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rhythm, but evolutions leading back from Left of Orchestra to central Altar.

      When Agamemnon, not repining, but tempering himself to the fate which smote him, waited amidst adverse winds and failing stores: {184}

       Strophe III: fresh change of rhythm, Chorus moving to Right of Orchestra.

      and the contrary winds kept sweeping down from the Strymon, and the host was being worn out with delays, and the prophet began to speak of 'one more charm against the wrath of Artemis, though a bitter one to the Chiefs,' {195}

       Antistrophe III: same rhythm, movement back from Right of Orchestra to Altar.

      at last the King spoke: great woe to disobey the prophet, great woe to slay my child! how shed a maiden's blood? yet how lose my expedition, my allies? May all be well in the end! {210}

       Strophe IV: change of rhythm; movements to the left of Orchestra.

      So when he himself had harnessed

       To the yoke of Fate unbending,

       With a blast of strange new feeling

       Sweeping o'er his heart and spirit,

       Aweless, godless and unholy,

       He his thoughts and purpose altered

       To full measure of all daring,

       (Still base counsel's fatal frenzy,

       Wretched primal source of evils,

       Gives to mortal hearts strange boldness,)

       And at last his heart be hardened

       His own child to slay as victim,

       Help in war that they were waging

       To avenge a woman's frailty,

       Victim for the good ship's safety. {219}

       Antistrophe IV: back to Altar.

      All her prayers and eager callings

       On the tender name of Father,

       All her young and maiden freshness,

       They but set at naught, those rulers,

       In their passion for the battle.

       And her father gave commandment

       To the servants of the Goddess,

       When the prayer was o'er, to lift her,

       Like a kid, above the altar,

       In her garments wrapt, face downwards—

       Yea, to seize with all their courage,

       And that o'er her lips of beauty

       Should be set a watch to hinder

       Words of curse against the houses,

       With the gag's strength silence-working.

       Strophe V: Altar to Sight of Orchestra.

      And she upon the ground

       Pouring rich folds of veil in saffron dyed,

       Cast at each one of those who sacrificed

       A piteous glance that pierced

       Fair as a pictured form,

       And wishing—all in vain—

       To speak; for oftentimes

       In those her father's hospitable halls

       She sang, a maiden pure with chastest song,

       And her dear father's life

       That poured its threefold cup of praise to God,

       Crowned with all choicest good,

       She with a daughter's love

       Was wont to celebrate. {238}

       Antistrophe V: Back to Altar.

      What then ensued mine eyes

       Saw not, nor may I tell, but Calchas' arts

       Were found not fruitless. Justice turns the scale

       For those to whom through pain

       At last comes wisdom's gain.

       But for our future fate,

       Since help for it is none,

       Good-bye to it before it comes, and this

       Has the same end as wailing premature;

       For with to-morrow's dawn

       It will come clear; may good luck crown our fate!

       So prays the one true guard,

       Nearest and dearest found,

       Of this our Apian land. {248}

      EPISODE I

       The Ritual on the Stage being now concluded, Clytaemnestra advances to the front. At the same moment the Choral Ode is finished and the Chorus take up their usual position during the Episodes, drawn up in two lilies in front of the Altar facing the Stage. They speak only by their Foreman (or Corypliceus), and use the ordinary Iambic Metre (equivalent to our Blank Verse).

      The Foreman of the Chorus repeats his enquiries of Clytaemnestra as to the meaning of this sudden rejoicing, guardedly adding that it is his duty to pay respect to his lord's wife in his absence—Clytaemnestra announces that Troy has been taken this last night—rapid interchange of stichomuthic dialogue, the Chorus expressing their amazement as to how the news could travel so fast.

      Cho. What herald could arrive with speed like this? Clytaem. Hephiestos flashing forth bright flames from Ida: Beacon to beacon from that courier-fire Sent on its tidings; Ida to the rock Hermaean named, in Lemnos: from the isle The height of Athos, dear to Zeus, received A third great torch of flame, and lifted up, So as on high to skim the broad sea's back, The stalwart fire rejoicing went its way; The pine wood, like a sun, sent forth its light Of golden radiance to Makistos' watch; And he, with no delay, nor unawares Conquered by sleep, performed his courier's part. Far off the torch-light to Euripos' straits Advancing, tells it to Messapion's guard: They, in their turn, lit up and passed it on, Kindling a pile of dry and aged heath. Still strong and fresh the torch, not yet grown dim, Leaping across Asôpos' plain in guise Like a bright moon, towards Kithaeron's rock, Roused the next station of the courier flame. And that far-travelled light the sentries there Refused not, burning more than all yet named: And then the light swooped o'er Gorgôpis' lake, And passing on to Aegiplanctos' mount, Bade the bright fire's due order tarry not; And they, enkindling boundless store, send on A mighty beard of flame, and then it passed The headland e'en that looks on Saron's gulf Still blazing. On it swept, until it came To Arachnaean heights, the watch-tower near; Then here on the Atreidae's roof it swoops, This light, of Ida's fire no doubtful heir. Such is the order of my torch-race games; One from another taking up the course, But here the winner is both first and last; And this sure proof and token now I tell thee, Seeing that my lord hath sent it me from Troïa. {307}

      While the Chorus are still overcome with amazement, Clytaemnestra triumphs over the condition of Troy that morning: like a vessel containing oil and vinegar, the conquered, bewailing their first day of captivity over the corpses of husbands and sons, the victors enjoying their first rest free from the chill dews of night and the sentry's call—and all will be well, if they remember the rights of the Gods in their sack of the city: ah! may they not in their exultation commit some sacrilegious deed of plunder, forgetting that they have only reached the goal, and have the return to make! If they should, the curse of those who have perished might still awake against them [Cl. thus darkly harping upon her secret hope that vengeance may still overtake them for the sacrifice of her daughter.] {345}

       Exit Clytaemnestra, with Attendants.

      After a few words of triumph (in marching rhythm), that Zeus, protector of host and guest, has visited the proud

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