Childish that heart, that reason wild,
By such vague messengers beguiled:
One hour it swells with joy elate,
The next accuses adverse fate;
Fiction to gloss with truth's bright hue,
And hail unborn events as true,
Is woman's part-but, vainly gay,

Quick the bright pageant flits away.

SCENE III.

CLYTEMNESTRA enters.-CHORUS.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Soon shall we know whether the bickering glare
Of these bright torches and successive lights
The truth proclaim, or, like some flattering dream,
Cheat us with vain delusive images.

From yonder strand behold a herald comes,

With boughs of olive he is shaded o'er.

The dust in clouds* around him marks his speed:
No distant signal now, no beacon's flame,
But mortal accents† shall our doubts relieve.

* The dust in clouds, &c. Literally rendered it would be," the thirsty dust, sister of the mud, and closely connected with it."

But mortal accents, &c. The commentators have differed much on the precise meaning of the words ὡς ουτ' ἄναυδος, &c. The true force of the words, we conceive, is attained, by regarding them as an allusion

His words will either swell our tide of joy,
Or-but away, all thoughts to hope opposed.
Brighter and brighter still may fortune smile.
Ch. Accursed be he who other wishes breathes.

SCENE IV.

HERALD enters.

CHORUS, HERALD, CLYTEMNESTRA.

HERALD.

Hail, Argos! hail, my much loved native land:
In this tenth year of absence I behold,
'Midst many frustrate hopes, one realised.
I ventured not to cherish the fond thought

to the herald flame, which, though a splendid and striking, was a dumb messenger, whereas the living herald, who was then in sight, Clytemnestra says, is no dumb messenger, nor one that will signify the truth by fiery signals, but by articulate sounds.

That here in Argive soil my bones would rest.*
Loved soil, thrice hail! refulgent orb of day!
Jove, power supreme! and thou, oh Pythian king,
Pointing at us no more the arrowy death!
Skamander's banks beheld thee long our foe;
But o'er us now, Apollo, spread once more
Thy bright protecting shield: ye gods that guide

f

* The poet who is true to nature is the poet of all times and countries. This is one great source of the charm which attends the study of the great writers of antiquity. The voice of nature speaks in this speech of the herald, and his expressions of delight at finding himself again on the shores of his native land, and amidst objects inexpressibly dear to him by the tenderest ties of kindred and of country, represent the emotions of an unsophisticated and feeling mind, under similar circumstances, in every part of the world. Thus Homer, eminently the poet of nature, describes Agamemnon as melting into tears on again treading the soil of his beloved Argos.

ἤτοι ὁ μὲν χαίρων ἐπεβήσετο πατρίδος αἴης

καὶ κύνει ἁπτόμενος ἣν πατρίδα· πολλὰ δ ̓ ἀπ ̓ αὐτοῦ Δάκρυα θερμὰ χέοντ' ἐπεὶ ἀσπασίως ἴδε γαιᾶν.

Odyss. iy. 521.

The fate of battles-Hermes, power benign,

1

The herald's friend, the herald's favourite theme-
And you immortal heroes, who our hosts
Urged to the combat, on the scant remains '''''
Escaped the thirsty spear, propitious smile.
Ye royal mansions of our kings, loved walls-
Ye seats revered-ye deities that face*
The orient sun and drink his golden rays—
If on our king ye e'er have favouring smiled,
Oh! welcome his return so long delayed ;-
Bright as the sun chasing the mists of night,
His country's joy, great Agamemnon comes:
Hail his approach; in him the chief behold,
Jove's fated instrument, whose potent arm
Has passed destruction's ploughshare over Troy.†

dresses himself to the deities or demons, i. e. the inferior race of gods, whose statues were placed in the open air, in shrines or on pedestals, towards the east. The expression in the original is, δαίμονές τ' ἀντήλιοι.

Has passed destruction's ploughshare, &c. This image is quite in the style of the Hebrew prophets.