THE FALL OF TROY ANNOUNCED AT MYCENAE, WHERE AGAMEMNON'S PALACE IS, BY BEACON FIRES.
LINES 1-39.
THE WATCHMAN.
Grant me, oh gods, deliverance from this toil,
This year-long watch, which, couched upon the roof
Of the Atridae, dog-like I have kept,
Scanning the nightly gatherings of the stars,
Those radiant potentates, that throned on high,
Lead on the changing seasons for mankind.
And now I still am looking for the sign,
The beacon light which is to flash from Troy
The tidings of the city's fall, for so
Ordains the will of our man-hearted queen.
Broken my rest, my couch is drenched with dew,
And by no pleasant dream is visited.
In place of slumber fear waits on me there,
So that my eyes can never close in sleep;
And if to sing or whistle I essay,
In hope to charm away my drowsiness,
Straightway I fall to weeping for this house,
That into evil hands of late has fallen.
Would but the light, that happy tidings bears,
Shine through the dark to end our sufferings.
(Beacon light appears,)
Offspring of night, all hail! A glorious day
Thou dost to Argos bring, with many a dance
And song in honour of this victory.
Joy! joy!
I go to call on Agamemnon's queen
To leave her couch, and forthwith in her halls
Bid the glad voice of jubilation rise
To greet this beacon fire. If true it be
That Troy is taken, as the light proclaims,
My watch the highest throw of fortune's dice
Has cast, and with my lords all must be well.
No more I say, a heavy curb is laid
Upon my lips; these walls, if they had voice,
Would tell their secret; as for me, I speak
To those who know, to others I am mute.
* * * * *
THE SACRIFICE OF IPHIGENIA.
The chorus recounts the sacrifice of Iphigenia, one of the train of horrors connected with the doom of the house of Atreus.
LINES 177-240.
CHORUS.
Wind-bound and suffering dearth, the Achaean fleet
O'er against Calchis lay.
On Aulis' tide-washed shore,
While from the Strymon gales,
Bearing delay and famine on their wing,
Bane of the mariner,
Wasting both hull and rope,
Were wearing out the flower of Argive youth.
Then did the seer proclaim
For that unwelcome wind
A new and cruel cure
In name of Artemis.
Which, hearing, the Atridae with their staves
Smote on the ground and wept.