Page:Agamemnon (Murray 1920).djvu/82

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We are astonied at thy speech. To fling,

Wild mouth! such vaunt over thy murdered King!

Wouldst fright me, like a witless woman? Lo,

This bosom shakes not. And, though well ye know,

I tell you Curse me as ye will, or bless,

'Tis all one This is Agamemnon; this,

My husband, dead by my right hand, a blow

Struck by a righteous craftsman. Aye, 'tis so.

Woman, what evil tree,

What poison grown of the ground

Or draught of the drifting sea

Way to thy lips hath found,

Making thee clothe thy heart

In rage, yea, in curses burning

When thine own people pray?

Thou hast hewn, thou hast cast away;

And a thing cast away thou art,

A thing of hate and a spurning!

Aye, now, for me, thou hast thy words of fate;

Exile from Argos and the people's hate

For ever! Against him no word was cried,

When, recking not, as 'twere a beast that died,

With flocks abounding o'er his wide domain,

He slew his child, my love, my flower of pain,