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Rh away, to send, as soon as Troy should fall, a message of beacon-fires to tell the good news to his wife in Argos. The watchman has hardly spoken before we feel, from his weariness, how long the war has lasted, and how long Clytemnestra's faithfulness has been tried. Night after night he has watched the stars, and passed the damp cold hours in sleepless weariness, striving at times to beguile his loneliness with song; but at all such times gaiety has been driven away—by what?

While he is speaking, far away out on the right of the stage a bright flame shoots up: it is the beacon's blaze. "All hail," the watchman cries,—

He will go to tell the queen of the good news,—good news, and yet,—

Already we begin to fear that some storm is coming.