Agamemnon

The Scene represents a space in front of the Palace of Agamemnon in Argos, with an Altar of Zeus in the centre and many other altars at the sides. On a high terrace of the roof stands a Watchman. It is night.

This waste of year-long vigil I have prayed
God for some respite, watching elbow-stayed,
As sleuthhounds watch, above the Atreidae’s hall,
Till well I know yon midnight festival
Of swarming stars, and them that lonely go,
Bearers to man of summer and of snow,
Great lords and shining, throned in heavenly fire.

And still I await the sign, the beacon pyre
That bears Troy’s capture on a voice of flame
Shouting o’erseas. So surely to her aim
Cleaveth a woman’s heart, man-passionèd!
And when I turn me to my bed—my bed
Dew-drenched and dark and stumbling, to which near
Cometh no dream nor sleep, but alway Fear
Breathes round it, warning, lest an eye once fain
To close may close too well to wake again;
Think I perchance to sing or troll a tune
For medicine against sleep, the music soon
Changes to sighing for the tale untold
Of this house, not well mastered as of old.

Howbeit, may God yet send us rest, and light
The flame of good news flashed across the night. He is silent, watching. Suddenly at a distance in the night there is a glimmer of fire, increasing presently to a blaze.
Ha!
O kindler of the dark, O daylight birth
Of dawn and dancing upon Argive earth
For this great end! All hail!—What ho, within!
What ho! Bear word to Agamemnon’s queen
To rise, like dawn, and lift in answer strong
To this glad lamp her women’s triumph-song,
If verily, verily, Ilion’s citadel
Is fallen, as yon beacons flaming tell.