O god that o’er the doomed Atridan halls[n93]
With might prevailest,
Weak woman’s breast to do thy headlong will
With murder mailest!
O’er his dead body, like a boding raven,
Thou tak’st thy station,
Piercing my marrow with thy savage hymn
Of exultation.
ANTISTROPHE III.
Clytemnestra.
Nay, but now thou speakest wisely;