double "Ah-me!"
He let his limbs go-- _there!_ And to him, fallen,
The third blow add I, giving--of Below-ground
Zeus, guardian of the dead--the votive favor
Thus in the mind of him he rages, falling,
And blowing forth a brisk blood-spatter, strikes me
With the dark drop of slaughterous dew,--rejoicing
No less than, at the god-given dewy-comfort,
The sown-stuff in its birth-throes from the calyx.
Since so these things are,--Argives, my revered here,--
Ye may rejoice--if ye rejoice: but I--boast!
If it were fit on corpse to pour libation,
That would be right--right over and above, too!
The cup of evils in the house he, having
Filled with such curses, himself coming drinks of.

_Cho._ We wonder at thy tongue: since bold-mouthed truly
Is she who in such speech boasts o'er her husband!

_Klu._ Ye test me as I were a witless woman:
But I--with heart intrepid--to you knowers
Say (and thou--if thou wilt or praise or blame me,
Comes to the same)--this man is Agamemnon,
My husband, dead, the work of the right hand here,
Ay, of a just artificer: so things are.

_Cho._ What evil, O woman, food or drink, earth-bred
Or sent from the flowing sea,
Of such having fee
Didst thou set on thee
This sacrifice
And popular cries
Of a curse on thy head?
Off thou hast thrown him, off hast cut
The man from the city: but
Off from the city thyself shalt be
Cut--to the citizens
A hate immense!

_Klu._ Now, indeed, thou adjudgest exile to me,
And citizens' hate, and to have popular curses:
Nothing of this against the man here bringing,
Who, no more awe-checked than as 't were a beast's fate,--
With sheep abundant in the well-fleeced graze-flocks,--
Sacrificed _his_ child,--dearest fruit of travail
To me,--as song-spell against Threkian blowings.
Not _him_ did it behoove thee hence to banish
--Pollution's penalty? But hearing _my_ deeds
Justicer rough thou art! Now, this I tell thee:
To threaten thus--me, one prepared to have thee
(On like conditions, thy hand conquering) o'er me
Rule: but if God the opposite ordain us,
Thou shalt learn--late taught, certes--to be modest.

_Cho._ Greatly-intending thou art:
Much-mindful, too, hast thou cried
(Since thy mind, with its slaughter-outpouring part,
Is frantic) that over the eyes, a patch
Of blood--with blood to match
Is plain for a pride!
Yet still, bereft of friends, thy fate
Is--blow with blow to expiate!

_Klu._ And this thou hearest--of my oaths, just warrant!
By who fulfilled things for my daughter, Justice,
Até, Erinus,--by whose help I slew him,--
Not mine the fancy--Fear will tread my palace
So long as on my hearth there burns a fire,
Aigisthos as before well-caring for me;
Since he to me is shield, no small, of boldness.
Here does he lie--outrager of this female,
Dainty of all the Chruseids under Ilion;
And she--the captive, the soothsayer also
And couchmate of this man, oracle-speaker,
Faithful bedfellow,--ay, the sailors' benches
They wore in common, nor unpunished did so,
Since he is--thus! While, as for her,--swan-fashion,
Her latest having chanted,--dying wailing
She lies,--to him, a sweetheart: me she brought to
My bed's by-nicety, the whet of dalliance.

_Cho._ Alas, that some
Fate would come
Upon us in quickness--
Neither much sickness
Neither bed-keeping--
And bear unended sleeping,
Now that subdued
Is our keeper, the kindest of mood!
Having borne, for a woman's sake, much strife--
By a woman he withered from life!
Ah me!
Law-breaking Helena who, one,
Hast many, so many souls undone
'Neath Troia! and now the consummated
Much-memorable curse
Hast thou made flower-forth, red
With the blood no rains disperse,
That which was then in the House--
Strife all-subduing, the woe of a spouse.

_Klu._ Nowise, of death the fate--
Burdened by these things--supplicate!
Nor on Helena turn thy wrath
As the man-destroyer, as "she who hath,
Being but one,
Many and many a soul undone
Of the men, the Danaoi"--
And wrought immense annoy!

_Cho._ Daimon, who fallest
Upon this household and the double-raced
Tantalidai, a rule, minded like theirs displaced,
Thou rulest me with, now,
Whose heart thou gallest!
And on the body, like a hateful crow,
Stationed, all out of tune, his chant to chant
Doth Something vaunt!

_Klu._ Now, of a truth, hast thou set upright
Thy mouth's opinion,--
Naming the Sprite,
The triply-gross,
O'er the race that has dominion:
For through him it is that Eros
The carnage-licker
In the belly is bred: ere ended quite
Is the elder throe--new ichor!

_Cho._ Certainly, great of might
And heavy of wrath, the Sprite
Thou tellest of, in the palace
(Woe, woe!)
--An evil tale of a fate
By Até's malice
Rendered insatiate!
Oh, oh,--
King, king, how shall I beweep thee?
From friendly soul what ever say?
Thou liest where webs of the spider o'ersweep thee
In impious death, life breathing away.
O me--me!
This couch, not free!
By a slavish death subdued thou art,
From the hand, by the two-edged dart.

_Klu._ Thou boastest this deed to be mine:
But leave off styling me
"The Agamemnonian wife!"
For, showing himself in sign
Of the spouse of the corpse thou dost see,
Did the ancient bitter avenging-ghost
Of Atreus, savage host,
Pay the man here as price--
A full-grown for the young one's sacrifice.

_Cho._ That no cause, indeed, of this killing art thou,
Who shall be witness-bearer?
How shall he bear it--how?
But the sire's avenging-ghost might be in the deed a sharer.
He is forced on and on
By the kin-born flowing of blood,
--Black Ares: to where, having gone,
He shall leave off, flowing done,
At the frozen-child's-flesh food.
King, king, how shall I beweep thee!
From friendly soul what ever say?
Thou liest where webs of the spider o'ersweep thee,
In impious death, life breathing away.
Oh, me--me!
This couch not free!
By a slavish death subdued thou art,
From the hand, by the two-edged dart.

_Klu._ No death "unfit for the free"
Do I think this man's to be:
For did not himself a slavish curse
To his household decree?
But the scion of him, myself did nurse--
That much-bewailed Iphigeneia, he
Having done well by,--and as well, nor worse,
Been done to,--let him not in Haides loudly
Bear himself proudly!
Being by sword-destroying death amerced
For that sword's punishment himself inflicted first.

_Cho._ I at a loss am left--
Of a feasible scheme of mind bereft--
Where I may turn: for the house is falling:
I fear the bloody crash of the rain
That ruins the roof as it bursts amain:
The warning-drop
Has come to a stop.
Destiny doth Justice whet
For other deed of hurt, on other whetstones yet.
Woe, earth, earth--would thou hadst taken _me_
Ere I saw the man I see,
On the pallet-bed
Of the silver-sided bath-vase, dead'
Who is it shall bury him, who
Sing his dirge? Can it be true
That _thou_ wilt dare this same to do---
Having slain thy husband, thine own,
To make his funeral moan:
And for the soul of him, in place
Of his mighty deeds, a graceless grace
To wickedly institute? By whom
Shall the tale of praise o'er the tomb
At the god-like man be sent--
From the truth of his mind as he toils intent?

_Klu._ It belongs not to thee to declare
This object of care!
By us did he fall--down there!
Did he die--down there! and down, no less,
We will bury him there, and not beneath
The wails of the household over his death:
But Iphigeneia,--with kindliness,--
His daughter,--as the case requires,
Facing him full, at the rapid-flowing
Passage of Groans shall--both hands throwing
Around him--kiss that kindest of sires!

_Cho._ This blame comes in the place of blame:
Hard battle it is to judge each claim.
"He is borne away who bears away:
And the killer has all to pay."
And this remains while Zeus is remaining,
"The doer shall suffer in time"--for, such his ordaining.
Who may cast out of the House its cursed brood?
The race is to Até glued!

_Klu._ Thou hast gone into this oracle
With a true result. For me, then,--I will
--To the Daimon of the Pleisthenidai
Making an oath--with all these things comply
Hard as they are to bear. For the rest--
Going from out this House, a guest,
May he wear some other family
To naught, with the deaths of kin by kin!
And--keeping a little part of my goods--
Wholly am I contented in
Having expelled from the royal House
These frenzied moods
The mutually-murderous.

_Aigisthos._ O light propitious of day justice-bringing!
I may say truly, now, that men's avengers,
The gods from high, of earth behold the sorrows--
Seeing, as I have, i' the spun robes of the Erinues,
This man here lying,--sight to me how pleasant!--
His father's hands' contrivances repaying.
For Atreus, this land's lord, of this man father,
Thuestes, my own father--to speak clearly--
His brother too,--being i' the rule contested,--
Drove forth to exile from both town and household:
And, coming back, to the hearth turned, a suppliant,
Wretched Thuestes found the fate assured him
--Not to die, bloodying his paternal threshold
Just there: but host-wise this man's impious father
Atreus, soul-keenly more than kindly,--seeming
To joyous hold a flesh-day,--to my father
Served up a meal, the flesh of his own children.
The feet indeed and the hands' top divisions
He hid, high up and isolated sitting:
But, their unshowing parts in ignorance taking,
He forthwith eats food--as thou seest--perdition
To the race: and then, 'ware of the deed ill-omened,
He shrieked O!--falls back, vomiting, from the carnage,
And fate on the Pelopidai past hearing
He prays down--putting in his curse together
The kicking down o' the feast--that so might perish
The race of Pleisthenes entire: and thence is
That it is given thee to see this man prostrate.
And I was rightly of this slaughter stitch-man:
Since me,--being third from ten,--with my poor father
He drives out--being then a babe in swathe-bands:
But, grown up, back again has justice brought me:
And of this man I got hold--being without-doors--
Fitting together the whole scheme of ill-will.
So, sweet, in fine, even to die were to me,
Seeing as I have, this man i' the toils of justice!

_Cho._ Aigisthos, arrogance in ills I love not.
Dost thou say--willing, thou didst kill the man here,
And, alone, plot this lamentable slaughter?
I say--thy head in justice will escape not
The people's throwing--know that!--stones and curses!

_Aig._ Thou such things soundest--seated at the lower
Oarage to those who rule at the ship's mid-bench?
Thou shalt know, being old, how heavy is teaching
To one of the like age--bidden be modest!
But chains and old age and the pangs of fasting
Stand out before all else in teaching,--prophets
At souls'-cure! Dost not, seeing aught, see this too?
Against goads kick not, lest tript-up thou suffer!

_Cho._ Woman, thou,--of him coming new from battle
Houseguard--thy husband's bed the while disgracing,--
For the Army-leader didst thou plan this fate too?

_Aig._ These words too are of groans the prime-begetters!
Truly a tongue opposed to Orpheus hast thou:
For he led all things by his voice's grace-charm,
But thou, upstirring them by these wild yelpings,
Wilt lead them! Forced, thou wilt appear the tamer!

_Cho._ So--thou shalt be my king then of the Argeians--
Who, not when for this man his fate thou plannedst,
Daredst to do this deed--thyself the slayer!

_Aig._ For, to deceive him was the wife's part, certes:
_I_ was looked after--foe, ay, old-begotten!
But out of this man's wealth will I endeavor
To rule the citizens: and the no-man-minder
--Him will I heavily yoke--by no means trace-horse,
A corned-up colt! but that bad friend in darkness,
Famine its housemate, shall behold him gentle.

_Cho._ Why then, this man here, from a coward spirit,
Didst not thou slay thyself? But,--helped,--a woman,
The country's pest, and that of gods o' the country,
Killed him! Orestes, where may he see light now?
That coming hither back, with gracious fortune,
Of both these he may be the all-conquering slayer?

_Aig._ But since this to do thou thinkest--and not talk--thou soon
shalt know!
Up then, comrades dear! the proper thing to do--not distant this!

_Cho._ Up then! hilt in hold, his sword let every one aright
dispose!

_Aig._ Ay, but I myself too, hilt in hold, do not refuse to die!

_Cho._ Thou wilt die, thou say'st, to who accept it. We the chance
demand!

_Klu._ Nowise, O belovedest of men, may we do other ills!
To have reaped away these, even, is a harvest much to me!
Go, both thou and these the old men, to the homes appointed each,
Ere ye suffer! It behooved one do these things just as we did:
And if of these troubles, there should be enough--we may assent
--By the Daimon's heavy heel unfortunately stricken ones!
So a woman's counsel hath it--if one judge it learning-worth.

_Aig._ But to think that these at me the idle tongue should thus
o'erbloom,
And throw out such words--the Daimon's power experimenting on--
And, of modest knowledge missing,--me, the ruler,...

_Cho._ Ne'er may this befall Argeians--wicked man to fawn before!

_Aig._ Anyhow, in after-days, will I, yes, I, be at thee yet!

_Cho._ Not if hither should the Daimon make Orestes straightway
come!

_Aig._ Oh, I know, myself, that fugitives on hopes are
pasture-fed!

_Cho._ Do thy deed, get fat, defiling justice, since the power is
thine!

_Aig._ Know that thou shalt give me satisfaction for this folly's
sake!

_Cho._ Boast on, bearing thee audacious, like a cock his females
by!

_Klu._ Have not thou respect for these same idle yelpings! I and
thou
Will arrange it, o'er this household ruling excellently well.

LA SAISIAZ

DEDICATED TO MRS. SUTHERLAND ORR

Miss A. Egerton-Smith was, at the time of her death, one of Browning's oldest women friends. "He first met her," says Mrs. Sutherland Orr, "as a young woman in Florence when she was visiting there; and the love for and proficiency in music soon asserted itself as a bond of sympathy between them. They did not, however, see much of each other till he had finally left Italy, and she also had made her home in London.... Mr. Browning was one of the very few persons whose society she cared to cultivate: and for many years the common musical interest took the practical, and for both of them convenient, form, of their going to concerts together." Browning was at La Saisiaz, under the Salève, when Miss Egerton-Smith, who was also domiciled there, died suddenly in the autumn of 1877, and it was after the shock of her loss that he composed the poem to which he gave the title of their summer resort. The poem is dated November 9, 1877.

Good, to forgive;
Best, to forget!
Living, we fret;
Dying, we live.
Fretless and free,
Soul, clap thy pinion!
Earth have dominion,
Body, o'er thee!

Wander at will,
Day after day,--
Wander away,
Wandering still--
Soul that canst soar!
Body may slumber:
Body shall cumber
Soul-flight no more.

Waft of soul's wing!
What lies above?
Sunshine and Love,
Skyblue and Spring!
Body hides--where?
Ferns of all feather,
Mosses and heather,
Yours be the care!

LA SAISIAZ

A. E. S. SEPTEMBER 14, 1877.

Dared and done: at last I stand upon the summit, Dear and True!
Singly dared and done; the climbing both of us were bound to do.
Petty feat and yet prodigious: every side my glance was bent
O'er the grandeur and the beauty lavished through the whole ascent.
Ledge by ledge, out broke new marvels, now minute and now immense:
Earth's most exquisite disclosure, heaven's own God in evidence!
And no berry in its hiding, no blue space in its outspread,
Pleaded to escape my footstep, challenged my emerging head,
(As I climbed or paused from climbing, now o'erbranched by shrub and
tree,
Now built round by rock and boulder, now at just a turn set free,
Stationed face to face with--Nature? rather with Infinitude,)
--No revealment of them all, as singly I my path pursued,
But a bitter touched its sweetness, for the thought stung "Even so
Both of us had loved and wondered just the same, five days ago!"
Five short days, sufficient hardly to entice, from out its den
Splintered in the slab, this pink perfection of the cyclamen;
Scarce enough to heal and coat with amber gum the sloe-tree's gash,
Bronze the clustered wilding apple, redden ripe the mountain-ash:
Yet of might to place between us--Oh the barrier! Yon Profound
Shrinks beside it, proves a pin-point: barrier this, without a
bound!
Boundless though it be, I reach you: somehow seem to have you here
--Who are there. Yes, there you dwell now, plain the four low walls
appear;
Those are vineyards, they enclose from; and the little spire which
points
--That's Collonge, henceforth your dwelling. All the same, howe'er
disjoints
Past from present, no less certain you are here, not there: have
dared,
Done the feat of mountain-climbing;,--five days since, we both
prepared
Daring, doing, arm in arm, if other help should haply fail.
For you asked, as forth we sallied to see sunset from the vale,
"Why not try for once the mountain,--take a foretaste, snatch by
stealth
Sight and sound, some unconsidered fragment of the hoarded wealth?
Six weeks at its base, yet never once have we together won
Sight or sound by honest climbing: let us two have dared and done
Just so much of twilight journey as may prove to-morrow's jaunt
Not the only mode of wayfare--wheeled to reach the eagle's haunt!"
So, we turned from the low grass-path you were pleased to call "your
own,"
Set our faces to the rose-bloom o'er the summit's front of stone
Where Salève obtains, from Jura and the sunken sun she hides,
Due return of blushing "Good Night," rosy as a borne-off bride's,
For his masculine "Good Morrow" when, with sunrise still in hold,
Gay he hails her, and, magnific, thrilled her black length burns to
gold.
Up and up we went, how careless--nay, how joyous! All was new,
All was strange. "Call progress toilsome? that were just insulting
you!
How the trees must temper noontide! Ah, the thicket's sudden break!
What will be the morning glory, when at dusk thus gleams the lake?
Light by light puts forth Geneva: what a land--and, of the land,
Can there be a lovelier station than this spot where now we stand?
Is it late, and wrong to linger? True, to-morrow makes amends.
Toilsome progress? child's play, call it--specially when one
descends!
There, the dread descent is over--hardly our adventure, though!
Take the vale where late we left it, pace the grass-path, 'mine,'
you know!
Proud completion of achievement!" And we paced it, praising still
That soft tread on velvet verdure as it wound through hill and hill;
And at very end there met us, coming from Collonge, the pair
--All our people of the Chalet--two, enough and none to spare.
So, we made for home together, and we reached it as the stars
One by one came lamping--chiefly that prepotency of Mars--
And your last word was "I owe you this enjoyment!"--met with "Nay:
With yourself it rests to have a month of morrows like to-day!"
Then the meal, with talk and laughter, and the news of that rare
nook
Yet untroubled by the tourist, touched on by no travel-book,
All the same--though latent--patent, hybrid birth of land and sea,
And (our travelled friend assured you)--if such miracle might be--
Comparable for completeness of both blessings--all around
Nature, and, inside her circle, safety from world's sight and
sound--
Comparable to our Saisiaz. "Hold it fast and guard it well!
Go and see and vouch for certain, then come back and never tell
Living soul but us; and haply, prove our sky from cloud as clear,
There may we four meet, praise fortune just as now, another year!"

Thus you charged him on departure: not without the final charge,
"Mind to-morrow's early meeting! We must leave our journey marge
Ample for the wayside wonders: there 's the stoppage at the inn
Three-parts up the mountain, where the hardships of the track begin;
There 's the convent worth a visit; but, the triumph crowning all--
There 's Saleve's own platform facing glory which strikes greatness
small,
--Blanc, supreme above his earth-brood, needles red and white and
green,
Horns of silver, fangs of crystal set on edge in his demesne.
So, some three weeks since, we saw them: so, to-morrow we intend
You shall see them likewise; therefore Good Night till to-morrow,
friend!"
Last, the nothings that extinguish embers of a vivid day:
"What might be the Marshal's next move, what Gambetta's
counter-play?"
Till the landing on the staircase saw escape the latest spark:
"Sleep you well!" "Sleep but as well, you!"--lazy love quenched, all
was dark.

Nothing dark next day at sundawn! Up I rose and forth I fared:
Took my plunge within the bath-pool, pacified the watch-dog scared,
Saw proceed the transmutation--Jura's black to one gold glow,
Trod your level path that let me drink the morning deep and slow,
Reached the little quarry--ravage recompensed by shrub and fern--
Till the overflowing ardors told me time was for return.
So, return I did, and gayly. But, for once, from no far mound
Waved salute a tall white figure. "Has her sleep been so profound?
Foresight, rather, prudent saving strength for day's expenditure!
Ay, the chamber-window 's open: out and on the terrace, sure!"

No, the terrace showed no figure, tall, white, leaning through the
wreaths,
Tangle-twine of leaf and bloom that intercept the air one breathes,
Interpose between one's love and Nature's loving, hill and dale
Down to where the blue lake's wrinkle marks the river's inrush pale
--Mazy Arve: whereon no vessel but goes sliding white and plain,
Not a steamboat pants from harbor but one hears pulsate amain,
Past the city's congregated peace of homes and pomp of spires
--Man's mild protest that there 's something more than Nature, man
requires,
And that, useful as is Nature to attract the tourist's foot,
Quiet slow sure money-making proves the matter's very root,--
Need for body,--while the spirit also needs a comfort reached
By no help of lake or mountain, but the texts whence Calvin
preached.
"Here 's the veil withdrawn from landscape: up to Jura and beyond,
All awaits us ranged and ready; yet she violates the bond,
Neither leans nor looks nor listens: why is this?" A turn of eye
Took the whole sole answer, gave the undisputed reason "why"!

This dread way you had your summons! No premonitory touch,
As you talked and laughed ('t is told me) scarce a minute ere the
clutch
Captured you in cold forever. Cold? nay, warm you were as life
When I raised you, while the others used, in passionate poor strife,
All the means that seemed to promise any aid, and all in vain.
Gone you were, and I shall never see that earnest face again
Grow transparent, grow transfigured with the sudden light that leapt
At the first word's provocation, from the heart-deeps where it
slept.

Therefore, paying piteous duty, what seemed You have we consigned
Peacefully to--what I think were, of all earth-beds, to your mind
Most the choice for quiet, yonder: low walls stop the vines'
approach,
Lovingly Salève protects you; village-sports will ne'er encroach
On the stranger lady's silence, whom friends bore so kind and well
Thither "just for love's sake,"--such their own word was: and who
can tell?
You supposed that few or none had known and loved you in the world:
Maybe! flower that 's full-blown tempts the butterfly, not flower
that 's furled.
But more learned sense unlocked you, loosed the sheath and let
expand
Bud to bell and outspread flower-shape at the least warm touch of
hand
--Maybe, throb of heart, beneath which--quickening farther than it
knew--
Treasure oft was disembosomed, scent all strange and unguessed hue.
Disembosomed, re-embosomed,--must one memory suffice,
Prove I knew an Alpine-rose which all beside named Edelweiss?

Rare thing, red or white, you rest now: two days slumbered through;
and since
One day more will see me rid of this same scene whereat I wince,
Tetchy at all sights and sounds and pettish at each idle charm
Proffered me who pace now singly where we two went arm in arm,--
I have turned upon my weakness: asked, "And what, forsooth, prevents
That, this latest day allowed me, I fulfil of her intents
One she had the most at heart--that we should thus again survey
From Salève Mont Blanc together?" Therefore,--dared and done to-day
Climbing,--here I stand: but you--where?

If a spirit of the place
Broke the silence, bade me question, promised answer,--what disgrace
Did I stipulate "Provided answer suit my hopes, not fears!"
Would I shrink to learn my lifetime's limit--days, weeks, months or
years?
Would I shirk assurance on each point whereat I can but guess--
"Does the soul survive the body? Is there God's self, no or yes?"
If I know my mood, 't were constant--come in whatsoe'er uncouth
Shape it should, nay, formidable--so the answer were but truth.

Well, and wherefore shall it daunt me, when 't is I myself am
tasked,
When, by weakness weakness questioned, weakly answers--weakly asked?
Weakness never needs be falseness: truth is truth in each degree
--Thunder-pealed by God to Nature, whispered by my soul to me.
Nay, the weakness turns to strength and triumphs in a truth beyond:
"Mine is but man's truest answer--how were it did God respond?"
I shall no more dare to mimic such response in futile speech,
Pass off human lisp as echo of the sphere-song out of reach,
Than,--because it well may happen yonder, where the far snows blanch
Mute Mont Blanc, that who stands near them sees and hears an
avalanche,--
I shall pick a clod and throw,--cry, "Such the sight and such the
sound!
What though I nor see nor hear them? Others do, the proofs abound!"
Can I make my eye an eagle's, sharpen ear to recognize
Sound o'er league and league of silence? Can I know, who but
surmise?
If I dared no self-deception when, a week since, I and you
Walked and talked along the grass-path, passing lightly in review
What seemed hits and what seemed misses in a certain
fence-play,--strife
Sundry minds of mark engaged in "On the Soul and Future Life,"--
If I ventured estimating what was come of parried thrust,
Subtle stroke, and, rightly, wrongly, estimating could be just
--Just, though life so seemed abundant in the form which moved by
mine,
I might well have played at feigning, fooling,--laughed "What need
opine
Pleasure must succeed to pleasure, else past pleasure turns to pain,
And this first life claims a second, else I count its good no
gain?"--
Much less have I heart to palter when the matter to decide
Now becomes "Was ending ending once and always, when you died?"
Did the face, the form I lifted as it lay, reveal the loss
Not alone of life but soul? A tribute to yon flowers and moss,
What of you remains beside? A memory! Easy to attest
"Certainly from out the world that one believes who knew her best
Such was good in her, such fair, which fair and good were great
perchance
Had but fortune favored, bidden each shy faculty advance;
After all--who knows another? Only as I know, I speak."
So much of you lives within me while I live my year or week.
Then my fellow takes the tale up, not unwilling to aver
Duly in his turn, "I knew him best of all, as he knew her:
Such he was, and such he was not, and such other might have been
But that somehow every actor, somewhere in this earthly scene,
Fails." And so both memories dwindle, yours and mine together
linked,
Till there is but left for comfort, when the last spark proves
extinct,
This--that somewhere new existence led by men and women new
Possibly attains perfection coveted by me and you;
While ourselves, the only witness to what work our life evolved,
Only to ourselves proposing problems proper to be solved
By ourselves alone,--who working ne'er shall know if work bear fruit
Others reap and garner, heedless how produced by stalk and root,--
We who, darkling, timed the day's birth,--struggling, testified to
peace,--
Earned, by dint of failure, triumph,--we, creative thought, must
cease
In created word, thought's echo, due to impulse long since sped!
Why repine? There 's ever some one lives although ourselves be dead!