POETRY.
IDYLLS OF THE ILIAD. —XII.
AGAMEMNON.
4` FOR that the princes to the pride of place
Chose me in Argos, and for love of fame, And honour of a brother, to this land Came I, the king of countless ships and men.
But I am weary of the war, for Zeus Bound me to evil destiny with words 'Of lying promise, saying I should sack This city, and should load my ships with spoil, And sail the homeward seas, and reach my home.
But thrice three years upon these windy plains We battle, nor doth any end appear ; So that the princes' hearts are stirred to wrath, -Odysseus, Diomedes, and the rest, Murmuring to do my bidding, and are like 'To scorn my kingship, for they say that Zeus Hath given the sceptre to one faint of heart, Nor forward for the fray, because my voice Was urgent in the council, that the men should climb the ships, and spread the sails, and seek Greece, and the wives they love, and rest from war.
But mine is not the blame, although the grief Is mine : for great Achilles in his tent Sits wrathful, not forgetting, nor will heed My words of friendship, nor my proffered gifts, Rich recompense for all the wrong I did, When, moved by folly, in the hot debate, I angered him with bitter speech, and claimed The maid, my right, but anger is the curse That Ate sets between the lips of men.
And he sits heedless, as a rock not heeds The winds that blow around it, and endures His comrades slain by Hector, and the ships Fired, and himself the cause of all our woes.
But I have faced the battle, and have slain The men who met me, and have spoiled their arms, Triumphant, on the plains, and Hector fled My coming, and my hands were dashed with blood, And all my armour; then Antenor's son Coon, for anger at his brother slain, Iphidamas, and aided by some god, Thrust through my wrist, and anguish, such as comes To women in their childbirth, bare me down.
So from the Scman gate and Ilus' tomb They brought me to the safety of the ships ; And Hector lords it in the field, nor dare Our bravest front him, mowing down the ranks, As mowers in a meadow mow the swathe, Glory to him, but shame to me and mine.
And now I greatly fear me Zeus hath willed That either I should die here, nor return To Clytemnestra, who in Argos sits, Awaiting me, or else that we should flee, Our purpose unaccomplished, and my name Should serve as mockery to after men.
Rather than this, may wide earth yawn, and Zeus Hurl my fire-shrivelled corpse to deepest Hell."
So Agamemnon communed, king of men,
Nor knew what doom the Fates assigned, who spin The thread of life, to each man as they will, To one man wealth, and joy of lengthened days, Peace in his land, and children at his hearth ; But grief to him, and sudden violence Of bloodshed, and a felon murder, done By hands that should be dearest, slaying him, As a stalled ox is slain for some rich feast, And all his comrades, such a sight, as moves The sternest heart to pity ; for the cups Were filled, to pour due homage to the gods.
That gave them safe return : but that false wife, Leagued with her paramour, Thyestes' son, Had marked their shore-bound ships, and framed the guile, And lured him to the banquet, and bade arm The hirelings of the house. So by base swords He died who wrought Troy's fall, nor saw again Tyrinthian Argos, nor his fathers' throne. 0. OGLE.
Previous page
