Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/413

Rh No surer tidings is it given to speak Of those who wander on the stormy sea. Scarce had die swollen highways of the deep Received our fleet, when ship from kindred ship Was driven, and lost amid the gathering gloom. E'en Agamemnon's self in doubt and fear Went wandering upon the trackless waste, And suffered more from Neptune's buffetings Than he had e'er endured in bloody war. And now, a humble victor, home he comes, With but a shattered remnant of his fleet. Clytemnestra: But say what fate has swallowed up my ships, And scattered our great chieftains o'er the sea? Eurybates: A sorry tale 'twould be: thou bid'st me mix The bitter message with the sweet. But I, Alas, am sick at heart, and cannot tell For very horror our most woeful tale. Clytemnestra: But tell it even so; for he who shrinks From knowledge of his woe has greater fear. And ills half seen are worse than certainty. Eurybates: When Troy lies smouldering 'ncath our Grecian fires We quickly lot the spoil, and seek the sea In eager haste. And now our weary sides Are easéd of the falchion's wonted load; Our shields along the vessels' lofty stems Unheeded hang, and once again our hands, Long used to swords, are fitted to the oar; And all impatiently we wait the word. Then flashed from Agamemnon's ship the sign That bade us homeward speed, and clear and loud The trumpet pealed upon our joyful ears; The flagship's gilded prow gleamed on ahead, The course directing for a thousand ships. A kindly breeze first stole into our sails And urged us softly on; the tranquil waves Scarce rippled with the Zephyr's gentle breath; The sea was all a-glitter with the fleet Which lit e'en while it hid the watery way. 'Tis sweet to see the empty shores of Troy,