Page:House of Atreus 2nd ed (1889).djvu/101

Rh

I turn not to denial: thus I wrought

So that he could nor flee nor ward his doom.

Even as the trammel hems the scaly shoal,

I trapped him with inextricable toils,

The ill abundance of a baffling robe;

Then smote him, once, again—and at each wound

He cried aloud, then as in death relaxed

Each limb and sank to earth; and as he lay,

Once more I smote him, with the last third blow,

Sacred to Hades, saviour of the dead.

And thus he fell, and as he passed away,

Spirit with body chafed; each dying breath

Flung from his breast swift bubbling jets of gore,

And the dark sprinklings of the rain of blood

Fell upon me; and I was fain to feel

That dew—not sweeter is the rain of heaven

To cornland, when the green sheath teems with grain.

Elders of Argos—since the thing stands so,

I bid ye to rejoice, if such your will:

Rejoice or not, I vaunt and praise the deed,

And well I ween, if seemly it could be,

'Twere not ill done to pour libations here,

Justly—ay, more than justly—on his corpse

Who filled his home with curses as with wine,

And thus returned to drain the cup he filled.

I marvel at thy tongue's audacity,

To vaunt thus loudly o'er a husband slain.

Ye hold me as a woman, weak of will,

And strive to sway me: but my heart is stout,

Nor fears to speak its uttermost to you,