From guilty veins, enough. Henceforth may joy
Look from the eyes of the Atridan boy,
Discerning clearly
From his ancestral halls the clouds unrolled,
That hung so drearly.
ANTISTROPHE II.
And thou, O Maia’s son,[f8] fair breezes blow,
The full sail swelling!
Cunning art thou through murky ways to go,
To Death’s dim dwelling;