CHOROS
CHOROS.
I am come, reverencing power in thee,
O Klutaimnestra! For 't is just we bow
To the ruler's wife, -- the male-seat man-bereaved.
But if thou, having heard good news, -- or none, --
For good news' hope dost sacrifice thus wide,
I would hear gladly: art thou mute, -- no grudge!
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Good-news-announcer, may -- as is the by-word --
Morn become, truly, -- news from Night his mother!
But thou shalt learn joy past all hope of hearing.
Priamos' city have the Argeioi taken.
CHOROS.
How sayest? The word, from want of faith, escaped me.
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Troia the Achaioi hold: do I speak plainly?
CHOROS.
Joy overcreeps me, calling forth the tear-drop.
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Right! for, that glad thou art, thine eye convicts thee.
CHOROS.
For -- what to thee, of all this, trusty token?
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
What's here! how else? unless the god have cheated.
CHOROS.
Haply thou flattering shows of dreams respectest?
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
No fancy would I take of soul sleep-burthened.
CHOROS.
But has there Puffed thee up some unwinged omen?
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
As a young maid's my mind thou mockest grossly.
CHOROS.
Well, at what time was -- even sacked, the city?
KLUTAIMNESTRA.
Of this same mother Night -- the dawn, I tell thee.
CHOROS.
And who of messengers could reach this swiftness?
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The Poetical Works of Robert Browning, volume 13. Robert Browning. London. Smith, Elder, and Co. 1889.
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