I.

DAUGHTER of gods and men, great ruling will,
Seething in oily rage within the sphere
Which gods and men assign the woman here,
Till, stricken where the wound approved thee still
Mother and mortal, all the tide of ill
Rushed through the gap, and nothing more seemed dear
But power to wreak high ruin, nothing clear
But the long dream you waited to fulfil.

Mother and spouse—queen of the king of men—
What fury brought Ægysthus to thy side—
That bearded semblant, man to outward ken,
But else mere mawworm, made to fret man's pride?
Woman, thy foot was on thy tyrant then—
Mother, thou wert avenged for love defied!
II.

Woman and Greek—so doubly trained in art!—
Spreading the purple for the conqueror's tread,
Bowing with feline grace thy royal head—
How perfect whelp-robbed lioness thy part!
One wrong the more to wring the ancient smart
Then three swift strokes, and the slow hope blooms red,
Who shamed the hero lays him with the dead,
Where nevermore his word may vex her heart.

Bold queen, what were to thee the gods of Greece?
What had been any god of any name,
More than the lion-heart you made to cease,
Or the live dog to all your humours tame?—
The very furies left your soul in peace
Until Orestes' sword drave home their claim.