[Antistrophe.]
He slew the Snake; he cast, men say,
Themis, the child of Earth, away
From Pytho and her hallowed stream;
Then Earth, in dark derision,
Brought forth the Peoples of the Dream
And all the tribes of Vision.
And men besought them; and from deep
Confused underworlds of sleep
They showed blind things that erst had been
And are and yet shall follow
So did avenge that old Earth Queen
Her child’s wrong on Apollo.
Then swiftly flew that conquering one
To Zeus on high, and round the throne
Twining a small indignant hand,
Prayed him to send redeeming
To Pytho from that troublous band
Sprung from the darks of dreaming.
Zeus laughed to see the babe, I trow,
So swift to claim his golden rite;
He laughed and bowed his head, in vow
To still those voices of the night.
And so from out the eyes of men
That dark dream-truth was lost again;
And Phoebus, throneed where the throng
Prays at the golden portal,
Again doth shed in sunlit song
Hope unto all things mortal.
[enter a MESSENGER, running.]
MESSENGER.
Ho, watchers of the fane! Ho, altar-guard,
Where is King Thoas gone? Undo the barred
Portals, and call the King! The King I seek.
LEADER.
What tidings—if unbidden I may speak?
MESSENGER.
The strangers both are gone, and we beguiled,
By some dark plot of Agamemnon’s child:
Fled from the land! And on a barque of Greece
They bear the heaven-sent shape of Artemis.
LEADER.
Thy tale is past belief.—Go, swiftly on,
And find the King. He is but newly gone.
MESSENGER.
Where went he? He must know of what has passed!
LEADER.
I know not where he went. But follow fast
And seek him. Thou wilt light on him ere long.
MESSENGER.
See there! The treason of a woman’s tongue!
Ye all are in the plot, I warrant ye!
LEADER.
Thy words are mad! What are the men to me? …
Go to the palace, go!
MESSENGER (seeing the great knocker on the
temple door.)
I will not stir
Till word be come by this good messenger
If Thoas be within these gates or no.—
[thundering at the door.]
Ho, loose the portals! Ye within! What ho!
Open, and tell our master one doth stand
Without here, with strange evil in his hand.
[enter THAOS from the temple.]
THOAS.
Who dares before this portal consecrate
Make uproar and lewd battering of the gate?
Thy noise hath broke the Altar’s ancient peace.
MESSENGER.
Ye Gods! They swore to me—and bade me cease
My search—the King was gone. And all the while …!
THOAS.
These women? How? What sought they by such guile?
MESSENGER.
Of them hereafter!—Give me first thine ear
For greater things. The virgin minister
That served our altar, she hath fled from this
And stolen the dread Shape of Artemis,
With those two Greeks. The cleansing was a lie.
THOAS.
She fled?—What wild hope whispered her to fly?
MESSENGER.
The hope to save Orestes. Wonder on!
THOAS.
Orestes—how? Not Clytemnestra’s son?
MESSENGER.
And our pledged altar-offering. ’Tis the same.
THOAS.
O marvel beyond marvel! By what name
More rich in wonder can I name thee right?
MESSENGER.
Give not thy mind to that. Let ear and sight
Be mine awhile; and when thou hast heard the whole
Devise how best to trap them ere the goal.
THOAS.
Aye, tell thy tale. Our Tauric seas stretch far,
Where no man may escape my wand of war.
MESSENGER.
Soon as we reached that headland of the sea,
Whereby Orestes’ barque lay secretly,
We soldiers holding, by thine own commands,
The chain that bound the strangers, in our hands,
There Agamemnon’s daughter made a sign,
Bidding us wait far off, for some divine
And secret fire of cleansing she must make.
We could but do her will. We saw her take
The chain in her own hands and walk behind.
Indeed thy servants bore a troubled mind,
O King, but how do else? So time went by.
Meanwhile to make it seem she wrought some high
Magic, she cried aloud: then came the long
Drone of some strange and necromantic song,
As though she toiled to cleanse that blood; and there
Sat we, that long time, waiting. Till a fear
O’ertook us, that the men might slip their chain
And strike the priestess down and plunge amain
For safety: yet the dread our eyes to fill
With sights unbidden held us, and we still
Sat silent. But at last all spoke as one,
Forbid or not forbid, to hasten on
And find them. On we went, and suddenly,
With oarage poised, like wings upon the sea,
An Argive ship we saw, her fifty men
All benched, and on the shore, with every chain
Cast off, our strangers, standing by the stern!
The prow was held by stay-poles: turn by turn
The anchor-cable rose; some men had strung
Long ropes into a ladder, which they swung
Over the side for those two Greeks to climb.
The plot was open, and we lost no time
But flew to seize the cables and the maid,
And through the stern dragged out the steering-blade,
To spoil her course, and shouted: “Ho, what way
Is this, to sail the seas and steal away
An holy image and its minister?
What man art them, and what man’s son, to bear
Our priestess from the land?” And clear thereon
He spoke: “Orestes, Agamemnon’s son,
And brother to this maid, whom here in peace
I bear, my long lost sister, back to Greece.”
We none the less clung fast to her, and strove
To drag her to thy judgment-seat. Thereof
Came trouble and bruised jaws. For neither they
Nor we had weapons with us. But the way
Hard-beaten fist and heel from those two men
Rained upon ribs and flank—again, again…
To touch was to fall gasping! Aye, they laid
Their mark on all of us, till back we fled
With bleeding crowns, and some with blinded eyes,
Up a rough bank of rock. There on the rise
We found good stones and stood, and fought again.
But archers then came out, and sent a rain
Of arrows from the poop, and drove us back.
And just then—for a wave came, long and black,
And swept them shoreward—lest the priestess’ gown
Should feel the sea, Orestes stooping down
Caught her on his left shoulder: then one stride
Out through the sea, the ladder at the side
Was caught, and there amid the benches stood
The maid of Argos and the carven wood
Of heaven, the image of God’s daughter high.
And up from the mid galley rose a cry:
“For Greece! For Greece, O children of the shores
Of storm! Give way, and let her feel your oars;
Churn the long waves to foam. The prize is won.
The prize we followed, on and ever on,
Friendless beyond the blue Symplegades.”
A roar of glad throats echoed down the breeze
And fifty oars struck, and away she flew.
And while the shelter lasted, she ran true
Full for the harbour-mouth; but ere she well
Reached it, the weather caught her, and the swell
Was strong. Then sudden in her teeth a squall
Drove the sail bellying back. The men withal
Worked with set teeth, kicking against the stream.
But back, still back, striving as in a dream,
She drifted. Then the damsel rose and prayed:
“O Child of Leto, save thy chosen maid
From this dark land to Hellas, and forgive
My theft this day, and let these brave men live.
Dost thou not love thy brother, Holy One?
What marvel if I also love mine own?”
The sailors cried a paean to her prayers,
And set those brown and naked arms of theirs,
Half-mad with strain, quick swinging chime on chime
To the helmsman’s shout. But vainly; all the time
Nearer and nearer rockward they were pressed.
One of our men was wading to his breast,
Some others roping a great grappling-hook,
While I sped hot-foot to the town, to look
For thee, my Prince, and tell thee what doth pass.
Come with me, Lord. Bring manacles of brass
And bitter bonds. For now, unless the wave
Fall sudden calm, no mortal power can save
Orestes. There is One that rules the sea
Who grieved for Troy and hates her enemy:
Poseidon’s self will give into thine hand
And ours this dog, this troubler of the land—
The priestess, too, who, recking not what blood
Ran red in Aulis, hath betrayed her god!
LEADER.
Woe, woe! To fall in these men’s hands again,
Mistress, and die, and see thy brother slain!
THOAS.
Ho, all ye dwellers of my savage town
Set saddle on your steeds, and gallop down
To watch the heads, and gather what is cast
Alive from this Greek wreck. We shall make fast,
By God’s help, the blasphemers.—Send a corps
Out in good boats a furlong from the shore;
So we shall either snare them on the seas
Or ride them down by land, and at our ease
Fling them down gulfs of rock, or pale them high
On stakes in the sun, to feed our birds and die.
Women: you knew this plot. Each one of you
Shall know, before the work I have to do
Is done, what torment is.—Enough. A clear
Task is afoot. I must not linger here.
[While THOAS is moving off, his men shouting and running before and behind him, there comes a sudden blasting light and thunder-roll, and ATHENA is seen in the air confronting them.]
ATHENA.
Ho, whither now, so hot upon the prey,
King Thoas? It is I that bid thee stay,
Athena, child of Zeus. Turn back this flood
Of wrathful men, and get thee temperate blood.
Apollo’s word and Fate’s ordained path
Have led Orestes here, to escape the wrath
Of Them that Hate. To Argos he must bring
His sister’s life, and guide that Holy Thing
Which fell from heaven, in mine own land to dwell.
So shall his pain have rest, and all be well.
Thou hast heard my speech, O King. No death from thee
May share Orestes between rocks and sea:
Poseidon for my love doth make the sore
Waves gentle, and set free his labouring oar.
And thou, O far away—for, far or near
A goddess speaketh and thy heart must hear—
Go on thy ways, Orestes, bearing home
The Image and thy sister. When ye come
To god-built Athens, lo, a land there is
Half hid on Attica’s last boundaries,
A little land, hard by Karystus’ Rock,
But sacred. It is called by Attic folk
Halae. Build there a temple, and bestow
Therein thine Image, that the world may know
The tale of Tauris and of thee, cast out
From pole to pole of Greece, a blood-hound rout
Of ill thoughts driving thee. So through the whole
Of time to Artemis the Tauropole
Shall men make hymns at Halae. And withal
Give them this law. At each high festival,
A sword, in record of thy death undone,
Shall touch a man’s throat, and the red blood run—
One drop, for old religion’s sake. In this
Shall live that old red rite of Artemis.
And them, Iphigenia, by the stair
Of Brauron in the rocks, the Key shalt bear
Of Artemis. There shalt thou live and die,
And there have burial. And a gift shall lie
Above thy shrine, fair raiment undefiled
Left upon earth by mothers dead with child.
Ye last, O exiled women, true of heart
And faithful found, ye shall in peace depart,
Each to her home: behold Athena’s will.
Orestes, long ago on Ares’ Hill
I saved thee, when the votes of Death and Life
Lay equal: and henceforth, when men at strife
So stand, mid equal votes of Life and Death,
My law shall hold that Mercy conquereth.
Begone. Lead forth thy sister from this shore
In peace; and thou, Thoas, be wroth no more.
THOAS.
Most high Athena, he who bows not low
His head to God’s word spoken, I scarce know
How such an one doth live. Orestes hath
Fled with mine Image hence … I bear no wrath.
Nor yet against his sister. There is naught,
Methinks, of honour in a battle fought
’Gainst gods. The strength is theirs. Let those two fare
Forth to thy land and plant mine Image there.
I wish them well.
These bondwomen no less
I will send free to Greece and happiness,
And stay my galleys’ oars, and bid this brand
Be sheathed again, Goddess, at thy command.
ATHENA.
’Tis well, O King. For that which needs must be
Holdeth the high gods as it holdeth thee.
Winds of the north, O winds that laugh and run,
Bear now to Athens Agamemnon’s son:
Myself am with you, o’er long leagues of foam
Guiding my sister’s hallowed Image home.
[she floats away.]