Chapter 145

Warder.The gods I ask deliverance from these labors,Watch of a year's length whereby, slumbering through itOn the Atreidai's roofs on elbow,—dog-like—I know of nightly star-groups the assemblage,And those that bring to men winter and summer,Bright dynasts, as they pride them in the æther—Stars, when they wither, and the uprisings of them.And now on ward I wait the torch's token,The glow of fire, shall bring from Troia messageAnd word of capture: so prevails audaciousThe man's-way-planning hoping heart of woman.But when I, driven from night-rest, dew-drenched, hold toThis couch of mine—not looked upon by visions,Since fear instead of sleep still stands beside me,So as that fast I fix in sleep no eyelids—And when to sing or chirp a tune I fancy,For slumber such song-remedy infusing,I wail then, for this House's fortune groaning,Not, as of old, after the best ways governed.Now, lucky be deliverance from these labors,At good news—the appearing dusky fire!O hail, thou lamp of night, a day-long lightnessRevealing, and of dances the ordainment!Halloo, halloo!To Agamemnon's wife I show, by shouting,That, from bed starting up at once, i' the householdJoyous acclaim, good-omened to this torch-blaze,She send aloft if haply Ilion's cityBe taken, as the beacon boasts announcing.Ay, and, for me, myself will dance a prelude,For, that my masters' dice drop right, I 'll reckon:Since thrice-six has it thrown to me, this signal.Well, may it hap that, as he comes, the love handO' the household's lord I may sustain with this hand!As for the rest, I 'm mute: on tongue a big oxHas trodden. Yet this House, if voice it take should,Most plain would speak. So, willing I myself speakTo those who know: to who know not—I 'm blankness.Choros.The tenth year this, since Priamos' great match,King Menelaos, Agamemnon King,—The strenuous yoke-pair of the Atreidai's honorTwo-throned, two-sceptred, whereof Zeus was donor—Did from this land the aid, the armament dispatch,The thousand-sailored force of Argives clamoring"Ares" from out the indignant breast, as flingPassion forth vultures which, because of griefAway,—as are their young ones,—with the thief,Lofty above their brood-nests wheel in ring,Row round and round with oar of either wing,Lament the bedded chicks, lost labor that was love:Which hearing, one above—Whether Apollon, Pan or Zeus—that wail,Sharp-piercing bird-shriek of the guests who fareHousemates with gods in air—Such-an-one sends, against who these assail,What, late-sent, shall not failOf punishing—Erinus. Here as there,The Guardian of the Guest Zeus, the excelling one,Sends against Alexandros either sonOf Atreus: for that wife, the many-husbanded,Appointing many a tug that tries the limb,While the knee plays the prop in dust, while, shredTo morsels, lies the spear-shaft; in those grimMarriage-prolusions when their Fury wedDanaoi and Troes, both alike. All 's said:Things are where things are, and, as fate has willed,So shall they be fulfilled.Not gently-grieving, not just doling outThe drops of expiation—no, nor tears distilled—Shall he we know of bring the hard aboutTo soft—that intense ireAt those mock rites unsanctified by fire.But we pay naught here: through our flesh, age-weighed,Left out from who gave aidIn that day,—we remain,Staying on staves a strengthThe equal of a child's at length.For when young marrow in the breast doth reign,That 's the old man's match,—Ares out of placeIn either: but in oldest age's case,Foliage a-fading, why, he wends his wayOn three feet, and, no stronger than a child,Wanders about gone wild,A dream in day.But thou, Tundareus' daughter, Klutaimnestra queen,What need? What new? What having heard or seen,By what announcement's tidings, everywhereSettest thou, round about, the sacrifice aflare?For, of all gods the city-swaying,Those supernal, those infernal,Those of the fields', those of the mart's obeying,—The altars blaze with gifts;And here and there, heaven-high the torch upliftsFlame—medicated with persuasions mild,With foul admixture unbeguiled—Of holy unguent, from the clotted chrismBrought from the palace, safe in its abysm.Of these things, speaking what may be indeedBoth possible and lawful to concede,Healer do thou become!—of this solicitudeWhich, now, stands plainly forth of evil mood,And, then ... but from oblations, hope, to-dayGracious appearing, wards awayFrom soul the insatiate care,The sorrow at my breast, devouring there!Empowered am I to singThe omens, what their force which, journeying,Rejoiced the potentates:(For still, from God, inflatesMy breast, song-suasion: age,Born to the business, still such war can wage)—How the fierce bird against the Teukris landDispatched, with spear and executing hand,The Achaian's two-throned empery—o'er Hellas' youthTwo rulers with one mind:The birds' king to these kings of ships, on high,—The black sort, and the sort that's white behind,—Appearing by the palace, on the spear-throw side,In right sky-regions, visible far and wide,—Devouring a hare-creature, great with young,Balked of more racings they, as she from whom they sprung!Ah, Linos, say—ah, Linos, song of wail!But may the good prevail!The prudent army-prophet seeing twoThe Atreidai, two their tempers, knewThose feasting on the hareThe armament-conductors were;And thus he spoke, explaining signs in view."In time, this outset takes the town of Priamos:But all before its towers,—the people's wealth that was,Of flocks and herds,—as sure, shall booty-sharing thenceDrain to the dregs away, by battle violence.Only, have care lest grudge of any god disturbWith cloud the unsullied shine of that great force, the curbOf Troia, struck with dampBeforehand in the camp!For envyingly isThe virgin ArtemisToward—her father's flying hounds—this House—The sacrificers of the piteousAnd cowering beast,Brood and all, ere the birth: she hates the eagles' feast.Ah, Linos, say—ah, Linos, song of wail!But may the good prevail!"Thus ready is the beauteous one with helpTo those small dewdrop things fierce lions whelp,And udder-loving litter of each bruteThat roams the mead; and therefore makes she suit,The fair one, for fulfilment to the endOf things these signs portend—Which partly smile, indeed, but partly scowl—The phantasms of the fowl.I call Ieïos Paian to avertShe work the Danaoi hurtBy any thwarting waftures, long and fastHoldings from sail of ships:And sacrifice, another than the last,She for herself precipitate—Something unlawful, feast for no man's lips,Builder of quarrels, with the House cognate—Having in awe no husband: for remainsA frightful, backward-darting in the path,Wily house-keeping chronicler of wrath,That has to punish that old children's fate!"Such things did Kalchas,—with abundant gainsAs well,—vociferate,Predictions from the birds, in journeying,Above the abode of either king.With these, symphonious, sing—Ah, Linos, say—ah, Linos, song of wail!But may the good prevail!Zeus, whosoe'er he be,—if that expressAught dear to him on whom I call—So do I him address.I cannot liken out, by allAdmeasurement of powers,Any but Zeus for refuge at such hours,If veritably needs I mustFrom off my soul its vague care-burden thrust.Not—whosoever was the great of yore,Bursting to bloom with bravery all round—Is in our mouths: he was, but is no more.And who it was that after came to be,Met the thrice-throwing wrestler,—heIs also gone to ground.But "Zeus"—if any, heart and soul, that name—Shouting the triumph-praise—proclaim,Complete in judgment shall that man be found.Zeus, who leads onward mortals to be wise,Appoints that suffering masterfully teach,in sleep, before the heart of each,A woe-remembering travail sheds in dewDiscretion,—ay, and melts the unwilling tooBy what, perchance, may be a graciousnessOf gods, enforced no less,—As they, commanders of the crew,Assume the awful seat.And then the old leader of the Achaian fleet,Disparaging no seer—With bated breath to suit misfortune's inrush here—(What time it labored, that Achaian host,By stay from sailing,—every pulse at lengthEmptied of vital strength,—Hard over Kalchis shore-bound, current-crostIn Aulis station,—while the winds which postFrom Strumon, ill-delayers, famine-fraught,Tempters of man to sail where harborage is naught,Spendthrifts of ships and cables, turning timeTo twice the length,—these carded, by delay,To less and less awayThe Argeians' flowery prime:And when a remedy more grave and grandThan aught before—yea, for the storm and dearth—The prophet to the foremost in commandShrieked forth, as cause of thisAdducing Artemis,So that the Atreidai striking staves on earthCould not withhold the tear)—Then did the king, the elder, speak this clear."Heavy the fate, indeed—to disobey!Yet heavy if my child I slay,The adornment of my household: with the tideOf virgin-slaughter, at the altar-side,A father's hands defiling: which the wayWithout its evils, say?How shall I turn fleet-fugitive,Failing of duty to allies?Since for a wind-abating sacrificeAnd virgin blood,—'t is right they strive,Nay, madden with desire.Well may it work them—this that they require!"But when he underwent necessity'sYoke-trace,—from soul blowing unhallowed changeUnclean, abominable,—thence—another man—The audacious mind of him beganIts wildest range.For this it is gives mortals hardihood—Some vice-devising miserable moodOf madness, and first woe of all the brood.The sacrificer of his daughter—strange!—He dared become, to expediteWoman-avenging warfare,—anchors weighedWith such prelusive rite!Prayings and callings "Father"—naught they madeOf these, and of the virgin-age,—Captains heart-set on war to wage!His ministrants, vows done, the father bade—Kid-like, above the altar, swathed in pall,Take her—lift high, and have no fear at all,Head-downward, and the fair mouth's guardAnd frontage hold,—press hardFrom utterance a curse against the HouseBy dint of bit—violence bridling speech.And as to ground her saffron-vest she shed,She smote the sacrificers all and eachWith arrow sweet and piteous,From the eye only sped,—Significant of will to use a word,Just as in pictures: since, full many a time,In her sire's guest-hall, by the well-heaped boardHad she made music,—lovingly with chimeOf her chaste voice, that unpolluted thing,Honored the third libation,—paian that should bringGood fortune to the sire she loved so well.What followed—those things I nor saw nor tell.But Kalchas' arts—whate'er they indicate—Miss of fulfilment never: it is fate.True, justice makes, in sufferers, a desireTo know the future woe preponderate.But—hear before is need!To that, farewell and welcome! 't is the same, indeed,As grief beforehand: clearly, part for part,Conformably to Kalchas' art,Shall come the event.But be they as they may, things subsequent,—What is to do, prosperity betideE'en as we wish it!—we, the next allied,Sole guarding barrier of the Apian land.I am come, reverencing power in thee,O Klutaimnestra! For 't is just we bowTo the ruler's wife,—the male-seat man-bereaved.But if thou, having heard good news,—or none,—For good news' hope dost sacrifice thus wide,I would hear gladly: art thou mute,—no grudge!Klutaimnestra.Good-news-announcer, may—as is the by-word—Morn become, truly,—news from Night his mother!But thou shalt learn joy past all hope of hearing.Priamos' city have the Argeioi taken.Cho.How sayest? The word, from want of faith, escaped me.Klu.Troia the Achaioi hold: do I speak plainly?Cho.Joy overcreeps me, calling forth the tear-drop.Klu.Right! for, that glad thou art, thine eye convicts thee.Cho.For—what to thee, of all this, trusty token?Klu.What 's here! how else? unless the god have cheated.Cho.Haply thou flattering shows of dreams respectest?Klu.No fancy would I take of soul sleep-burdened.Cho.But has there puffed thee up some un-winged omen?Klu.As a young maid's my mind thou mockest grossly.Cho.Well, at what time was—even sacked, the city?Klu.Of this same mother Night—the dawn, I tell thee.Cho.And who of messengers could reach this swiftness?Klu.Hephaistos—sending a bright blaze from Idé.Beacon did beacon send, from fire the poster,Hitherward: Idé to the rock HermaianOf Lemnos: and a third great torch o' the islandZeus' seat received in turn, the Athoan summit.And,—so upsoaring as to stride sea over,The strong lamp-voyager, and all for joyance—Did the gold-glorious splendor, any sun like,Pass on—the pine-tree—to Makistos' watch-place;Who did not,—tardy,—caught, no wits about him,By sleep,—decline his portion of the missive.And far the beacon's light, on stream EuriposArriving, made aware Messapios' warders.And up they lit in turn, played herald onwards,Kindling with flame a heap of gray old heather.And, strengthening still, the lamp, decaying nowise,Springing o'er Plain Asopos,—fullmoon-fashionEffulgent,—toward the crag of Mount Kithairon,Roused a new rendering-up of fire the escort—And light, far escort, lacked no recognitionO' the guard—as burning more than burnings told you.And over Lake Gorgopis light went leaping,And, at Mount Aigiplanktos safe arriving,Enforced the law—"to never stint the fire-stuff."And they send, lighting up with ungrudged vigor,Of flame a huge beard, ay, the very forelandSo as to strike above, in burning onward,The look-out which commands the Strait Saronic,Then did it dart until it reached the outpostMount Arachnaios here, the city's neighbor;And then darts to this roof of the AtreidaiThis light of Idé's fire not unforefathered!Such are the rules prescribed the flambeau-bearers:He beats that 's first and also last in running.Such is the proof and token I declare thee,My husband having sent me news from Troia.Cho.The gods, indeed, anon will I pray, woman!But now, these words to hear, and sate my wonderThoroughly, I am fain—if twice thou tell them.Klu.Troia do the Achaioi hold, this same day.I think a noise—no mixture—reigns i' the city.Sour wine and unguent pour thou in one vessel—Standers-apart, not lovers, would'st thou style them:And so, of captives and of conquerors, partwiseThe voices are to hear, of fortune diverse.For those, indeed, upon the bodies prostrateOf husbands, brothers, children upon parents—The old men, from a throat that 's free no longer,Shriekingly wail the death-doom of their dearest:While these—the after-battle hungry labor,Which prompts night-faring, marshals them to breakfastOn the town's store, according to no billetOf sharing, but as each drew lot of fortune.In the spear-captured Troic habitationsHouse they already: from the frosts upæthralAnd dews delivered, will they, luckless creatures,Without a watch to keep, slumber all night through.And if they fear the gods, the city-guarders,And if the gods' structures of the conquered country,They may not—capturers—soon in turn be captive.But see no prior lust befall the armyTo sack things sacred—by gain-cravings vanquished!For there needs homeward the return's salvation,To round the new limb back o' the double race-course.And guilty to the gods if came the army,Awakened up the sorrow of those slaughteredMight be—should no outbursting evils happen.But may good beat—no turn to see i' the balance!For, many benefits I want the gain of.Cho.Woman, like prudent man thou kindly speakest.And I, thus having heard thy trusty tokens,The gods to rightly hail forthwith prepare me;For, grace that must be paid has crowned our labors.O Zeus the king, and friendly NightOf these brave boons bestower—Thou who didst fling on Troia's every towerThe o'er-roofing snare, that neither great thing might,Nor any of the young ones, overpassCaptivity's great sweep-net—one and allOf Até held in thrall!Ay, Zeus I fear—the guest's friend great—who wasThe doer of this, and long since bentThe bow on Alexandros with intentThat neither wide o' the whiteNor o'er the stars the foolish dart should light.The stroke of Zeus—they have it, as men say!This, at least, from the source track forth we may!As he ordained, so has he done."No"—said some one—"The gods think fit to careNowise for mortals, suchAs those by whom the good and fairOf things denied their touchIs trampled!" but he was profane.That they do care, has been made plainTo offspring of the over-bold,Outbreathing "Ares" greater than is just—Houses that spill with more than they can hold.More than is best for man. Be man's what mustKeep harm off, so that in himself he findSufficiency—the well-endowed of mind!For there 's no bulwark in man's wealth to himWho, through a surfeit, kicks—into the dimAnd disappearing—Right's great altar.Yes—It urges him, the sad persuasiveness,Até's insufferable child that schemesTreason beforehand: and all cure is vain.It is not hidden: out it glares again,A light dread-lamping-mischief, just as gleamsThe badness of the bronze;Through rubbing, puttings to the touch,Black-clotted is he, judged at once.He seeks—the boy—a flying bird to clutch,The insufferable brandSetting upon the city of his landWhereof not any god hears prayer;While him who brought about such evils there,That unjust man, the god in grapple throws.Such an one, Paris goesWithin the Atreidai's house—Shamed the guest's board by robbery of the spouse.And, leaving to her townsmen throngs a-spreadWith shields, and spear-thrusts of sea-armament,And bringing Ilion, in a dowry's stead,Destruction—swiftly through the gates she went,Daring the undareable. But many a groan outbrokeFrom prophets of the House as thus they spoke."Woe, woe the House, the House and Rulers,—woeThe marriage-bed and dintsA husband's love imprints!There she stands silent! meets no honor—noShame—sweetest still to see of things gone long ago!And, through desire of one across the main,A ghost will seem within the house to reign:And hateful to the husband is the graceOf well-shaped statues: from—in place of eyes,Those blanks—all Aphrodité dies."But dream-appearing mournful fantasies—There they stand, bringing grace that's vain.For vain 't is, when brave things one seems to view:The fantasy has floated off, hands through;Gone, that appearance,—nowise left to creep,—On wings, the servants in the paths of sleep!"Woes, then, in household and on hearth, are suchAs these—and woes surpassing these by much.But not these only: everywhere—For those who from the landOf Hellas issued in a band,Sorrow, the heart must bear,Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there.Many a circumstance, at least,Touches the very breast.For thoseWhom any sent away,—he knows:And in the live man's stead,Armor and ashes reachThe house of each.For Ares, gold-exchanger for the dead,And balance-holder in the fight o' the spear,Due-weight from Ilion sends—What moves the tear on tear—A charred scrap to the friends:Filling with well-packed ashes every urn,For man—that was—the sole return.And they groan—praising much, the while,Now this man as experienced in the strife,Now that, fallen nobly on a slaughtered pile,Because of—not his own—another's wife.But things there be, one barks,When no man harks:A surreptitious grief that 's grudgeAgainst the Atreidai who first sought the judge.But some there, round the rampart, haveIn Ilian earth, each one his grave:All fair-formed as at birth,It hid them—what they have and hold—the hostile earth.And big with anger goes the city's word,And pays a debt by public curse incurred.And ever with me—as about to hearA something night-involved—remains my fear:Since of the many-slayers—notUnwatching are the gods.The black Erinues, at due periods—Whoever gains the lotOf fortune with no right—Him, by life's strain and stressBack-again-beaten from success,They strike blind: and among the out-of-sightFor who has got to be, avails no might.The being praised outrageouslyIs grave, for at the eyes of such an oneIs launched, from Zeus, the thunder-stone.Therefore do I decideFor so much and no more prosperityThan of his envy passes unespied.Neither a city-sacker would I be,Nor life, myself by others captive, see.A swift report has gone our city through,From fire, the good-news messenger: if true,Who knows? Or is it not a god-sent lie?Who is so childish and deprived of senseThat, having, at announcements of the flameThus novel, felt his own heart fired thereby,He then shall, at a change of evidence,Be worsted just the same?It is conspicuous in a woman's nature,Before its view to take a grace for granted:Too trustful,—on her boundary, usurpatureIs swiftly made;But swiftly, too, decayed,The glory perishes by woman vaunted.Klu.Soon shall we know—of these light-bearing torches,And beacons and exchanges, fire with fire—If they are true, indeed, or if, dream-fashion,This gladsome light came and deceived our judgment.Yon herald from the shore I see, o'ershadowedWith boughs of olive: dust, mud's thirsty brother,Close neighbors on his garb, thus testify meThat neither voiceless, nor yet kindling for theeMountain-wood-flame, shall he explain by fire-smoke:But either tell out more the joyance, speaking ...Word contrary to which, I ought but love it!For may good be—to good that 's known—appendage!Cho.Whoever prays for aught else to this city—May he himself reap fruit of his mind's error!Herald.Ha, my forefathers' soil of earth Argeian!Thee, in this year's tenth light, am I returned to—Of many broken hopes, on one hope chancing;For never prayed I, in this earth ArgeianDying, to share my part in tomb the dearest.Now, hail thou earth, and hail thou also, sunlight,And Zeus, the country's lord, and king the PuthianFrom bow no longer urging at us arrows!Enough, beside Skamandros, cam'st thou adverse:Now, contrary, be saviour thou and healer,O king Apollon! And gods conquest-granting,All—I invoke too, and my tutelaryHermes, dear herald, heralds' veneration,—And Heroes our forthsenders,—friendly, once moreThe army to receive, the war-spear's leavings!Ha, mansions of my monarchs, roofs beloved,And awful seats, and deities sun-fronting—Receive with pomp your monarch, long time absent!For he comes bringing light in night-time to you,In common with all these—king Agamemnon.But kindly greet him—for clear shows your duty—Who has dug under Troia with the mattockOf Zeus the Avenger, whereby plains are out-ploughed,Altars unrecognizable, and god's shrines,And the whole land's seed thoroughly has perished.And such a yoke-strap having cast round Troia,The elder king Atreides, happy man—heComes to be honored, worthiest of what mortalsNow are. Nor Paris nor the accomplice-cityOutvaunts their deed as more than they are done-by:For, in a suit for rape and theft found guilty,He missed of plunder and, in one destruction,Fatherland, house and home has mowed to atoms:Debts the Priamidai have paid twice over.Cho.Hail, herald from the army of Achaians!Her.I hail:—to die, will gainsay gods no longer!Cho.Love of this fatherland did exercise thee?Her.So that I weep, at least, with joy, my eyes full.Cho.What, of this gracious sickness were ye gainers?Her.How now? instructed, I this speech shall master.Cho.For those who loved you back, with longing stricken.Her.This land yearned for the yearning army, say'st thou?Cho.So as to set me oft, from dark mind, groaning.Her.Whence came this ill mind—hatred to the army?Cho.Of old, I use, for mischief's physic, silence.Her.And how, the chiefs away, did you fear any?Cho.So that now—late thy word—much joy were—dying!Her.For well have things been worked out: these,—in much time,Some of them, one might say, had luck in falling,While some were faulty: since who, gods excepted,Goes, through the whole time of his life, ungrieving?For labors should I tell of, and bad lodgments,Narrow deckways ill-strewn, too,—what the day's woeWe did not groan at getting for our portion?As for land-things, again, on went more hatred!Since beds were ours hard by the foemen's ramparts,And, out of heaven and from the earth, the meadowDews kept a-sprinkle, an abiding damageOf vestures, making hair a wild-beast matting.Winter, too, if one told of it—bird-slaying—Such as, unbearable, Idaian snow brought—Or heat, when waveless, on its noontide couchesWithout a wind, the sea would slumber falling—Why must one mourn these? O'er and gone is labor:O'er and gone is it, even to those dead ones,So that no more again they mind uprising.Why must we tell in numbers those deprived ones,And the live man be vexed with fate's fresh outbreak?Rather, I bid full farewell to misfortunes!For us, the left from out the Argeian army,The gain beats, nor does sorrow counterbalance.So that 't is fitly boasted of, this sunlight,By us, o'er sea and land the aery flyers,"Troia at last taking, the band of ArgivesHang up such trophies to the gods of HellasWithin their domes—new glory to grow ancient!"Such things men having heard must praise the cityAnd army-leaders: and the grace which wrought them—Of Zeus, shall honored be. Thou hast my whole word.Cho.O'ercome by words, their sense I do not gainsay.For, aye this breeds youth in the old—"to learn well."But these things most the house and KlutaimnestraConcern, 't is likely: while they make me rich, too.Klu.I shouted long ago, indeed, for joyance,When came that first night-messenger of fireProclaiming Ilion's capture and dispersion.And some one, girding me, said, "Through fire-bearersPersuaded—Troia to be sacked now, thinkest?Truly, the woman's way,—high to lift heart up!"By such words I was made seem wit-bewildered:Yet still I sacrificed; and,—female-song with,—A shout one man and other, through the city,Set up, congratulating in the gods' seats,Soothing the incense-eating flame right fragrant.And now, what 's more, indeed, why need'st thou tell me?I of the king himself shall learn the whole word:And,—as may best be,—I my revered husbandShall hasten, as he comes back, to receive: for—What 's to a wife sweeter to see than this light(Her husband, by the god saved, back from warfare)So as to open gates? This tell my husband—To come at soonest to his loving city.A faithful wife at home may he find, coming!Such an one as he left—the dog o' the household—Trusty to him, adverse to the ill-minded,And, in all else, the same: no signet-impressHaving done harm to, in that time's duration.I know nor pleasure, nor blameworthy converseWith any other man more than—bronze-dippings!Her.Such boast as this—brimful of the veracious—Is for a high-born dame not bad to send forth!Cho.Ay, she spoke thus to thee—that hast a knowledgeFrom clear interpreters—a speech most seemly!But speak, thou, herald! Menelaos I ask of:If he, returning, back in safety alsoWill come with you—this land's beloved chieftain?Her.There's no way I might say things false and pleasantFor friends to reap the fruits of through a long time.Cho.How then, if, speaking good, things true thou chance on?Her.For not well-hidden things become they, sundered.The man has vanished from the Achaic army,He and his ship too. I announce no falsehood.Cho.Whether forth-putting openly from Ilion,Or did storm—wide woe—snatch him from the army?Her.Like topping bowman, thou hast touched the target,And a long sorrow hast succinctly spoken.Cho.Whether, then, of him, as a live or dead manWas the report by other sailors bruited?Her.Nobody knows so as to tell out clearlyExcepting Helios who sustains earth's nature.

Warder.The gods I ask deliverance from these labors,

Watch of a year's length whereby, slumbering through it

On the Atreidai's roofs on elbow,—dog-like—

I know of nightly star-groups the assemblage,

And those that bring to men winter and summer,

Bright dynasts, as they pride them in the æther

—Stars, when they wither, and the uprisings of them.

And now on ward I wait the torch's token,

The glow of fire, shall bring from Troia message

And word of capture: so prevails audacious

The man's-way-planning hoping heart of woman.

But when I, driven from night-rest, dew-drenched, hold to

This couch of mine—not looked upon by visions,

Since fear instead of sleep still stands beside me,

So as that fast I fix in sleep no eyelids—

And when to sing or chirp a tune I fancy,

For slumber such song-remedy infusing,

I wail then, for this House's fortune groaning,

Not, as of old, after the best ways governed.

Now, lucky be deliverance from these labors,

At good news—the appearing dusky fire!

O hail, thou lamp of night, a day-long lightness

Revealing, and of dances the ordainment!

Halloo, halloo!

To Agamemnon's wife I show, by shouting,

That, from bed starting up at once, i' the household

Joyous acclaim, good-omened to this torch-blaze,

She send aloft if haply Ilion's city

Be taken, as the beacon boasts announcing.

Ay, and, for me, myself will dance a prelude,

For, that my masters' dice drop right, I 'll reckon:

Since thrice-six has it thrown to me, this signal.

Well, may it hap that, as he comes, the love hand

O' the household's lord I may sustain with this hand!

As for the rest, I 'm mute: on tongue a big ox

Has trodden. Yet this House, if voice it take should,

Most plain would speak. So, willing I myself speak

To those who know: to who know not—I 'm blankness.

Choros.The tenth year this, since Priamos' great match,King Menelaos, Agamemnon King,—The strenuous yoke-pair of the Atreidai's honorTwo-throned, two-sceptred, whereof Zeus was donor—Did from this land the aid, the armament dispatch,The thousand-sailored force of Argives clamoring"Ares" from out the indignant breast, as flingPassion forth vultures which, because of griefAway,—as are their young ones,—with the thief,Lofty above their brood-nests wheel in ring,Row round and round with oar of either wing,Lament the bedded chicks, lost labor that was love:Which hearing, one above—Whether Apollon, Pan or Zeus—that wail,Sharp-piercing bird-shriek of the guests who fareHousemates with gods in air—Such-an-one sends, against who these assail,What, late-sent, shall not failOf punishing—Erinus. Here as there,The Guardian of the Guest Zeus, the excelling one,Sends against Alexandros either sonOf Atreus: for that wife, the many-husbanded,Appointing many a tug that tries the limb,While the knee plays the prop in dust, while, shredTo morsels, lies the spear-shaft; in those grimMarriage-prolusions when their Fury wedDanaoi and Troes, both alike. All 's said:Things are where things are, and, as fate has willed,So shall they be fulfilled.Not gently-grieving, not just doling outThe drops of expiation—no, nor tears distilled—Shall he we know of bring the hard aboutTo soft—that intense ireAt those mock rites unsanctified by fire.But we pay naught here: through our flesh, age-weighed,Left out from who gave aidIn that day,—we remain,Staying on staves a strengthThe equal of a child's at length.For when young marrow in the breast doth reign,That 's the old man's match,—Ares out of placeIn either: but in oldest age's case,Foliage a-fading, why, he wends his wayOn three feet, and, no stronger than a child,Wanders about gone wild,A dream in day.But thou, Tundareus' daughter, Klutaimnestra queen,What need? What new? What having heard or seen,By what announcement's tidings, everywhereSettest thou, round about, the sacrifice aflare?For, of all gods the city-swaying,Those supernal, those infernal,Those of the fields', those of the mart's obeying,—The altars blaze with gifts;And here and there, heaven-high the torch upliftsFlame—medicated with persuasions mild,With foul admixture unbeguiled—Of holy unguent, from the clotted chrismBrought from the palace, safe in its abysm.Of these things, speaking what may be indeedBoth possible and lawful to concede,Healer do thou become!—of this solicitudeWhich, now, stands plainly forth of evil mood,And, then ... but from oblations, hope, to-dayGracious appearing, wards awayFrom soul the insatiate care,The sorrow at my breast, devouring there!

Choros.The tenth year this, since Priamos' great match,

King Menelaos, Agamemnon King,

—The strenuous yoke-pair of the Atreidai's honor

Two-throned, two-sceptred, whereof Zeus was donor—

Did from this land the aid, the armament dispatch,

The thousand-sailored force of Argives clamoring

"Ares" from out the indignant breast, as fling

Passion forth vultures which, because of grief

Away,—as are their young ones,—with the thief,

Lofty above their brood-nests wheel in ring,

Row round and round with oar of either wing,

Lament the bedded chicks, lost labor that was love:

Which hearing, one above

—Whether Apollon, Pan or Zeus—that wail,

Sharp-piercing bird-shriek of the guests who fare

Housemates with gods in air—

Such-an-one sends, against who these assail,

What, late-sent, shall not fail

Of punishing—Erinus. Here as there,

The Guardian of the Guest Zeus, the excelling one,

Sends against Alexandros either son

Of Atreus: for that wife, the many-husbanded,

Appointing many a tug that tries the limb,

While the knee plays the prop in dust, while, shred

To morsels, lies the spear-shaft; in those grim

Marriage-prolusions when their Fury wed

Danaoi and Troes, both alike. All 's said:

Things are where things are, and, as fate has willed,

So shall they be fulfilled.

Not gently-grieving, not just doling out

The drops of expiation—no, nor tears distilled—

Shall he we know of bring the hard about

To soft—that intense ire

At those mock rites unsanctified by fire.

But we pay naught here: through our flesh, age-weighed,

Left out from who gave aid

In that day,—we remain,

Staying on staves a strength

The equal of a child's at length.

For when young marrow in the breast doth reign,

That 's the old man's match,—Ares out of place

In either: but in oldest age's case,

Foliage a-fading, why, he wends his way

On three feet, and, no stronger than a child,

Wanders about gone wild,

A dream in day.

But thou, Tundareus' daughter, Klutaimnestra queen,

What need? What new? What having heard or seen,

By what announcement's tidings, everywhere

Settest thou, round about, the sacrifice aflare?

For, of all gods the city-swaying,

Those supernal, those infernal,

Those of the fields', those of the mart's obeying,—

The altars blaze with gifts;

And here and there, heaven-high the torch uplifts

Flame—medicated with persuasions mild,

With foul admixture unbeguiled—

Of holy unguent, from the clotted chrism

Brought from the palace, safe in its abysm.

Of these things, speaking what may be indeed

Both possible and lawful to concede,

Healer do thou become!—of this solicitude

Which, now, stands plainly forth of evil mood,

And, then ... but from oblations, hope, to-day

Gracious appearing, wards away

From soul the insatiate care,

The sorrow at my breast, devouring there!

Empowered am I to singThe omens, what their force which, journeying,Rejoiced the potentates:(For still, from God, inflatesMy breast, song-suasion: age,Born to the business, still such war can wage)—How the fierce bird against the Teukris landDispatched, with spear and executing hand,The Achaian's two-throned empery—o'er Hellas' youthTwo rulers with one mind:The birds' king to these kings of ships, on high,—The black sort, and the sort that's white behind,—Appearing by the palace, on the spear-throw side,In right sky-regions, visible far and wide,—Devouring a hare-creature, great with young,Balked of more racings they, as she from whom they sprung!Ah, Linos, say—ah, Linos, song of wail!But may the good prevail!

Empowered am I to sing

The omens, what their force which, journeying,

Rejoiced the potentates:

(For still, from God, inflates

My breast, song-suasion: age,

Born to the business, still such war can wage)

—How the fierce bird against the Teukris land

Dispatched, with spear and executing hand,

The Achaian's two-throned empery—o'er Hellas' youth

Two rulers with one mind:

The birds' king to these kings of ships, on high,

—The black sort, and the sort that's white behind,—

Appearing by the palace, on the spear-throw side,

In right sky-regions, visible far and wide,—

Devouring a hare-creature, great with young,

Balked of more racings they, as she from whom they sprung!

Ah, Linos, say—ah, Linos, song of wail!

But may the good prevail!

The prudent army-prophet seeing twoThe Atreidai, two their tempers, knewThose feasting on the hareThe armament-conductors were;And thus he spoke, explaining signs in view."In time, this outset takes the town of Priamos:But all before its towers,—the people's wealth that was,Of flocks and herds,—as sure, shall booty-sharing thenceDrain to the dregs away, by battle violence.Only, have care lest grudge of any god disturbWith cloud the unsullied shine of that great force, the curbOf Troia, struck with dampBeforehand in the camp!For envyingly isThe virgin ArtemisToward—her father's flying hounds—this House—The sacrificers of the piteousAnd cowering beast,Brood and all, ere the birth: she hates the eagles' feast.Ah, Linos, say—ah, Linos, song of wail!But may the good prevail!

The prudent army-prophet seeing two

The Atreidai, two their tempers, knew

Those feasting on the hare

The armament-conductors were;

And thus he spoke, explaining signs in view.

"In time, this outset takes the town of Priamos:

But all before its towers,—the people's wealth that was,

Of flocks and herds,—as sure, shall booty-sharing thence

Drain to the dregs away, by battle violence.

Only, have care lest grudge of any god disturb

With cloud the unsullied shine of that great force, the curb

Of Troia, struck with damp

Beforehand in the camp!

For envyingly is

The virgin Artemis

Toward—her father's flying hounds—this House—

The sacrificers of the piteous

And cowering beast,

Brood and all, ere the birth: she hates the eagles' feast.

Ah, Linos, say—ah, Linos, song of wail!

But may the good prevail!

"Thus ready is the beauteous one with helpTo those small dewdrop things fierce lions whelp,And udder-loving litter of each bruteThat roams the mead; and therefore makes she suit,The fair one, for fulfilment to the endOf things these signs portend—Which partly smile, indeed, but partly scowl—The phantasms of the fowl.I call Ieïos Paian to avertShe work the Danaoi hurtBy any thwarting waftures, long and fastHoldings from sail of ships:And sacrifice, another than the last,She for herself precipitate—Something unlawful, feast for no man's lips,Builder of quarrels, with the House cognate—Having in awe no husband: for remainsA frightful, backward-darting in the path,Wily house-keeping chronicler of wrath,That has to punish that old children's fate!"Such things did Kalchas,—with abundant gainsAs well,—vociferate,Predictions from the birds, in journeying,Above the abode of either king.With these, symphonious, sing—Ah, Linos, say—ah, Linos, song of wail!But may the good prevail!

"Thus ready is the beauteous one with help

To those small dewdrop things fierce lions whelp,

And udder-loving litter of each brute

That roams the mead; and therefore makes she suit,

The fair one, for fulfilment to the end

Of things these signs portend—

Which partly smile, indeed, but partly scowl—

The phantasms of the fowl.

I call Ieïos Paian to avert

She work the Danaoi hurt

By any thwarting waftures, long and fast

Holdings from sail of ships:

And sacrifice, another than the last,

She for herself precipitate—

Something unlawful, feast for no man's lips,

Builder of quarrels, with the House cognate—

Having in awe no husband: for remains

A frightful, backward-darting in the path,

Wily house-keeping chronicler of wrath,

That has to punish that old children's fate!"

Such things did Kalchas,—with abundant gains

As well,—vociferate,

Predictions from the birds, in journeying,

Above the abode of either king.

With these, symphonious, sing—

Ah, Linos, say—ah, Linos, song of wail!

But may the good prevail!

Zeus, whosoe'er he be,—if that expressAught dear to him on whom I call—So do I him address.I cannot liken out, by allAdmeasurement of powers,Any but Zeus for refuge at such hours,If veritably needs I mustFrom off my soul its vague care-burden thrust.

Zeus, whosoe'er he be,—if that express

Aught dear to him on whom I call—

So do I him address.

I cannot liken out, by all

Admeasurement of powers,

Any but Zeus for refuge at such hours,

If veritably needs I must

From off my soul its vague care-burden thrust.

Not—whosoever was the great of yore,Bursting to bloom with bravery all round—Is in our mouths: he was, but is no more.And who it was that after came to be,Met the thrice-throwing wrestler,—heIs also gone to ground.But "Zeus"—if any, heart and soul, that name—Shouting the triumph-praise—proclaim,Complete in judgment shall that man be found.Zeus, who leads onward mortals to be wise,Appoints that suffering masterfully teach,in sleep, before the heart of each,A woe-remembering travail sheds in dewDiscretion,—ay, and melts the unwilling tooBy what, perchance, may be a graciousnessOf gods, enforced no less,—As they, commanders of the crew,Assume the awful seat.

Not—whosoever was the great of yore,

Bursting to bloom with bravery all round—

Is in our mouths: he was, but is no more.

And who it was that after came to be,

Met the thrice-throwing wrestler,—he

Is also gone to ground.

But "Zeus"—if any, heart and soul, that name—

Shouting the triumph-praise—proclaim,

Complete in judgment shall that man be found.

Zeus, who leads onward mortals to be wise,

Appoints that suffering masterfully teach,

in sleep, before the heart of each,

A woe-remembering travail sheds in dew

Discretion,—ay, and melts the unwilling too

By what, perchance, may be a graciousness

Of gods, enforced no less,—

As they, commanders of the crew,

Assume the awful seat.

And then the old leader of the Achaian fleet,Disparaging no seer—With bated breath to suit misfortune's inrush here—(What time it labored, that Achaian host,By stay from sailing,—every pulse at lengthEmptied of vital strength,—Hard over Kalchis shore-bound, current-crostIn Aulis station,—while the winds which postFrom Strumon, ill-delayers, famine-fraught,Tempters of man to sail where harborage is naught,Spendthrifts of ships and cables, turning timeTo twice the length,—these carded, by delay,To less and less awayThe Argeians' flowery prime:And when a remedy more grave and grandThan aught before—yea, for the storm and dearth—The prophet to the foremost in commandShrieked forth, as cause of thisAdducing Artemis,So that the Atreidai striking staves on earthCould not withhold the tear)—Then did the king, the elder, speak this clear.

And then the old leader of the Achaian fleet,

Disparaging no seer—

With bated breath to suit misfortune's inrush here

—(What time it labored, that Achaian host,

By stay from sailing,—every pulse at length

Emptied of vital strength,—

Hard over Kalchis shore-bound, current-crost

In Aulis station,—while the winds which post

From Strumon, ill-delayers, famine-fraught,

Tempters of man to sail where harborage is naught,

Spendthrifts of ships and cables, turning time

To twice the length,—these carded, by delay,

To less and less away

The Argeians' flowery prime:

And when a remedy more grave and grand

Than aught before—yea, for the storm and dearth—

The prophet to the foremost in command

Shrieked forth, as cause of this

Adducing Artemis,

So that the Atreidai striking staves on earth

Could not withhold the tear)—

Then did the king, the elder, speak this clear.

"Heavy the fate, indeed—to disobey!Yet heavy if my child I slay,The adornment of my household: with the tideOf virgin-slaughter, at the altar-side,A father's hands defiling: which the wayWithout its evils, say?How shall I turn fleet-fugitive,Failing of duty to allies?Since for a wind-abating sacrificeAnd virgin blood,—'t is right they strive,Nay, madden with desire.Well may it work them—this that they require!"

"Heavy the fate, indeed—to disobey!

Yet heavy if my child I slay,

The adornment of my household: with the tide

Of virgin-slaughter, at the altar-side,

A father's hands defiling: which the way

Without its evils, say?

How shall I turn fleet-fugitive,

Failing of duty to allies?

Since for a wind-abating sacrifice

And virgin blood,—'t is right they strive,

Nay, madden with desire.

Well may it work them—this that they require!"

But when he underwent necessity'sYoke-trace,—from soul blowing unhallowed changeUnclean, abominable,—thence—another man—The audacious mind of him beganIts wildest range.For this it is gives mortals hardihood—Some vice-devising miserable moodOf madness, and first woe of all the brood.The sacrificer of his daughter—strange!—He dared become, to expediteWoman-avenging warfare,—anchors weighedWith such prelusive rite!

But when he underwent necessity's

Yoke-trace,—from soul blowing unhallowed change

Unclean, abominable,—thence—another man—

The audacious mind of him began

Its wildest range.

For this it is gives mortals hardihood—

Some vice-devising miserable mood

Of madness, and first woe of all the brood.

The sacrificer of his daughter—strange!—

He dared become, to expedite

Woman-avenging warfare,—anchors weighed

With such prelusive rite!

Prayings and callings "Father"—naught they madeOf these, and of the virgin-age,—Captains heart-set on war to wage!His ministrants, vows done, the father bade—Kid-like, above the altar, swathed in pall,Take her—lift high, and have no fear at all,Head-downward, and the fair mouth's guardAnd frontage hold,—press hardFrom utterance a curse against the HouseBy dint of bit—violence bridling speech.And as to ground her saffron-vest she shed,She smote the sacrificers all and eachWith arrow sweet and piteous,From the eye only sped,—Significant of will to use a word,Just as in pictures: since, full many a time,In her sire's guest-hall, by the well-heaped boardHad she made music,—lovingly with chimeOf her chaste voice, that unpolluted thing,Honored the third libation,—paian that should bringGood fortune to the sire she loved so well.

Prayings and callings "Father"—naught they made

Of these, and of the virgin-age,—

Captains heart-set on war to wage!

His ministrants, vows done, the father bade—

Kid-like, above the altar, swathed in pall,

Take her—lift high, and have no fear at all,

Head-downward, and the fair mouth's guard

And frontage hold,—press hard

From utterance a curse against the House

By dint of bit—violence bridling speech.

And as to ground her saffron-vest she shed,

She smote the sacrificers all and each

With arrow sweet and piteous,

From the eye only sped,—

Significant of will to use a word,

Just as in pictures: since, full many a time,

In her sire's guest-hall, by the well-heaped board

Had she made music,—lovingly with chime

Of her chaste voice, that unpolluted thing,

Honored the third libation,—paian that should bring

Good fortune to the sire she loved so well.

What followed—those things I nor saw nor tell.But Kalchas' arts—whate'er they indicate—Miss of fulfilment never: it is fate.True, justice makes, in sufferers, a desireTo know the future woe preponderate.But—hear before is need!To that, farewell and welcome! 't is the same, indeed,As grief beforehand: clearly, part for part,Conformably to Kalchas' art,Shall come the event.But be they as they may, things subsequent,—What is to do, prosperity betideE'en as we wish it!—we, the next allied,Sole guarding barrier of the Apian land.

What followed—those things I nor saw nor tell.

But Kalchas' arts—whate'er they indicate—

Miss of fulfilment never: it is fate.

True, justice makes, in sufferers, a desire

To know the future woe preponderate.

But—hear before is need!

To that, farewell and welcome! 't is the same, indeed,

As grief beforehand: clearly, part for part,

Conformably to Kalchas' art,

Shall come the event.

But be they as they may, things subsequent,—

What is to do, prosperity betide

E'en as we wish it!—we, the next allied,

Sole guarding barrier of the Apian land.

I am come, reverencing power in thee,O Klutaimnestra! For 't is just we bowTo the ruler's wife,—the male-seat man-bereaved.But if thou, having heard good news,—or none,—For good news' hope dost sacrifice thus wide,I would hear gladly: art thou mute,—no grudge!

I am come, reverencing power in thee,

O Klutaimnestra! For 't is just we bow

To the ruler's wife,—the male-seat man-bereaved.

But if thou, having heard good news,—or none,—

For good news' hope dost sacrifice thus wide,

I would hear gladly: art thou mute,—no grudge!

Klutaimnestra.Good-news-announcer, may—as is the by-word—Morn become, truly,—news from Night his mother!But thou shalt learn joy past all hope of hearing.Priamos' city have the Argeioi taken.

Klutaimnestra.Good-news-announcer, may—as is the by-word—

Morn become, truly,—news from Night his mother!

But thou shalt learn joy past all hope of hearing.

Priamos' city have the Argeioi taken.

Cho.How sayest? The word, from want of faith, escaped me.

Klu.Troia the Achaioi hold: do I speak plainly?

Cho.Joy overcreeps me, calling forth the tear-drop.

Klu.Right! for, that glad thou art, thine eye convicts thee.

Cho.For—what to thee, of all this, trusty token?

Klu.What 's here! how else? unless the god have cheated.

Cho.Haply thou flattering shows of dreams respectest?

Klu.No fancy would I take of soul sleep-burdened.

Cho.But has there puffed thee up some un-winged omen?

Klu.As a young maid's my mind thou mockest grossly.

Cho.Well, at what time was—even sacked, the city?

Klu.Of this same mother Night—the dawn, I tell thee.

Cho.And who of messengers could reach this swiftness?

Klu.Hephaistos—sending a bright blaze from Idé.

Beacon did beacon send, from fire the poster,Hitherward: Idé to the rock HermaianOf Lemnos: and a third great torch o' the islandZeus' seat received in turn, the Athoan summit.And,—so upsoaring as to stride sea over,The strong lamp-voyager, and all for joyance—Did the gold-glorious splendor, any sun like,Pass on—the pine-tree—to Makistos' watch-place;Who did not,—tardy,—caught, no wits about him,By sleep,—decline his portion of the missive.And far the beacon's light, on stream EuriposArriving, made aware Messapios' warders.And up they lit in turn, played herald onwards,Kindling with flame a heap of gray old heather.And, strengthening still, the lamp, decaying nowise,Springing o'er Plain Asopos,—fullmoon-fashionEffulgent,—toward the crag of Mount Kithairon,Roused a new rendering-up of fire the escort—And light, far escort, lacked no recognitionO' the guard—as burning more than burnings told you.And over Lake Gorgopis light went leaping,And, at Mount Aigiplanktos safe arriving,Enforced the law—"to never stint the fire-stuff."And they send, lighting up with ungrudged vigor,Of flame a huge beard, ay, the very forelandSo as to strike above, in burning onward,The look-out which commands the Strait Saronic,Then did it dart until it reached the outpostMount Arachnaios here, the city's neighbor;And then darts to this roof of the AtreidaiThis light of Idé's fire not unforefathered!Such are the rules prescribed the flambeau-bearers:He beats that 's first and also last in running.Such is the proof and token I declare thee,My husband having sent me news from Troia.

Beacon did beacon send, from fire the poster,

Hitherward: Idé to the rock Hermaian

Of Lemnos: and a third great torch o' the island

Zeus' seat received in turn, the Athoan summit.

And,—so upsoaring as to stride sea over,

The strong lamp-voyager, and all for joyance—

Did the gold-glorious splendor, any sun like,

Pass on—the pine-tree—to Makistos' watch-place;

Who did not,—tardy,—caught, no wits about him,

By sleep,—decline his portion of the missive.

And far the beacon's light, on stream Euripos

Arriving, made aware Messapios' warders.

And up they lit in turn, played herald onwards,

Kindling with flame a heap of gray old heather.

And, strengthening still, the lamp, decaying nowise,

Springing o'er Plain Asopos,—fullmoon-fashion

Effulgent,—toward the crag of Mount Kithairon,

Roused a new rendering-up of fire the escort—

And light, far escort, lacked no recognition

O' the guard—as burning more than burnings told you.

And over Lake Gorgopis light went leaping,

And, at Mount Aigiplanktos safe arriving,

Enforced the law—"to never stint the fire-stuff."

And they send, lighting up with ungrudged vigor,

Of flame a huge beard, ay, the very foreland

So as to strike above, in burning onward,

The look-out which commands the Strait Saronic,

Then did it dart until it reached the outpost

Mount Arachnaios here, the city's neighbor;

And then darts to this roof of the Atreidai

This light of Idé's fire not unforefathered!

Such are the rules prescribed the flambeau-bearers:

He beats that 's first and also last in running.

Such is the proof and token I declare thee,

My husband having sent me news from Troia.

Cho.The gods, indeed, anon will I pray, woman!But now, these words to hear, and sate my wonderThoroughly, I am fain—if twice thou tell them.

Cho.The gods, indeed, anon will I pray, woman!

But now, these words to hear, and sate my wonder

Thoroughly, I am fain—if twice thou tell them.

Klu.Troia do the Achaioi hold, this same day.I think a noise—no mixture—reigns i' the city.Sour wine and unguent pour thou in one vessel—Standers-apart, not lovers, would'st thou style them:And so, of captives and of conquerors, partwiseThe voices are to hear, of fortune diverse.For those, indeed, upon the bodies prostrateOf husbands, brothers, children upon parents—The old men, from a throat that 's free no longer,Shriekingly wail the death-doom of their dearest:While these—the after-battle hungry labor,Which prompts night-faring, marshals them to breakfastOn the town's store, according to no billetOf sharing, but as each drew lot of fortune.In the spear-captured Troic habitationsHouse they already: from the frosts upæthralAnd dews delivered, will they, luckless creatures,Without a watch to keep, slumber all night through.And if they fear the gods, the city-guarders,And if the gods' structures of the conquered country,They may not—capturers—soon in turn be captive.But see no prior lust befall the armyTo sack things sacred—by gain-cravings vanquished!For there needs homeward the return's salvation,To round the new limb back o' the double race-course.And guilty to the gods if came the army,Awakened up the sorrow of those slaughteredMight be—should no outbursting evils happen.But may good beat—no turn to see i' the balance!For, many benefits I want the gain of.

Klu.Troia do the Achaioi hold, this same day.

I think a noise—no mixture—reigns i' the city.

Sour wine and unguent pour thou in one vessel—

Standers-apart, not lovers, would'st thou style them:

And so, of captives and of conquerors, partwise

The voices are to hear, of fortune diverse.

For those, indeed, upon the bodies prostrate

Of husbands, brothers, children upon parents

—The old men, from a throat that 's free no longer,

Shriekingly wail the death-doom of their dearest:

While these—the after-battle hungry labor,

Which prompts night-faring, marshals them to breakfast

On the town's store, according to no billet

Of sharing, but as each drew lot of fortune.

In the spear-captured Troic habitations

House they already: from the frosts upæthral

And dews delivered, will they, luckless creatures,

Without a watch to keep, slumber all night through.

And if they fear the gods, the city-guarders,

And if the gods' structures of the conquered country,

They may not—capturers—soon in turn be captive.

But see no prior lust befall the army

To sack things sacred—by gain-cravings vanquished!

For there needs homeward the return's salvation,

To round the new limb back o' the double race-course.

And guilty to the gods if came the army,

Awakened up the sorrow of those slaughtered

Might be—should no outbursting evils happen.

But may good beat—no turn to see i' the balance!

For, many benefits I want the gain of.

Cho.Woman, like prudent man thou kindly speakest.And I, thus having heard thy trusty tokens,The gods to rightly hail forthwith prepare me;For, grace that must be paid has crowned our labors.

Cho.Woman, like prudent man thou kindly speakest.

And I, thus having heard thy trusty tokens,

The gods to rightly hail forthwith prepare me;

For, grace that must be paid has crowned our labors.

O Zeus the king, and friendly NightOf these brave boons bestower—Thou who didst fling on Troia's every towerThe o'er-roofing snare, that neither great thing might,Nor any of the young ones, overpassCaptivity's great sweep-net—one and allOf Até held in thrall!Ay, Zeus I fear—the guest's friend great—who wasThe doer of this, and long since bentThe bow on Alexandros with intentThat neither wide o' the whiteNor o'er the stars the foolish dart should light.The stroke of Zeus—they have it, as men say!This, at least, from the source track forth we may!As he ordained, so has he done."No"—said some one—"The gods think fit to careNowise for mortals, suchAs those by whom the good and fairOf things denied their touchIs trampled!" but he was profane.That they do care, has been made plainTo offspring of the over-bold,Outbreathing "Ares" greater than is just—Houses that spill with more than they can hold.More than is best for man. Be man's what mustKeep harm off, so that in himself he findSufficiency—the well-endowed of mind!For there 's no bulwark in man's wealth to himWho, through a surfeit, kicks—into the dimAnd disappearing—Right's great altar.

O Zeus the king, and friendly Night

Of these brave boons bestower—

Thou who didst fling on Troia's every tower

The o'er-roofing snare, that neither great thing might,

Nor any of the young ones, overpass

Captivity's great sweep-net—one and all

Of Até held in thrall!

Ay, Zeus I fear—the guest's friend great—who was

The doer of this, and long since bent

The bow on Alexandros with intent

That neither wide o' the white

Nor o'er the stars the foolish dart should light.

The stroke of Zeus—they have it, as men say!

This, at least, from the source track forth we may!

As he ordained, so has he done.

"No"—said some one—

"The gods think fit to care

Nowise for mortals, such

As those by whom the good and fair

Of things denied their touch

Is trampled!" but he was profane.

That they do care, has been made plain

To offspring of the over-bold,

Outbreathing "Ares" greater than is just—

Houses that spill with more than they can hold.

More than is best for man. Be man's what must

Keep harm off, so that in himself he find

Sufficiency—the well-endowed of mind!

For there 's no bulwark in man's wealth to him

Who, through a surfeit, kicks—into the dim

And disappearing—Right's great altar.

Yes—It urges him, the sad persuasiveness,Até's insufferable child that schemesTreason beforehand: and all cure is vain.It is not hidden: out it glares again,A light dread-lamping-mischief, just as gleamsThe badness of the bronze;Through rubbing, puttings to the touch,Black-clotted is he, judged at once.He seeks—the boy—a flying bird to clutch,The insufferable brandSetting upon the city of his landWhereof not any god hears prayer;While him who brought about such evils there,That unjust man, the god in grapple throws.Such an one, Paris goesWithin the Atreidai's house—Shamed the guest's board by robbery of the spouse.

Yes—

It urges him, the sad persuasiveness,

Até's insufferable child that schemes

Treason beforehand: and all cure is vain.

It is not hidden: out it glares again,

A light dread-lamping-mischief, just as gleams

The badness of the bronze;

Through rubbing, puttings to the touch,

Black-clotted is he, judged at once.

He seeks—the boy—a flying bird to clutch,

The insufferable brand

Setting upon the city of his land

Whereof not any god hears prayer;

While him who brought about such evils there,

That unjust man, the god in grapple throws.

Such an one, Paris goes

Within the Atreidai's house—

Shamed the guest's board by robbery of the spouse.

And, leaving to her townsmen throngs a-spreadWith shields, and spear-thrusts of sea-armament,And bringing Ilion, in a dowry's stead,Destruction—swiftly through the gates she went,Daring the undareable. But many a groan outbrokeFrom prophets of the House as thus they spoke."Woe, woe the House, the House and Rulers,—woeThe marriage-bed and dintsA husband's love imprints!There she stands silent! meets no honor—noShame—sweetest still to see of things gone long ago!And, through desire of one across the main,A ghost will seem within the house to reign:And hateful to the husband is the graceOf well-shaped statues: from—in place of eyes,Those blanks—all Aphrodité dies.

And, leaving to her townsmen throngs a-spread

With shields, and spear-thrusts of sea-armament,

And bringing Ilion, in a dowry's stead,

Destruction—swiftly through the gates she went,

Daring the undareable. But many a groan outbroke

From prophets of the House as thus they spoke.

"Woe, woe the House, the House and Rulers,—woe

The marriage-bed and dints

A husband's love imprints!

There she stands silent! meets no honor—no

Shame—sweetest still to see of things gone long ago!

And, through desire of one across the main,

A ghost will seem within the house to reign:

And hateful to the husband is the grace

Of well-shaped statues: from—in place of eyes,

Those blanks—all Aphrodité dies.

"But dream-appearing mournful fantasies—There they stand, bringing grace that's vain.For vain 't is, when brave things one seems to view:The fantasy has floated off, hands through;Gone, that appearance,—nowise left to creep,—On wings, the servants in the paths of sleep!"Woes, then, in household and on hearth, are suchAs these—and woes surpassing these by much.But not these only: everywhere—For those who from the landOf Hellas issued in a band,Sorrow, the heart must bear,Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there.Many a circumstance, at least,Touches the very breast.For thoseWhom any sent away,—he knows:And in the live man's stead,Armor and ashes reachThe house of each.

"But dream-appearing mournful fantasies—

There they stand, bringing grace that's vain.

For vain 't is, when brave things one seems to view:

The fantasy has floated off, hands through;

Gone, that appearance,—nowise left to creep,—

On wings, the servants in the paths of sleep!"

Woes, then, in household and on hearth, are such

As these—and woes surpassing these by much.

But not these only: everywhere—

For those who from the land

Of Hellas issued in a band,

Sorrow, the heart must bear,

Sits in the home of each, conspicuous there.

Many a circumstance, at least,

Touches the very breast.

For those

Whom any sent away,—he knows:

And in the live man's stead,

Armor and ashes reach

The house of each.

For Ares, gold-exchanger for the dead,And balance-holder in the fight o' the spear,Due-weight from Ilion sends—What moves the tear on tear—A charred scrap to the friends:Filling with well-packed ashes every urn,For man—that was—the sole return.And they groan—praising much, the while,Now this man as experienced in the strife,Now that, fallen nobly on a slaughtered pile,Because of—not his own—another's wife.But things there be, one barks,When no man harks:A surreptitious grief that 's grudgeAgainst the Atreidai who first sought the judge.But some there, round the rampart, haveIn Ilian earth, each one his grave:All fair-formed as at birth,It hid them—what they have and hold—the hostile earth.

For Ares, gold-exchanger for the dead,

And balance-holder in the fight o' the spear,

Due-weight from Ilion sends—

What moves the tear on tear—

A charred scrap to the friends:

Filling with well-packed ashes every urn,

For man—that was—the sole return.

And they groan—praising much, the while,

Now this man as experienced in the strife,

Now that, fallen nobly on a slaughtered pile,

Because of—not his own—another's wife.

But things there be, one barks,

When no man harks:

A surreptitious grief that 's grudge

Against the Atreidai who first sought the judge.

But some there, round the rampart, have

In Ilian earth, each one his grave:

All fair-formed as at birth,

It hid them—what they have and hold—the hostile earth.

And big with anger goes the city's word,And pays a debt by public curse incurred.And ever with me—as about to hearA something night-involved—remains my fear:Since of the many-slayers—notUnwatching are the gods.The black Erinues, at due periods—Whoever gains the lotOf fortune with no right—Him, by life's strain and stressBack-again-beaten from success,They strike blind: and among the out-of-sightFor who has got to be, avails no might.The being praised outrageouslyIs grave, for at the eyes of such an oneIs launched, from Zeus, the thunder-stone.Therefore do I decideFor so much and no more prosperityThan of his envy passes unespied.Neither a city-sacker would I be,Nor life, myself by others captive, see.

And big with anger goes the city's word,

And pays a debt by public curse incurred.

And ever with me—as about to hear

A something night-involved—remains my fear:

Since of the many-slayers—not

Unwatching are the gods.

The black Erinues, at due periods—

Whoever gains the lot

Of fortune with no right—

Him, by life's strain and stress

Back-again-beaten from success,

They strike blind: and among the out-of-sight

For who has got to be, avails no might.

The being praised outrageously

Is grave, for at the eyes of such an one

Is launched, from Zeus, the thunder-stone.

Therefore do I decide

For so much and no more prosperity

Than of his envy passes unespied.

Neither a city-sacker would I be,

Nor life, myself by others captive, see.

A swift report has gone our city through,From fire, the good-news messenger: if true,Who knows? Or is it not a god-sent lie?Who is so childish and deprived of senseThat, having, at announcements of the flameThus novel, felt his own heart fired thereby,He then shall, at a change of evidence,Be worsted just the same?It is conspicuous in a woman's nature,Before its view to take a grace for granted:Too trustful,—on her boundary, usurpatureIs swiftly made;But swiftly, too, decayed,The glory perishes by woman vaunted.

A swift report has gone our city through,

From fire, the good-news messenger: if true,

Who knows? Or is it not a god-sent lie?

Who is so childish and deprived of sense

That, having, at announcements of the flame

Thus novel, felt his own heart fired thereby,

He then shall, at a change of evidence,

Be worsted just the same?

It is conspicuous in a woman's nature,

Before its view to take a grace for granted:

Too trustful,—on her boundary, usurpature

Is swiftly made;

But swiftly, too, decayed,

The glory perishes by woman vaunted.

Klu.Soon shall we know—of these light-bearing torches,And beacons and exchanges, fire with fire—If they are true, indeed, or if, dream-fashion,This gladsome light came and deceived our judgment.Yon herald from the shore I see, o'ershadowedWith boughs of olive: dust, mud's thirsty brother,Close neighbors on his garb, thus testify meThat neither voiceless, nor yet kindling for theeMountain-wood-flame, shall he explain by fire-smoke:But either tell out more the joyance, speaking ...Word contrary to which, I ought but love it!For may good be—to good that 's known—appendage!

Klu.Soon shall we know—of these light-bearing torches,

And beacons and exchanges, fire with fire—

If they are true, indeed, or if, dream-fashion,

This gladsome light came and deceived our judgment.

Yon herald from the shore I see, o'ershadowed

With boughs of olive: dust, mud's thirsty brother,

Close neighbors on his garb, thus testify me

That neither voiceless, nor yet kindling for thee

Mountain-wood-flame, shall he explain by fire-smoke:

But either tell out more the joyance, speaking ...

Word contrary to which, I ought but love it!

For may good be—to good that 's known—appendage!

Cho.Whoever prays for aught else to this city—May he himself reap fruit of his mind's error!

Cho.Whoever prays for aught else to this city

—May he himself reap fruit of his mind's error!

Herald.Ha, my forefathers' soil of earth Argeian!Thee, in this year's tenth light, am I returned to—Of many broken hopes, on one hope chancing;For never prayed I, in this earth ArgeianDying, to share my part in tomb the dearest.Now, hail thou earth, and hail thou also, sunlight,And Zeus, the country's lord, and king the PuthianFrom bow no longer urging at us arrows!Enough, beside Skamandros, cam'st thou adverse:Now, contrary, be saviour thou and healer,O king Apollon! And gods conquest-granting,All—I invoke too, and my tutelaryHermes, dear herald, heralds' veneration,—And Heroes our forthsenders,—friendly, once moreThe army to receive, the war-spear's leavings!Ha, mansions of my monarchs, roofs beloved,And awful seats, and deities sun-fronting—Receive with pomp your monarch, long time absent!For he comes bringing light in night-time to you,In common with all these—king Agamemnon.But kindly greet him—for clear shows your duty—Who has dug under Troia with the mattockOf Zeus the Avenger, whereby plains are out-ploughed,Altars unrecognizable, and god's shrines,And the whole land's seed thoroughly has perished.And such a yoke-strap having cast round Troia,The elder king Atreides, happy man—heComes to be honored, worthiest of what mortalsNow are. Nor Paris nor the accomplice-cityOutvaunts their deed as more than they are done-by:For, in a suit for rape and theft found guilty,He missed of plunder and, in one destruction,Fatherland, house and home has mowed to atoms:Debts the Priamidai have paid twice over.

Herald.Ha, my forefathers' soil of earth Argeian!

Thee, in this year's tenth light, am I returned to—

Of many broken hopes, on one hope chancing;

For never prayed I, in this earth Argeian

Dying, to share my part in tomb the dearest.

Now, hail thou earth, and hail thou also, sunlight,

And Zeus, the country's lord, and king the Puthian

From bow no longer urging at us arrows!

Enough, beside Skamandros, cam'st thou adverse:

Now, contrary, be saviour thou and healer,

O king Apollon! And gods conquest-granting,

All—I invoke too, and my tutelary

Hermes, dear herald, heralds' veneration,—

And Heroes our forthsenders,—friendly, once more

The army to receive, the war-spear's leavings!

Ha, mansions of my monarchs, roofs beloved,

And awful seats, and deities sun-fronting—

Receive with pomp your monarch, long time absent!

For he comes bringing light in night-time to you,

In common with all these—king Agamemnon.

But kindly greet him—for clear shows your duty—

Who has dug under Troia with the mattock

Of Zeus the Avenger, whereby plains are out-ploughed,

Altars unrecognizable, and god's shrines,

And the whole land's seed thoroughly has perished.

And such a yoke-strap having cast round Troia,

The elder king Atreides, happy man—he

Comes to be honored, worthiest of what mortals

Now are. Nor Paris nor the accomplice-city

Outvaunts their deed as more than they are done-by:

For, in a suit for rape and theft found guilty,

He missed of plunder and, in one destruction,

Fatherland, house and home has mowed to atoms:

Debts the Priamidai have paid twice over.

Cho.Hail, herald from the army of Achaians!

Her.I hail:—to die, will gainsay gods no longer!

Cho.Love of this fatherland did exercise thee?

Her.So that I weep, at least, with joy, my eyes full.

Cho.What, of this gracious sickness were ye gainers?

Her.How now? instructed, I this speech shall master.

Cho.For those who loved you back, with longing stricken.

Her.This land yearned for the yearning army, say'st thou?

Cho.So as to set me oft, from dark mind, groaning.

Her.Whence came this ill mind—hatred to the army?

Cho.Of old, I use, for mischief's physic, silence.

Her.And how, the chiefs away, did you fear any?

Cho.So that now—late thy word—much joy were—dying!

Her.For well have things been worked out: these,—in much time,Some of them, one might say, had luck in falling,While some were faulty: since who, gods excepted,Goes, through the whole time of his life, ungrieving?For labors should I tell of, and bad lodgments,Narrow deckways ill-strewn, too,—what the day's woeWe did not groan at getting for our portion?As for land-things, again, on went more hatred!Since beds were ours hard by the foemen's ramparts,And, out of heaven and from the earth, the meadowDews kept a-sprinkle, an abiding damageOf vestures, making hair a wild-beast matting.Winter, too, if one told of it—bird-slaying—Such as, unbearable, Idaian snow brought—Or heat, when waveless, on its noontide couchesWithout a wind, the sea would slumber falling—Why must one mourn these? O'er and gone is labor:O'er and gone is it, even to those dead ones,So that no more again they mind uprising.Why must we tell in numbers those deprived ones,And the live man be vexed with fate's fresh outbreak?Rather, I bid full farewell to misfortunes!For us, the left from out the Argeian army,The gain beats, nor does sorrow counterbalance.So that 't is fitly boasted of, this sunlight,By us, o'er sea and land the aery flyers,"Troia at last taking, the band of ArgivesHang up such trophies to the gods of HellasWithin their domes—new glory to grow ancient!"Such things men having heard must praise the cityAnd army-leaders: and the grace which wrought them—Of Zeus, shall honored be. Thou hast my whole word.

Her.For well have things been worked out: these,—in much time,

Some of them, one might say, had luck in falling,

While some were faulty: since who, gods excepted,

Goes, through the whole time of his life, ungrieving?

For labors should I tell of, and bad lodgments,

Narrow deckways ill-strewn, too,—what the day's woe

We did not groan at getting for our portion?

As for land-things, again, on went more hatred!

Since beds were ours hard by the foemen's ramparts,

And, out of heaven and from the earth, the meadow

Dews kept a-sprinkle, an abiding damage

Of vestures, making hair a wild-beast matting.

Winter, too, if one told of it—bird-slaying—

Such as, unbearable, Idaian snow brought—

Or heat, when waveless, on its noontide couches

Without a wind, the sea would slumber falling

—Why must one mourn these? O'er and gone is labor:

O'er and gone is it, even to those dead ones,

So that no more again they mind uprising.

Why must we tell in numbers those deprived ones,

And the live man be vexed with fate's fresh outbreak?

Rather, I bid full farewell to misfortunes!

For us, the left from out the Argeian army,

The gain beats, nor does sorrow counterbalance.

So that 't is fitly boasted of, this sunlight,

By us, o'er sea and land the aery flyers,

"Troia at last taking, the band of Argives

Hang up such trophies to the gods of Hellas

Within their domes—new glory to grow ancient!"

Such things men having heard must praise the city

And army-leaders: and the grace which wrought them—

Of Zeus, shall honored be. Thou hast my whole word.

Cho.O'ercome by words, their sense I do not gainsay.For, aye this breeds youth in the old—"to learn well."But these things most the house and KlutaimnestraConcern, 't is likely: while they make me rich, too.

Cho.O'ercome by words, their sense I do not gainsay.

For, aye this breeds youth in the old—"to learn well."

But these things most the house and Klutaimnestra

Concern, 't is likely: while they make me rich, too.

Klu.I shouted long ago, indeed, for joyance,When came that first night-messenger of fireProclaiming Ilion's capture and dispersion.And some one, girding me, said, "Through fire-bearersPersuaded—Troia to be sacked now, thinkest?Truly, the woman's way,—high to lift heart up!"By such words I was made seem wit-bewildered:Yet still I sacrificed; and,—female-song with,—A shout one man and other, through the city,Set up, congratulating in the gods' seats,Soothing the incense-eating flame right fragrant.And now, what 's more, indeed, why need'st thou tell me?I of the king himself shall learn the whole word:And,—as may best be,—I my revered husbandShall hasten, as he comes back, to receive: for—What 's to a wife sweeter to see than this light(Her husband, by the god saved, back from warfare)So as to open gates? This tell my husband—To come at soonest to his loving city.A faithful wife at home may he find, coming!Such an one as he left—the dog o' the household—Trusty to him, adverse to the ill-minded,And, in all else, the same: no signet-impressHaving done harm to, in that time's duration.I know nor pleasure, nor blameworthy converseWith any other man more than—bronze-dippings!

Klu.I shouted long ago, indeed, for joyance,

When came that first night-messenger of fire

Proclaiming Ilion's capture and dispersion.

And some one, girding me, said, "Through fire-bearers

Persuaded—Troia to be sacked now, thinkest?

Truly, the woman's way,—high to lift heart up!"

By such words I was made seem wit-bewildered:

Yet still I sacrificed; and,—female-song with,—

A shout one man and other, through the city,

Set up, congratulating in the gods' seats,

Soothing the incense-eating flame right fragrant.

And now, what 's more, indeed, why need'st thou tell me?

I of the king himself shall learn the whole word:

And,—as may best be,—I my revered husband

Shall hasten, as he comes back, to receive: for—

What 's to a wife sweeter to see than this light

(Her husband, by the god saved, back from warfare)

So as to open gates? This tell my husband—

To come at soonest to his loving city.

A faithful wife at home may he find, coming!

Such an one as he left—the dog o' the household—

Trusty to him, adverse to the ill-minded,

And, in all else, the same: no signet-impress

Having done harm to, in that time's duration.

I know nor pleasure, nor blameworthy converse

With any other man more than—bronze-dippings!

Her.Such boast as this—brimful of the veracious—Is for a high-born dame not bad to send forth!

Her.Such boast as this—brimful of the veracious—

Is for a high-born dame not bad to send forth!

Cho.Ay, she spoke thus to thee—that hast a knowledgeFrom clear interpreters—a speech most seemly!But speak, thou, herald! Menelaos I ask of:If he, returning, back in safety alsoWill come with you—this land's beloved chieftain?

Cho.Ay, she spoke thus to thee—that hast a knowledge

From clear interpreters—a speech most seemly!

But speak, thou, herald! Menelaos I ask of:

If he, returning, back in safety also

Will come with you—this land's beloved chieftain?

Her.There's no way I might say things false and pleasantFor friends to reap the fruits of through a long time.

Her.There's no way I might say things false and pleasant

For friends to reap the fruits of through a long time.

Cho.How then, if, speaking good, things true thou chance on?

Her.For not well-hidden things become they, sundered.The man has vanished from the Achaic army,He and his ship too. I announce no falsehood.

Her.For not well-hidden things become they, sundered.

The man has vanished from the Achaic army,

He and his ship too. I announce no falsehood.

Cho.Whether forth-putting openly from Ilion,Or did storm—wide woe—snatch him from the army?

Cho.Whether forth-putting openly from Ilion,

Or did storm—wide woe—snatch him from the army?

Her.Like topping bowman, thou hast touched the target,And a long sorrow hast succinctly spoken.

Her.Like topping bowman, thou hast touched the target,

And a long sorrow hast succinctly spoken.

Cho.Whether, then, of him, as a live or dead manWas the report by other sailors bruited?

Cho.Whether, then, of him, as a live or dead man

Was the report by other sailors bruited?

Her.Nobody knows so as to tell out clearlyExcepting Helios who sustains earth's nature.

Her.Nobody knows so as to tell out clearly

Excepting Helios who sustains earth's nature.

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