Poems . no blot of murder on my brow,Nor any taint of blood upon my robe. — It is the thought ! it is the thought! . . and menJudge us by acts ! ... as though one thunder-clapLet all Olympus out. Unquiet heart,111 fares it with thee since, ten sad years one wild hour of unacquainted didst set wide thy lonely bridal doorsFor a forbidden gtiest to enter in !Last night, methought pale Helen, with a frown,Swept by me, murmuring, I — such ai thou —A Queen in Greece—weak-hearted, (woe is me !)Allured by love — did, in an evil hour,Fall off from duty. Sorrow came. Be-ware !And then,
Poems . no blot of murder on my brow,Nor any taint of blood upon my robe. — It is the thought ! it is the thought! . . and menJudge us by acts ! ... as though one thunder-clapLet all Olympus out. Unquiet heart,111 fares it with thee since, ten sad years one wild hour of unacquainted didst set wide thy lonely bridal doorsFor a forbidden gtiest to enter in !Last night, methought pale Helen, with a frown,Swept by me, murmuring, I — such ai thou —A Queen in Greece—weak-hearted, (woe is me !)Allured by love — did, in an evil hour,Fall off from duty. Sorrow came. Be-ware !And then, in sleep, there passed a bale-ful band, —The ghosts of all the slaughtered under Troy,From this side Styx, who cried, For such a crimeWe fell from our fair palaces on wander, starless, here. For such a crimeA thousand ships were launched, and tumbled downThe topless towers of Ilion, though they roseTo magic music, in the time of Gods !With such fierce thoughts forevermore at war,. MoRMNL. AT 1 Al LAM IHt LIM,tKlNG UA^. — Page 300. CLYTEMNESTRA. 301 Vext not alone by hankering wild regrets,But fears, yet worse, of that which soon must come,My heart waits armed, and from the citadelOf its high sorrow, sees far off dark shapes,And hears the footsteps of NecessityTread near, and nearer, hand in hand with night the flaming Herald warning uigedUp all the hills, — small time to pause and plan !Counsel is weak: and much remains to do,That Agamemnon, and, if else remainOf that enduring band who sailed for TroyTen years ago (and some sailed Lethe-ward),Find us not unprepared for their return. But — hark ! I hear the tread of nimble feetThat sound this way. The rising town is pouredAbout the festive altars of the Gods,And from the lieart of the great Agora,Lets out its gladness for this last nights news.— Ah, .so it is ! Insidious, sly Report,Sounding oblique, like Loxian double-tongued (and with the self-same voice !)To some new
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