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ATH.
A fair intention! But resolve me this:
Hast dyed thy falchion deep in Argive blood?

AI.
There is my boast; that charge I’ll ne’er deny.

ATH.
Have Atreus’ sons felt thy victorious might?

AI.
They have. No more they’ll make a scorn of me!

ATH.
I take it, then, they are dead.

AI.
Ay, now they are dead,
Let them arise and rob me of mine arms!

ATH.
Good. Next inform us of Laertes’ son;
How stands his fortune? Hast thou let him go?

AI.
The accursed fox! Dost thou inquire of him?

ATH.
Ay, of Odysseus, thy late adversary.

AI.
He sits within, dear lady, to my joy,
Bound; for I mean him not just yet to die.

ATH.
What fine advantage wouldst thou first achieve?

AI.
First, tie him to a pillar of my hall–

ATH.
Poor wretch! What torment wilt thou wreak on him?

AI.
Then stain his back with scourging till he die.

ATH.
Nay, ’tis too much. Poor caitiff! Not the scourge!

AI.
Pallas, in all things else have thou thy will,
But none shall wrest Odysseus from this doom.

ATH.
Well, since thou art determined on the deed,
Spare nought of thine intent: indulge thy hand!

AI.
(waving the bloody scourge).

I go! But thou, I charge thee, let thine aid
Be evermore like valiant as to-day.

[Exit]

ATH.
The gods are strong, Odysseus. Dost thou see?
What man than Aias was more provident,
Or who for timeliest action more approved?

OD.
I know of none. But, though he hates me sore,
I pity him, poor mortal, thus chained fast
To a wild and cruel fate,–weighing not so much
His fortune as mine own. For now I feel
All we who live are but an empty show
And idle pageant of a shadowy dream.

ATH.
Then, warned by what thou seest, be thou not rash
To vaunt high words toward Heaven, nor swell thy port
Too proudly, if in puissance of thy hand
Thou passest others, or in mines of wealth.
Since Time abases and uplifts again
All that is human, and the modest heart
Is loved by Heaven, who hates the intemperate will.

[Exeunt]

CHORUS
(entering).

Telamonian child, whose hand
Guards our wave-encircled land,
Salamis that breasts the sea,
Good of thine is joy to me;
But if One who reigns above
Smite thee, or if murmurs move
From fierce Danaaens in their hate
Full of threatening to thy state,
All my heart for fear doth sigh,
Shrinking like a dove’s soft eye.

Hardly had the darkness waned,
[Half-Chorus I.]
When our ears were filled and pained
With huge scandal on thy fame.
Telling, thine the arm that came
To the cattle-browsed mead,
Wild with prancing of the steed,
And that ravaged there and slew
With a sword of fiery hue
All the spoils that yet remain,
By the sweat of spearmen ta’en.

Such report against thy life,
[Half-Chorus II.]
Whispered words with falsehood rife,
Wise Odysseus bringing near
Shrewdly gaineth many an ear:
Since invention against thee
Findeth hearing speedily,
Tallying with the moment’s birth;
And with loudly waxing mirth
Heaping insult on thy grief,
Each who hears it glories more
Than the tongue that told before.
Every slander wins belief
Aimed at souls whose worth is chief:
Shot at me, or one so small,
Such a bolt might harmless fall.
Ever toward the great and high
Creepeth climbing jealousy
Yet the low without the tall
Make at need a tottering wall
Let the strong the feeble save
And the mean support the brave.