I LOVED him not; and yet now he is gone I feel I am alone.

I check'd him while he spoke; yet could he speak,

Alas! I would not check.

For reasons not to love him once I sought,

And wearied all my thought

To vex myself and him: I now would give

My love, could he but live

Who lately lived for me, and when he found

'Twas vain, in holy ground

He hid his face amid the shades of death.

I waste for him my breath

Who wasted his for me: but mine returns,

And this lorn bosom burns With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, And waking me to weep Tears that had melted his soft heart:

Again to pierce my bosom? 'tis unfit For sacrifice; no blood is in its veins, No God requires it here: here are no wrongs

To vindicate, no realms to overthrow. You standing as at Aulis in the fane, With face averted, holding (as before) My hand; but yours burns not, as then it burn'd.

This alone shows me we are with the Blessed,

Nor subject to the sufferings we have borne.

I will win back past kindness.

Tell me then, Tell how my mother fares who loved me

So,

And griev'd, as 'twere for you, to see me part.

Frown not, but pardon me for tarrying Amid too idle words, nor asking how She prais'd us both (which most?) for what we did.

Agamemnon. Ye Gods who govern here! do human pangs Reach the pure soul thus far below? do tears

Spring in these meadows?

1 "I imagine Agamemnon to descend from his horrible death, and to meet instantly his daughter. By the nature of things, by the suddenness of the event. Iphigeneia can have heard nothing of her mother's double crime, adultery and murder." Aspasia to Cleone, introducing the poem as first given in Pericles and Aspusia, 1836

Agamemnon. Never mayst thou, Iphi geneia, feel it!

Aulis had no sharp sword, thou wouldst exclaim,

Greece no avenger-I, her chief so late, Through Erebos, through Elysium, writhe beneath it.

Iphigeneia. Come, I have better diadems than those

Of Argos and Mycenai: come away, And I will weave them for you on the bank.

You will not look so pale when you have walk'd

A little in the grove, and have told all
Those sweet fond words the widow sent
her child.
Agamemnon.

O Earth! I suffered less upon thy shores!

(Aside.) The bath that bubbled with my blood, the blows

That spilt it (O worse torture!) must she know?

Ah! the first woman coming from Mycenai

Will pine to pour this poison in her ear, Taunting sad Charon for his slow ad

Of full-orb'd gladness! Shades we are indeed,

But mingled, let us feel it, with the blessed.

I knew it, but forgot it suddenly,
Altho' I felt it all at your approach.
Look on me; smile with me at my
illusion.

You are so like what you have ever been
(Except in sorrow!) I might well forget
I could not win you as I used to do.
It was the first embrace since my de-
scent

I ever aim'd at: those who love me live, Save one, who loves me most, and now would chide me.

Agamemnon. We want not, O Iphigeneia, we

Want not embrace, nor kiss that cools the heart [more

With purity, nor words that more and Teach what we know, from those we know, and sink

Often most deeply where they fall most

light.

And must away to earth again. (Ascending.) Where thou art, thou Of braided brow,

Thou cull'd too soon from Argive bowers, Where thy sweet voice is heard among The shades that thrill with choral song, None can regret the parted Hours.

(As the Hours depart, the shades of the Argive warriors who had fought at Troy approach and chant in chorus the praises of Agamemnon and his daughter.)

Chorus of Argives

Maiden! be thou the spirit that breathes Triumph and joy into our song! Wear and bestow these amaranthwreaths,

Iphigeneia-they belong

To none but thee and her who reigns (Less chanted) on our bosky plains.

Semi-chorus

Iphigeneia! 'tis to thee

Glory we owe and victory.

Clash, men of Argos, clash your

arms,

To martial worth and virgin charms.

Other Semi-chorus

Ye men of Argos! it was sweet
To roll the fruits of conquest at the feet
Whose whispering sound made bravest
hearts beat fast.

This we have known at home;
But hither we are come

To crown the king who ruled us first and last.

Chorus

Father of Argos! king of men ! We chant the hymn of praise to thee.

In serried ranks we stand again,

Our glory safe, our country free.

Tydeus! and worthy of thy son. "Tis Ajax wears them now; for he Rules over Adria's stormy sea.

He threw them to the friend who lost
(By the dim judgment of the host)
Those wet with tears which Thetis gave
The youth most beauteous of the brave.
In vain the insatiate soul would go
For comfort to his peers below.
Clash! ere we leave them all the plain,
Clash! Io Paean! once again.1 1836.

THE DEATH OF ARTEMIDORA 2 "ARTEMIDORA! Gods invisible, While thou art lying faint along the couch,

Have tied the sandal to thy slender feet And stand beside thee, ready to convey Thy weary steps where other rivers flow. Refreshing shades will waft thy weari

ness

Away, and voices like thy own come near And nearer, and solicit an embrace."

Artemidora sigh'd, and would have pressed

The hand now pressing hers, but was too weak.

Iris stood over her dark hair unseen While thus Elpenor spake. He looked into Eyes that had given light and life erewhile

To those above them, but now dim with tears

And wakefulness. Again he spake of joy Eternal. At that word, that sad word, joy,

Faithful and fond her bosom heav'd once

more:

Her head fell back; and now a loud deep sob

Swell'd thro' the darken'd chamber; 'twas not hers. 1836.

CORINNA TO TANAGRA, FROM

ATHENS

TANAGRA! think not I forget

Thy beautifully storied streets; Be sure my memory bathes yet

In clear Thermodon, and yet greets The blithe and liberal shepherd-boy,

1 See Landor's own comment on this poem, p. 440.

21836, in Pericles and Aspasia. Slightly altered and included in the Hellenics, 1846, etc., from which the present text is taken. See Colvin's comment on the poem, in his Life of Landor, pp. 193-4.