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O light propitious of day justice-bringing!

I may say truly, now, that men's avengers,

The gods from high, of earth behold the sorrows—

Seeing, as I have, i' the spun robes of the Erinues,

This man here lying,—sight to me how pleasant!—

His father's hands' contrivances repaying.

For Atreus, this land's lord, of this man father,

Thuestes, my own father—to speak clearly—

His brother too,—being i' the rule contested,—

Drove forth to exile from both town and household:

And, coming back, to the hearth turned, a suppliant,

Wretched Thuestes found the fate assured him

—Not to die, bloodying his paternal threshold

Just there: but host-wise this man's impious father