Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/83

Rh What boots it to forestal our date of woe?

Come weal at last!

So prays, these mischiefs past,

Of Apia's land this one sole guard and stay.

Hail Clytemnestra! Hither am I come

Thy majesty revering. For 'tis meet

When the male throne is empty, that we pay

To our high captain's consort honour due.

If thou hast heard auspicious news, or not,

That with joy-vouching hope thou lightest up

The altar fires, I, as a friend, would know,—

Yet shall thy silence nought unkind be deemed.

Joy's harbinger, be radiant Morning born

From kindly, mother Night! So runs the saw.

But thou of joy beyond all hope shalt hear,

For Priam's city have the Argives won.

How queen I through unbelief I miss thy word.

Troy is in Argive hands; now speak I plain?

Joy, stealing o'er my heart, calls forth the tear.

'Tis true, thine eye thy loyalty bewrays.